Page 130 of When the Storm Breaks
But my mind is already flooded with questions. What did he say? What was their interaction like? Did Tyler know who he was talking to?
I open my mouth, the words pressing at my throat, desperate to escape.
But before I can get anything out, Haiyden speaks again.
“Not tonight.”
His gaze locks onto mine. A pause.
“I came here for you, Calla.”
I want to push. God, I want to. But something stops me—a pauseI can’t explain.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the relief of just having him here. Or maybe it’s the way he said it, like he needs this just as much as I do.
So I don’t ask. Not tonight.
Because maybe I need that too.
I don’t know if it’s the drinking, the disappearance, or something else entirely. But Haiyden looks drained—like he has no words left to give.
I watch as he stands, crosses the room to the basket of blankets, and grabs the one on top. His favorite.
But he doesn’t look at me. Not once.
When he returns, he sinks back into the couch, his arm brushing mine as he shakes the blanket out and spreads it over both of our laps.
Part of me thinks I should leave him to sleep.
But another part—selfish, needy—wants to stay. To feel him next to me through the night.
To keep him here.
Softly, Haiyden exhales, leaning in.
His head rests on my shoulder, and it’s like my whole body exhales in return.
His breathing is slow, steady—something I could follow like a path leading straight home. The past few days have felt like a storm, a tornado that ripped me from solid ground.
And now, finally, I’ve landed.
Finally, I’m finding my way back.
At some point, I must fall asleep too, because when I wake up, I’m curled inside of him, my back pressed to his front. But it isn’t the waywe normally sleep.
Haiyden is folded in on himself, his body drawn tight, which has forced mine to do the same. His legs—tangled with mine—are pulled in close, and his arms, strong and desperate, are locked around me like he’s afraid of what might happen if he lets go.
It’s like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Like he’s hiding from something only he can see.
The way he’s holding me—it isn’t just protective. It’s instinctive. Bracing.
Like a pill bug curling in on itself, trying to survive.
I don’t move. I don’t want to wake him—don’t want to pull him from whatever fragile peace he’s managed to find.
But more than that, I want to stay. To sink into this hold and disappear into this moment.
A world where none of this happened. Where Willow and Jules are still here.
