Page 22 of When the Storm Breaks
I swallow the lump in my throat and whisper, “Okay.”
Standing, he walks to the bar and fills a glass of water, setting it in front of me. “I’m gonna grab a broom. Stay here.”
He disappears into the back again and returns quickly with a broom. He lifts the tree effortlessly, like it weighs nothing, then begins sweeping the shattered ornaments into a pile. The rhythmic scrape of bristles on the floor steadies my thoughts, but restlessness creeps in. I can’t just sit here, doing nothing.
I stand, ignoring the ache in my body and the sting in my hands. My movements are stiff, jerky, as I reach for the larger pieces.
“Calla,” Chase sighs, pausing mid-sweep.
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice strained. “I need to—”
“No, you don’t,” he says, cutting in gently. He steps closer, easing the shards away from my hands. “It’s handled. Just… sit for a second.”
His words wash over me, and I sink back into the chair, reluctant but worn out. The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, not really—but there’s something else now. Something uncertain. Something good.
When the floor is finally cleared, Chase sets the broom aside and crouches in front of me again, his hands resting lightly on my knees. “You don’t have to go,” he says gently. “This doesn’t change anything. I still want you to come by in the mornings. Not just for you—for me, too.”
Something in his voice, in the way he looks at me, unravels some of the tightness inside me. But my words still come out soft, laced with hesitation. “Okay. But I really do need to go… just for today. It’s getting late.”
He exhales, a flicker of frustration crossing his face, but he doesn’t argue.
Instead, he steps back, giving me space to gather my things.
When I reach the door, I feel him behind me, just over my shoulder. I turn, but before I can speak, his arms wrap around me tightly.
I freeze at first, unsure how to react, but then his voice reaches my ear. “If you ever need anything… just let me know. I’m here.”
His words settle into the foundations of the walls I’ve worked so hard to build. I don’t know how long I stand there—caught between uncertainty and something that feels a little too much like comfort—but eventually, I melt into him.
For the first time in months, I feel the faintest stir of hope.
Chapter 10
Haiyden
Once a month, Chase ropes me into this early morning ritual: inventory and deep cleaning. The bar feels different at this hour. Hollow. Like it’s holding its breath. The stale tang of old beer clings to the air, sharp against the bite of bleach. The quiet makes everything louder—the creak of the floorboards, the static hiss of the ancient speakers overhead.
The music filters through, fractured and uneven, like it’s clawing its way out of the speakers. Chase hums along, off-key, too loud, cutting through the stillness without a second thought. That’s him all over: too loud, too careless, too damn reckless.
One day, it’ll catch up to him. I just hope I see it coming when it does.
I crouch behind the bar, wiping down the fridges, lining up bottles, keeping my hands busy, my thoughts quiet. It’s mindless—exactly how I like it. But my focus slips when my eyes drift to the far corner of the room.
The Christmas tree stands crooked, likeit’s given up trying to stay upright. Half the ornaments are gone, leaving gaps that make the whole thing look lopsided. Defeated.
Chase told me what happened.
The girl. The fall. The blood.
Other than that, he didn’t give me much. I haven’t pressed. I’m not sure I want to. Even in the little hehassaid, I can tell she’s already made a mark.
And that, more than anything, makes me uneasy.
I don’t care about the tree. It’s Chase’s problem, not mine. But something about all of this gets under my skin. She’s clearly made an impression, and that alone feels dangerous.
Chase doesn’t do guarded. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t think. People love that about him. But I’ve seen what happens when someone takes advantage of it.
And for his sake, I hope he figures it out before it’s too late.
