Page 76 of When the Storm Breaks
She leans into me as I guide her to the door, her small fingers tangled with mine, and with every step, something inside me eases.
I tell myself it’s just about getting her home. Getting her to bed. Knowing she’s safe.
But as soon as I open the door and step out into the cold with her pressed against me, I know that’s a lie.
Because this—her—is starting to feel like something I can’t walk away from.
Chapter 24
Calla
My head is pounding.
I roll over and press my face deeper into the pillow, trying to block out the light—too bright, too much, even with my eyes still shut. I refuse to open them yet, because already, this day feels like something unbearable.
I breathe in slowly.
Citrus. Sage.
For a second, I wonder if I’m imagining it. But it’s so distinct, so undeniably him. I take another breath, a little deeper this time, and the ache behind my temple eases. Just a little.
The room is colder than I’m used to—a deep, aching chill that holds no matter how tightly I curl into the blankets. I pull them higher, tucking the edge under my chin, trying to wring out every last bit of warmth.
If I could just sleep for another hour—just outlast the hangover—maybe I could face the day without feeling like I’ve been steamrolled.
But my stomach twists with nausea, sickly and unforgiving.
So much for that.
With a groan, I roll onto my back and crack my eyes open. Light floods in, mighty and unforgiving.
And then it hits me.
This isn’t my room.
The realization crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. I sit up too fast, my stomach lurching in protest, and the room spins.
Anxiety prickles under my skin in a slow, suffocating crawl.Where the hell am I?
I press my hands to my face as flashes of last night filter in, scattered and out of order.
The bar. The wine. The walk home.
Haiyden.
A groan slips out as the pieces start clicking into place. I didn’t think I was drinking that much. Or at least, I hadn’t meant to.
My stomach churns, not just from the hangover, but from the embarrassment crawling through my chest.
I care about you.
The words slam into me. I groan again, louder this time, and squeeze my eyes shut. What was I thinking?
And worse—I don’t even remember everything. There are gaps. Fuzzy patches where my boldness outpaced my better judgment.
I exhale and twist in the sheets, and Haiyden’s scent wraps around me—faint and familiar, like his arms around me on the walk home.
When I finally push myself up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, I grimace at the feel of denim.
