Page 38 of When the Storm Breaks
“I don’t trust you.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “What did you do, Tyler?”
The air thins, a chill settling over the room. Tyler goes still—toostill—before his fist slams against the table. The sound cracks through the silence like a gunshot, and I flinch without meaning to.
“What? You think I had something to do with this? You think I’m capable of hurting her?”
My pulse thunders. I should back down. I should leave. But I don’t.
“With the way you’re acting right now?” I meet his eyes and don’t blink. “Yeah. I do.”
A long silence stretches between us, crackling with hostility. His chest rises and falls too fast now, like he’s seconds from coming undone. I study his face, searching for the person beneath those cold, dark eyes.
Something menacing passes through them before he shoves it back down and smooths over his expression.
“You have no fucking clue what I’ve been through.”
“Then tell me!”
The chair scrapes against the floor as I shove it back, standing abruptly.
“Because right now, it looks like you’ve just moved on—and I’m the only one still trying to figure out what happened to her!”
“I didn’t do anything,” he seethes, quieter now but no less venomous.
“You just want someone to blame. Because it’s easier than facing the truth—that you didn’t protect her. That you weren’t there when she needed you.”
“That’s not—”
His face twists.
“Get out.”
The words are low. Lethal.
“Before I say something I’ll regret.”
A burning rises in my chest, but I stand my ground. My hands are clammy, my heart pounds, but I don’t look away.
Every part of me wants him to snap—so I can tear into him, force something out of him, anything that resembles the truth.
But the look in his eyes stops me.
It’s not guilt. It’s not grief.
It’s something colder.
Hands unsteady, fingers clumsy, I grab my bag and head for the door. But just as I reach it, I pause.
“The truth will come out someday, Tyler.”
Glancing back at him, I speak with conviction.
“This was your chance.”
He doesn’t respond. His body is rigid, eyes locked on the door like he can’t look at me. I walk out, breaths scattered, the door slamming shut behind me. The sound echoes, cutting through the forced Christmas cheer still spilling out into the yard.
The drive home is a blur of panic. My hands won’t stop trembling, and my lungs feel too tight to draw in air. I have to pull over four times. Each stop ends the same, with me gripping the seat beneath me as violent sobs tear through my chest. Tears blur everything, and for long stretches, I just sit there with my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, gasping for air.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, it feels like I’ve been driving for hours. I stumble inside, kick the door shut behind me, and press my palms to the cool surface of the kitchen counter. But my legs won’t hold me. I sink to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, my bodyshaking with the force of everything I’ve been holding in. The sobs still come in waves, unstoppable, until exhaustion finally takes over, gouging me out.
