Page 58 of When the Storm Breaks
“Thank you,” I murmur. “And… sorry.”
Haiyden exhales and drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back before cupping the nape of his neck. He shifts his weight, uneasy, like there’s something he wants to say.
“No, I—” His nostrils flare slightly. “I’m sorry. For waking you up. I don’t know… I just—”
He cuts himself off, mouth pressing into a hard line. His gaze drops, and he exhales through his nose.
When he speaks again, it’s quieter. “I just came to drop it off. I have to head back to the bar.”
Before I can say anything, he turns, already walking away.
“Haiyden!” I call after him, my voice still thick with sleep.
He doesn’t stop.
“Let me give you a ride,” I say, stepping into the hallway. “It’s, like, a thirty-minute walk.”
“Rest,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m good.”
But I don’t let it go. I quicken my pace to catch up to him.
“Haiyden, wait,” I say again, quieter this time.
He finally stops.
I hold out his jacket. “Thank you. For everything.”
For a moment, he just looks at it. Then, slowly, he takes it from my hands, his fingers brushing the fabric—almost hesitantly.
“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze flicks away for a second before coming back, something unreadable passing through his expression.
“Just… be careful, okay?” He runs a hand over his face. “It’s not always worth what it costs.”
A chill slides down my spine.
I blink, lips parting, but the words dissolve before they form.
He’s already turned, disappearing down the hall without looking back.
Once he’s out of sight, I step back inside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. The air feels still. Undisturbed. Like the moment he was here doesn’t quite belong to reality.
I head straight for the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove.
The motions steady me—picking out a mug, dropping in a tea bag, drizzling honey in slow, absent swirls.
When the water finally boils, I pour it, watching the steam curl upward and evaporate like a transient thought.
I sink into the couch, cocooned in blankets, my hands curled around the mug’s fading warmth. It’s comforting, but it’s no comparison to his jacket. To the lingering traces of him that clung to it.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed that warmth until it was gone.
I draw in a slow breath. Then another.
But it doesn’t help.
I drop my head into my hands, dragging my fingers down my face like that could somehow erase the flood of memories rushing in.
The sick feeling in my stomach as I stood on the side of the road. My car breaking down. Tyler’s house.
