Page 144 of When the Storm Breaks
“I need you to leave him alone,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s not about you being stressed, or too close to it. It’s about protecting yourself.”
Her brow furrows. Confusion passes over her face—then something heavier. Hurt.
“What does that mean?”
I want to tell her everything. I want to close the space between us, pull her into my arms, make her understand.
But I can’t.
“He was talking aboutyou… Calla,” I admit. “He came into the bar, angry—worked up. Said you were crazy. That you kept showing up. That you wouldn’t leave him alone.”
Her face shifts, pain flickering in her expression.
“He was loud. Pissed. And all I could think about was what he’d do if he saw you again. What could happen. I told him not to come back—even though what I really wanted was to throw him against the fucking wall.”
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing again.
“I just want you to be okay. I want you to feel safe. Happy,” I say quietly. “And I know I haven’t made that easy. I know I’ve made things worse.”
Her mouth opens slightly, like she’s about to argue, but I cut inbefore she can.
“If something happened to you…” I shake my head as the words scrape out. “I wouldn’t survive it, Calla. And this—him—it feels like something thatcouldhappen to you.”
I stop in front of her, meeting her eyes. Letting her see it—all of it.
“And some days—days like this—it feels likeI’mwhat could happen to you… and I happened anyway.”
She studies me, something aching in her expression. Like she’s already forgiven me, even if she knows she shouldn’t.
“I know you think you’re some unlovable monster. But I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”
I freeze.
Then force the chaos in my head into something coherent. Something real.
She deserves more than half-truths and broken words.
So this time, I say it the way I should’ve from the beginning.
“I love you.”
She draws in a sharp breath, her throat bobbing—but I don’t stop. I can’t.
“I shouldn’t have said it the first time when I was drunk. Or after I disappeared. Or during a fight.”
My voice thickens, but I keep my eyes on hers.
“I meant it every time. But I should’ve said it like this. Sober. Here.”
I take a slow step forward, closing the space between us. My voice drops, steady—despite the storm inside me.
“You are my sun, Calla. Everything in my life moves around you, bends for you.”
My voice cracks, but I don’t stop.
“And sometimes I don’t know what to do with that. Because without the sun, the world is nothing but darkness.”
I swallow hard.
