Page 72 of When the Storm Breaks
I watch her carefully, resisting the urge to reach for her. I should let it go. Let her finish her wine. Let her keep laughing.
Let her keep looking at me like that.
But I don’t.
“I’ve never heard you laugh like that before.”
She exhales, rolling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, letting the last bit of red swirl lazily against the sides. Then she shrugs. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.
“I never have a reason to.”
The words land like a bomb.
I stare at her. The happiness evaporates—sucked out of the moment so fast my stomach lurches. I knew she wasn’t happy. I knew she carried more than she let on.
But fuck. Hearing it out loud? It hurts.
I drop my head into my hands, rubbing at my temples as I blow out a slow breath.
I don’t want to do this now, but I can’t wait any longer.
“We have to talk about this, Calla.”
Her posture locks up immediately–shoulders squared, fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.
“No, we don’t.”
Her voice is flat. Dismissive. But I can feel the resistance beneath it—the same kind she had that first night she sat in front of me, trying to pretend she wasn’t falling apart.
I don’t push.
Instead, I reach for her water glass, refill it, then pick up what’s left of the wine.
Barely half a pour.
I set the water in front of her, roll my own glass between my fingers, twisting the stem, letting the moment of silence breathe between us.
“Listen, Calla.”
I exhale hard.
“You’re drunk, and maybe that’s why I’m doing this now, but I’m only going to say it once.” I pause, pulling in a breath through my nose, slower this time, trying to keep my frustration from coming through. “Please don’t put yourself in danger.”
The change is instant.
She snaps her head up, expression hardening so fast it makes me jerk back.
“I’m fixing it.”
Her voice isn’t slurred this time. Not lazy. Not soft.
It’s sharp. Clipped. Sober.
I hesitate, thrown off balance. For the first time all night, she sounds perfectly clear. Did I misread this? Did I just insulther—assuming she’s too drunk to know what she’s doing?
She leans in, close enough that I feel the heat rolling off her skin, her breath curling into mine.
“I need help.”
