Page 105 of When the Storm Breaks
She’s locked in. Focused in a way that makes my heart ache.
She has that same quiet intensity she brings to everything—like it all matters. Like this isn’t just a snowman. Like it’s a monument. Something permanent. Something that can’t be melted or ruined or taken from her.
It’s supposed to be fun. Light. Dumb.
But I know that look. I’ve worn that look.
I watch her for a second longer, then bolt. I take off running—awkward, clumsy steps through the thick snow.
She sees me at the last second, her eyes flicking up just as I stumble and throw myself straight into the massive snowball she’s been working on.
I hit the ground hard—hard enough to knock the wind out of me—and let out a low groan as I roll onto my back, snow packed into my jacket.
She’s standing over me now, shaking her head.
“Very uncool, Haiyden,” she says, voice dripping with mock outrage.
But I can see it. The corners of her mouth twitching. The light behind her eyes lighting its way to the surface.
She turns and walks slowly toward my snowball—the one I’d been shaping all wrong—and without missing a beat, startsstompingthe hell out of it.
Boots slamming down with exaggerated vengeance.
My jaw drops.
“You are a monster,” I say, half-laughing, half-gasping for air. “That was art.”
She doesn’t reply.
Because she’s already turning around.
And by the time I sit up, barely managing to blink the snow out of my eyelashes, a snowball slams directly into my face. The snow explodes across my face, cold and wet and humiliating.
Calla bursts out laughing. Loud and unrestrained. The kind of laugh that shakes her whole body.
And fuck, I need that sound injected directly into my veins.
I need it burned into my skin.
I need to remember that she can sound like that.
“I gotta say, impressive aim…” I start, wiping my face as I stalk toward her. “But you really shouldn’t have done that, Calla.”
Her eyes go wide.
She runs.
I chase her—just long enough to build anticipation—then tackle her to the ground, catching her carefully, making sure she lands soft, cushioned by snow and my own body.
When she’s on her back, I lean over her, bracing my weight on one arm, my breath misting the space between us.
I look at her. She looks at me.
And she smiles.
It’s soft. Real. The kind of smile you can’t fake.
We stay like that for a while. Not saying anything. Not needing to.
