Page 84 of When the Storm Breaks
I clear my throat and step forward, making my presence known. Haiyden turns, expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he smiles. A real, genuine smile.
“You look better.”
I don’t move. It’s the last thing I expected him to say. I stand there, frozen, trying to reconcile this version of him with the one I thought I knew. He must notice my hesitation, because he glances at me, then at the table.
“Sit,” he says. “I think it’s edible.”
I hesitate, suddenly shy. He really doesn’t do this often. “You cooked?”
“I burned,” he corrects with a chuckle—just before a loud, “Shit!” slips out as he turns back to the stove.
A small laugh escapes me, but it fades as I turn toward the table and take in the details. A glass of water. Silverware. A napkin folded neatly in half. A place set just for me. The only thing missing is the plate, which I assume is the one next to the charred toast on the counter.
I glance at Haiyden, watching as he fumbles at the stove. This version of him just doesn’t match the one I met at the bar. That man was feral, all sharp edges. The one in front of me now—setting the table, burning the toast—feels like someone entirely different.
“Thank you, Haiyden.”
He shrugs. “You needed it.”
He plates the eggs and toast, setting the dish in front of me, but instead of sitting, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. The movement pulls the fabric tight across his biceps, and I catch myself staring—long enough that I almost miss it when he speaks.
“Eat.”
The command sends a spark through me. I have to break the tension before it builds into something I can’t ignore.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”
He chuckles—soft, almost sweet. “Only when I have to be.”
I take a few bites of toast, easing the food down, giving my stomach time to settle before moving on to the eggs. When I glance up, Haiyden’s still standing there, watching me.
“You’re not going to eat?”
Another shrug. “I will, eventually. Making sure you do feels more important right now.”
Heat creeps up my neck—and sinks low in my belly. I try to push it away, but I can’t. It’s been so long since someone cared for me like this.
A few more bites in, Haiyden finally moves. He rummages through the cabinets, pulls out a bowl and a box of cereal, dumps some in, adds a splash of milk, then drops into the chair across from me—lazily spooning it into his mouth like this is the most normal thing in the world.
My jaw nearly drops. “You cooked for me, but you’re eating cereal?”
He shrugs again, like the contradiction isn’t even worth acknowledging. “I’m not big on breakfast.”
I stammer, caught off guard. “I could’ve had cereal…” Then, softer. “But thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone’s cooked for me.”
“What, no visits home for free laundry and home-cooked meals?” Haiyden asks, his voice light as I raise a forkful of eggs to my mouth.
I freeze. The question catches me off guard. It sounded casual, but it cuts deeper than I expect. The egg slips off my fork with a soft plop, and something passes across my face—shame, maybe. Regret. My gaze drops to my plate, and I try to keep my tone even.
“No, not really.”
I focus on my toast, tearing small pieces from it, crumbling them onto my plate.
He doesn’t respond right away, but when I glance up, his head is tilted—waiting for more.
“Why not?”
My fingers tighten around the crust, pressing into it. I wasn’t ready for this conversation today. Maybe not ever.
