Page 52 of When the Storm Breaks
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, but I can’t stop. “But what the hell were you doing standing outside like that? How long were you even out there? It’s twenty degrees out, Calla! Twenty degrees!”
My voice keeps rising, spilling over even though I know it’s not helping.
Her breath breaks against her lips like she’s choking on it.
“I—I tried,” she stammers, voice thin. “It wouldn’t start. I opened the hood, I tried to look, but I don’t know what anything is.” She’s unraveling, hands flying up, grasping at the air like she’s trying to reach for something solid. “And then someone told me once you’re not supposed to sit in the car if it won’t start. If the lights are off, someone might not see you… You could get hit.”
She takes a breath, but it barely helps. The second she stops talking, her teeth start chattering again—loud and violent.
“Fuck!” I slam my palm against the wheel.
Calla jumps. I shake my head, jaw locking so tight it aches.
I reach over and twist the heat knob again, even though I know it’s already maxed out.
It’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
“Just—just warm up, okay?” My voice is softer now, but the rage still coils tight around every word.
I shift toward her, hands moving automatically as I adjust the vents, angling them so the heat hits her full-on.
“Make sure it’s getting you.”
She doesn’t answer. Just nods, barely. Still trembling so hard I feel it under my skin.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, more to myself than to her, as I shove the door open and step out into the cold.
The air burns against my bare arms, but I barely feel it. My boots crunch over frozen grass as I stalk toward her car, every muscle in mybody wound so tight I feel like I could snap.
I slam the hood shut. Hard. The clank of metal echoes into the empty night.
My breath fogs in front of me as I grab her keys from the driver’s seat, shove them into my pocket, and head back to my car.
I climb in without a word. The silence between us is thick. Tense.
Calla doesn’t look at me. She’s curled into herself, turned slightly away, her posture tight and closed off.
But I see it—the way her fingers twist in her lap, the way her breathing still hasn’t steadied.
And I can’t deny the mess brewing inside me.
Worry. Confusion. That fucking anger again, begging for somewhere to land.
I pull a U-turn, watching Calla’s head turn as we leave her car behind, swallowed by the dark.
A few minutes into the drive, though, I can’t hold it in anymore.
My grip on the wheel tightens, and before I can overthink it, I jerk the car to the side of the road. The tires skid slightly as I slam it into park.
The engine hums, steady and low, but the air inside the car is anything but calm.
I turn to her.
The second her eyes meet mine, something inside me cracks.
“What were you doing, Calla?”
