Page 75 of When the Storm Breaks
He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it didn’t sit with him the same way it’s sitting with me. “No worries. It was my bad.”
And with that, he’s gone. The door swings shut behind him, the night swallowing him.
Still, something about it doesn’t sit right. Tanner’s not himself. Maybe it’s leftover strain from earlier. Maybe it’s something else.
Either way, the guilt doesn’t let up.
But before it can fully take hold, the sound of staggered footsteps pulls my focus.
I turn just in time to see Calla coming down the hallway, her face flushed deeper than I’ve seen it all night. She’s breathing hard, like every step is taking twice the effort it should.
I shouldn’t have let her drink this much.
Or at the very least, I shouldn’t have been the reason for it.
Her hand catches the wall for support, and I’m moving before I even think—at her side in an instant. I wrap a hand around her arm, holding her up.
“Whoa, I got you,” I murmur, guiding her toward the table where she always sits. Her legs shake, but I lower her gently into the chair, then head back to the bar. I grab her water and set it in front of her.
“Here, if you need it.”
But she’s already leaning back, eyes fluttering shut.
Her breathing slows—deep, a little irregular, heavy with exhaustion.
I crouch beside her, my voice softer now. “Give me five minutes to lock up, then we’ll leave, okay?”
She doesn’t answer, but her hand shifts slightly toward the glass, her fingers falling limp against the armrest.
I move quickly. Lock the front and back doors. Close out the register. Shut down everything in the back office.
When I return, she’s asleep.
She’s curled into the chair now, legs tucked beneath her, head resting against the back.
It has to be the most uncomfortable position I’ve ever seen someone sleep in, but somehow, she looks peaceful. Like for once, she isn’t bracing for something.
“Calla,” I say gently, kneeling beside her, shaking her shoulder just enough to stir her from sleep. “Let’s go.”
Her eyes fly open, unfocused as she pats around the chair, blindly searching for her phone.
“Let me call a car,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep and wine.
I shake my head, firm. “Absolutely not. I’m not putting you in acar and hoping you get home safe.”
“Haiyden, no,” she slurs, her tone petulant—like she already knows she’s losing this fight.
“Calla, please,” I say, leaning in, brushing my fingers over her arm. “Please don’t make me worry.”
She exhales, and I watch the last bit of restraint slip away.
“I’ll drive you home first thing in the morning,” I promise. “But tonight, you’re staying over.”
I stand and hold out my hand. “Come on.”
For a second, I think she’s going to argue again.
Instead, she slips her hand into mine.
