Page 37 of When the Storm Breaks
I pull out a chair and sit, watching as he circles slowly, eyes on me the whole time. Like a predator sizing up its prey.
When he finally stops, he plants himself directly across from me, arms crossed tight over his chest. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t relax. Juststands there, watching. His stare is unwavering, forcing me to lift my gaze and meet it.
It’s a power play. Exactly what I expected.
His jaw tics, something flickering in his eyes—grief, maybe, buried under months of bitterness.
“You think you’re the only one who’s been thinking about her?” The edge in his voice cuts clean through the air, laced with something that almost sounds like pain. “I don’t need you showing up at my house—on a holiday, might I add—acting like you cared more about her than I did.”
My stomach twists, but I force my expression to remain neutral.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Right.”
A long silence stretches between us. The house is so still, it’s like the walls are holding their breath.
“How are you, Tyler?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. “Really.”
His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. When he speaks, his voice is eerily calm.
“I’m fine. What else do you want me to say?”
I watch him carefully. His fingers curl around the edge of the table, tension visible in every line in his body.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Jules being gone—it’s hard. Anyone would be struggling.”
He leans forward, his grip tightening on the table until his knuckles turn white.
“I don’t need your pity, Calla. I’m dealing with it.”
“Are you, though?” I ask, my voice quiet.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it won’t budge.
“You’re always so in control. It’s like nothing ever gets to you.”
A humorless half-smile tugs at his lips. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh? You don’t know shit.”
My breaths become shallow, but I hold his gaze. “Maybe not. But I know pretending everything is fine usually doesn’t make it true.”
His laugh is flat and dismissive. “What, you came here to play my fucking therapist?”
“Nope.” My voice is gentle, but the flicker in his jaw tells me I’ve struck a nerve. “I just think it’s okay to admit it. You don’t have to pretend.”
He shakes his head, gaze dropping for a moment before snapping back to mine. “Maybe I am. But I don’t need your fucking help to deal with it.”
I shift in my seat, fingers twisting in my lap.
“It just seems like you moved on fast—for someone who claimed to love her.”
His nostrils flare, breaths coming faster. “You’re acting insane again, Calla. You don’t know shit about me or her.”
“Then help me understand.” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. “Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like you already forgot her. Like she didn’t matter.”
His fingers twitch against the table, like he’s deciding whether to lash out or hold back. His eyes darken, voice dropping to something lower, something dangerous. A warning.
“Enough.”
