Page 78 of When the Storm Breaks
I push myself up from the bed, but the second I’m upright, the room tilts violently. Nausea surges. Panic follows close behind. I stumble toward the dresser, snatch my phone in one hand, and shove the door open with the other.
The door slams open into the stopper, the sound splitting the silence.
I freeze, listening, but the air is still. Haiyden is probably still asleep.
Not wanting to risk waking him, I flick on my phone’s flashlight. The beam cuts across the walls, the floor creaking beneath me as I step into the hallway. My pulse thrums in my ears, amplifying the dizziness.
Finally, my fingers find a switch. I flip it, and light floods the space.
The moment it does, Haiyden bolts upright from the couch.
“Calla?” His voice is thick with sleep but edged with concern.
I open my mouth to respond—but then I see him.
Shirtless.
I don’t mean to stare, but my eyes betray me, dragging over the lean, defined lines of his torso. He isn’t overly muscular—just strongin a way that feels effortless. Broad shoulders taper down to a frame built more from work than vanity. I expect more ink, something sprawling to match the tattoo on his neck, but there’s nothing. Just smooth, bare skin and a faint dusting of chest hair rising and falling with each breath.
I blink, frozen in place, unwilling to let the image slip away.
“Are you okay?”
The nausea slams into me, harder this time, tearing me out of the trance.
“Bathroom?” I manage, barely holding it together.
Haiyden sits forward, pointing. “Down the hall.”
As much as I want to stay, to memorize the sleep-rough rasp in his voice, the way he’s looking at me like hecares, my stomach twists violently.
I turn without another word, stumbling toward the hallway.
By the time I reach it, I’m running.
Chapter 25
Haiyden
She’s sick.
I knew it the second I saw her. Paler than I’ve ever seen her. A light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. Barely holding herself together. The urgency in her voice when she asked for the bathroom. The way her steps sped up as soon as she thought no one was watching.
Guilt coils tight in my chest. This is my fault. I just had to keep pouring.
I push off the couch and head down the hallway.
When I reach the bathroom, I stop, leaning back against the wall. Arms crossed. A slow exhale. I tilt my head up toward the ceiling—right as the sound of her retching breaks the silence.
The reminder of my mistake hits like a punch.
I start to pace, the soft creak of my footsteps the only sound in the quiet hallway. She’s probably heard me by now. I don’t care.
I don’t know what’s worse—knowing I did this to her or knowing she’s in there alone.
The knot in my chest pulls tighter. Privacy isn’t a choice anymore.
Damn it.
