Page 50 of When the Storm Breaks
I give him a nod. There’s something about him that always feels like he’s on the edge of saying or doing something dumb. Maybe it’s the forced charm. Maybe it’s the youth. Either way, I’m not leaving the bar in his hands without making sure he knows I’m watching.
“Good. See you in a few hours,” I say, turning on my heel and grabbing my jacket.
As I head for the door, I take one final look back and catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He’s wiping the back counter now, but there’s a tightness in his expression, like he’s still turning the conversation over in his head.
He’s got potential. But right now, I’ve got bigger shit to deal with.
Halfway to my apartment, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it, assuming it has to be Chase. But then I remember he’s on vacation with his family. He barely touches his phone when he’s with them.
I pull it out, glance down —
And freeze mid-step.
Calla: I need help.
I fucking knew something wasn’t right.
My pulse spikes. I shove my phone into my pocket and move faster. By the time I hit the apartment, I’m practically running. I don’t bother with lights or locking up—just grab my keys and head straight for the car. The door slams behind me as I jam the key into the ignition.
This isn’t like her.
I don’t know her well, but I know enough. She keeps things close, handles shit on her own. For her to ask for help like this?
Something’s wrong.
The engine roars to life. I yank my phone out and dial her number.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”
Her voice is trembling, teeth chattering so loudly I can hear it through the line.
A burn ignites in my chest—rage, not at her, but at whatever thehell put her in this situation.
“Where?” I snap, my voice harsher than I mean for it to be.
“Off the main road… about thirty minutes. Near Cedar Hollow,” she says, rushed and shaky.
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” I grit out, hanging up before she can say anything else.
Tires screech as I tear out of the parking lot. Whatever this is, it’s serious. I can feel it.
Is she hurt?
Why the hell is she that far out of town this late?
She sounded freezing. Upset.
Alone.
She must be alone. She wouldn’t have texted me otherwise. And if she did text me, it has to be bad—bad enough to push past whatever’s kept her from the bar these last two days.
My grip tightens on the wheel, tension coiling through my arms. I try to keep my emotions in check, but the harder I try, the worse it gets.
Five minutes out, it boils over. I slam my fists into the steering wheel, the sound crackling through the car.
I can’t stand this—the not knowing, the not getting there fast enough.
I shouldn’t have hung up the phone.
