Page 16 of When the Storm Breaks
His brow twitches. He exhales, clearly annoyed.
“I’m fine,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face likeI’mthe thing he needs to get through. “This really isn’t a good time—I was just about to head out.”
His words are respectful but empty, like the kind of small talk people use when they really meanleave, and don’t come back. He’s too rigid, his smile is too thin. It’s a mask that barely hides what’s underneath.
I don’t know Tyler well, but I know him well enough to recognize that he doesn’t want me here.
The words I practiced refuse to come out. “I won’t stay long, I just—”
“Another time,” he says, already turning away. “I really need to go.”
Before I can get another word out, the door shuts, the click of thelatch echoing through the front yard. I stand there, motionless, my eyes tracing the small dent in his front door.
I know I overstepped. I know I shouldn’t have come.
Was I really that stupid? To expect a confession? Some kind of breakthrough?
Still, I have to trust my gut. Something isn’t right. It wasn’t just his words or his tone—it was the way he looked at me. Detached. Cold. Like I was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. And the house… too quiet, too still, like it’s hiding something I’m not meant to find.
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets as I head back to the car, an unwelcome chill settling over me again. I should’ve handled this better. Should’ve pushed harder.
Now what?
Sliding into the driver’s seat, my hands grip the wheel instinctively. The engine kicks on, but the car still feels too quiet.
This wasn’t a mistake. I know that much. Jules wouldn’t let me walk away that easily. And I owe her more than that.
I don’t know what comes next, but stopping isn’t an option.
Not yet.
Chapter 7
Calla
It won’t let up. My interaction with Tyler plays on a loop, each pass leaving a more bitter taste in my mouth. I feel like I’ve been spinning in circles—trapped in the same thoughts while everything around me has ground to a halt. I need to move. To do something. Anything.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I clear a space at my desk.
It should be simple, but it’s not.
Papers, books, empty mugs, and piles of unopened mail form a wall of clutter. It’s a reminder of everything I’ve been neglecting. Outside my window, the view is just as bleak. Foggy, grey skies stretch across a dull horizon, the world as lifeless as I feel.
Once I’ve cleared enough space, I open my laptop and sit down. My tabs are still open—research, half-finished drafts, everything I abandoned—but the second the screen lights up, my mind goes blank.
I glance around at the growing mess I’ve been avoiding: the laundry basket spilling over onto the floor, my unmade bed, the wilted plant in the corner, silent in its reproach.
Every little thing piles up, a constant reminder of how much I’velet slide. My apartment used to feel like a safe space. Now, it’s closing in on me.
With a sigh, I slam my laptop shut.
I can’t stay here.
If I don’t leave now, I’ll drown.
The office is out. I can’t deal with awkward small talk or forced holiday cheer today. That leaves two options: the bookstore or Maple & Clover. Both are familiar, both are quiet—just the right mix of anonymity and warmth.
Settled on my decision, I grab my coat, hat, and gloves, sliding my laptop into its sleeve and slinging my backpack over one shoulder. It feels heavier than it should. But maybe it’s just me, sinking under my own weight.
