Page 57 of When the Storm Breaks
My hands fumble across the nightstand, shoving aside books, lip gloss tubes, scrunchies—until my fingers close around the small canister of pepper spray buried beneath it all.
I’ve had it for years—more talisman than tool. Something I never thought I’d actually need.
Another knock. Louder.
I jump, heart slamming into my ribs. My fingers tighten around the canister.
The pounding doesn’t stop.
Whoever’s at the door isn’t leaving.
I inch out of my bedroom, moving through the dim living room on feather-light steps. My pulse roars in my ears, but I force myself to focus. One foot in front of the other. Just get to the door.
I lift onto my toes, leaning in—
A violent knock rattles through the door.
I jolt back, a gasp tearing out before I can stop it. My stomach twists.They heard me.
Swallowing hard, I rise again, fingers stiff as I press my eye to thepeephole.
Haiyden.
The fear in my chest loosens, barely. He looks… worried.
My hands shake as they fumble with the lock, the metal cool beneath my fingertips. The second the deadbolt clicks free, I swing the door open.
His breathing is uneven, brows furrowed—softening his usually sharp features with something almost pained. Shadows drag beneath his eyes, deep and dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. His jaw is clenched, but his gaze sweeps over me.
Once.
Twice.
My skin prickles under his gaze, and that’s when I realize I’m still wearing his jacket.
The memories hit hard: his hands on my shoulders, wrapping me in the heavy fabric. His voice, low and steady, pulling me back from the edge of panic.
That scent—citrus and sage—still clinging like an imprint.
“Haiyden?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Do you know what time it is?”
His voice is harsh, but not unkind—more exhausted than anything.
I shake my head. “I haven’t checked my phone. I… I was still asleep, and then I heard the knocking.”
His eyes drop to my hand, where the pepper spray now dangles limply. One brow lifts. Heat floods my face as I fumble to tuck it behind my back.
“I’ve been calling you,” he says, voice lower now. “All morning.”
He pauses, then pulls something from his pocket. My keys.
“I haveyour car.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn hotter. I reach for the keys, my fingers brushing his.
The contact is brief, but it sends a spark through me anyway.
