Page 28 of When the Storm Breaks
I raise a hand to shield my face from the spray and push myself up using the sides of the tub. My legs wobble beneath me, aching like every step takes more from me than the one before.
I shut off the water, and the emptiness rings in my ears. It’s colder now—my wet skin a contrast to the warmth that was there a moment ago.
Slowly, I step out of the shower and reach for a towel. I wrap it around myself without much care. The fabric bunches awkwardly, but I don’t have the energy to fix it.
It’s enough. For now.
My movements are sluggish as I leave the bathroom, and when I reach the edge of the bed, I sink into it. I sit there for a moment, gathering what little strength I have left.
Make a plan, Calla.
Don’t sink.
Driftwood calls to me, a familiar comfort I usually crave. But the thought of seeing Haiyden paralyzes me. I’m not sure I can face him today. I don’t think I have the strength.
But Maple’s…
A hot coffee and a few wagging tails might be just what I need.
I rub my hair with the towel, the rough fabric scraping against damp strands, then twist it into a knot on top of my head. It feels like the smallest victory—just a piece of routine in the chaos.
Slowly, I pull on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my skin like it’s trying to remind me that I’m still here. Still moving.
Underwear. Sock. Sock. Pants. Bra. Sweatshirt.
A look, really.
When I finish, I take a deep breath, letting some of the weight lift off my shoulders.
The hardest part is done.
I let the towel fall carelessly from my head and run my fingers through my damp, tangled hair. It’s a lazy attempt at control, but all I manage to find are three distinct sections.
With a sigh, I twist them into a haphazard braid, the end draping over my shoulder. Water drips from the strands, cold spots blooming across the fabric.
I step into the kitchen and pause when my eyes land on the car keys. Such a small thing, yet the thought of picking them up feels impossible.
Still, I reach for them, slip on a pair of shoes, and force my body into motion.
Chapter 12
Calla
When I open the door at Maple & Clover, a rush of warm air wraps around me, thick with the scent of coffee and baked goods. It should ease something in me. Instead, I feel self-conscious—like the soapless shower I took this morning wasn’t enough. Like I’m tainting this place, leaving my own heaviness in the air.
Maggie catches my eye from behind the counter, a bright smile in place as she waves, trying to push through a thick line of customers. They’re bundled in winter coats, cheeks flushed—probably on school breaks or squeezing in some holiday PTO. The kind of people who glow a little brighter this time of year. Not the ones who fall apart.
She moves fluidly, full of energy and light. The line keeps moving, but I’m too busy watching her hands glide from cup to register to pastry bag.
When it’s finally my turn, she slides two coffees and a pastry bag toward me with a grin.
“On the house.”
Her smile is bright, but there’s something behind it. Like she cantell I’m not okay.
“Maggie…”
I can’t keep letting her do this. It was different when Jules and I came in together. Every so often, she’d slip an extra pastry into our bag when she thought we weren’t looking. But lately, it’s been day after day.
