Page 83 of When the Storm Breaks
I push off the wall, forcing my body to move. To do anything else.
I head to Chase’s bathroom and rummage for an extra toothbrushand some toothpaste.
Momentum.
Back in my room, I dig through the drawers, looking for something small enough to fit her. An old pair of sweatpants. A t-shirt that’s too small. It’ll still hang off her, but at least it’ll be comfortable.
I pause, eyes drifting to the bed. The sheets are twisted, proof of her restless sleep.
I step closer. The faintest trace of lavender still lingers there. My pulse kicks up, and I hate how much I’m already looking forward to lying there tonight, where she’s been.
Shaking my head, I grab the half-full glass of water from the nightstand, knowing she won’t be back for it.
I pour the rest into the ZZ plant’s pot, my fingers brushing over the leaves.
Willow would laugh at me for this. I can almost hear her voice, teasing.
“Look at you, getting all domestic and shit.”
A faint smile tugs at my lips as I look to the photo on the bookshelf.
Calla got it right, somehow. The plant does feel like a lifeline—a quiet connection to something brighter. Something good.
But that connection is exactly why I built my walls so high. I can’t afford to lose again.
And with Calla, the cracks are already forming.
It fucking terrifies me.
Chapter 26
Calla
When I step out of the shower, my clothes are gone—right from where Haiyden peeled them off me twenty minutes ago. My thighs press together at the memory of him on his knees, his breath hot against my skin. There was something raw about it. Almost reverent. And if the lingering ache between my legs isn’t proof enough, then the way my fingers moved between them under the spray of his shower is.
I can’t deny it anymore. I want him.
In place of my missing clothes, a neatly folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt sit on the sink, along with a brand-new toothbrush and bottle of toothpaste. The gesture is practical, thoughtful. But it unsettles me.
This isn’t the Haiyden I know. Standing here, wrapped in steam and silence, it feels like I’ve stepped into a stranger’s bathroom.
I brush my teeth and pull on the clothes, rolling the waistband and cuffs of the sweatpants so they don’t swallow me whole. They’re soft, worn-in, and they smell like him—faintly musky, edged with something sweet. The brands are a little outdated, like they’ve beenshoved in the back of a drawer for years. Too small for him now, probably, but too familiar to throw away. The thought is almost tender, though it’s hard to imagine Haiyden holding on to anything long enough to love it.
I open the door quietly and step into the hall, crossing my arms over my chest in a weak attempt to hide the fact that I’m no longer wearing a bra. Haiyden must’ve taken it with the rest of my clothes. A wave of self-consciousness crashes through me, but it’s quickly drowned out by the memory of him undressing me before my shower. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
Heat creeps up my neck as the morning comes rushing back. I was vulnerable.
Twice. I let it happen twice. And beyond that—who throws up in front of someone, then lets them undress them afterward?
I’m dangerously close to locking myself in the bathroom for the rest of the day when a sharp scent cuts through my thoughts. Smoke. The faint bite of something burning. My stomach twists—not just from the smell, but from the lingering nausea still swimming through me.
I inhale carefully, pulling myself together before stepping into the kitchen.
But the moment I see him, my steps falter.
Haiyden—who, to my detriment, decided to put a shirt on—stands at the stove, broad shoulders hunched like he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. The fabric pulls tight across his back as he pokes at the pan, hesitant. Judging by the overcooked eggs he’s trying to flip, this isn’t something he does often.
The smell of coffee swirls around me. I scan the counter, spotting two steaming mugs and a plate of toast burnt beyond saving.
