Page 36 of When the Storm Breaks
This used to be me. The girl who bought plants she didn’t need and named them like they were pets. The one who got weirdly excitedabout navy-blue anything.
I miss her. I think I’m still her, buried somewhere under the fog.
I turn to pay, but something tugs at me. My fingers hover over a different ZZ plant, this one in a mustard yellow pot.
I don’t know why I grab it. Maybe it’s the color—the way it feels like a spark of warmth and light, something someone like Haiyden could probably use.
Or maybe it’s just a feeling.
Either way, I head to the register, a pot balanced in each hand.
One for him. One for me.
With my arms achingly full, I make one last stop at the liquor store a few doors down. Inside, I grab two bottles of wine—a cabernet sauvignon that’s my favorite, a little on the pricier side but always worth it, and a white I’ve never heard of but costs about the same.
I have no idea what either of the boys drink. It’s probably neither, but I’d rather be prepared.
At the register, I awkwardly juggle everything in my arms, trying to figure out how I’m supposed to carry two bottles of wine and two potted plants without a minor disaster on the walk back to my car.
It’s colder now, though maybe it’s just my nerves catching up to me. My steps slow as the truth sinks in. I’ve stalled long enough. Shopping was a distraction, a good one, but the time I borrowed is gone.
I can’t celebrate until I do something. Anything that brings me closer to the truth.
To her.
To Jules.
Chapter 15
Calla
I must have checked out entirely during the drive, because the next thing I know, I’m parked in Tyler’s driveway. The sight of his house hits me like a blow. Familiar, but off—like something I should recognize, but can’t anymore.
It’s mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve. Most people are wrapping presents, setting tables, gathering with family. But I’m here, standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump.
The house is a spectacle of flashing decorations—strings of multicolored lights, glowing reindeer, a nauseatingly cheerfulMerry Christmassign blinking in the window. It looks warm and inviting, but it’s all a front. The kind of holiday cheer that sits on the surface, never quite seeping into the walls, never touching the bones of the house. The lights flicker too fast, the reindeer’s mechanical head jerking like a glitching puppet. Something about it feels off, like a staged scene with no one behind the curtain.
I force myself out of the car, my legs heavy with hesitation, and make my way to the door. My knock lands softer than I mean itto—too weak against the solid wood, a far cry from the confidence I meant to bring with me.
When Tyler opens the door, I watch his expression shift. Easy contentment wiped away in an instant, replaced first by irritation, then something smug. He doesn’t say a word. Just steps aside and gestures me in with a lazy flick of his wrist. It’s dismissive, like he already regrets answering.
I pause for half a second, then step inside. The air smells faintly of pine and something artificial, like a candle burned to mask the absence of real comfort. The house is pristine—the kind of clean that feels untouched, like no one actually lives here. The furniture matches perfectly, the decorations look straight out of a magazine, but there’s nothing real about it. No life. Just a carefully arranged set, polished and vacant.
We’re barely past the entryway when his voice breaks through the quiet.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Calla.”
“I know.” My voice is steady, even if I can’t quite meet his eyes.
He exhales harshly, already impatient. “What do you want?”
I take a deep breath, readying myself. “Jules.”
Her name floats between us, unclaimed.
Tyler doesn’t respond right away—he just nods toward the kitchen table and turns, already moving before I can decide whether to follow.
I do.
