Chapter 6
Calla
I cross Driftwood’s small parking lot, the cold air needling through my coat. But it’s not the weather that leaves my shoulders tense, my body taut. It’s something else I can’t shake.
The man inside. Still unnamed. Still unsettling. Still under my skin in ways I don’t understand.
I want to forget him, to bury whatever strange pull he has on me—but he’s embedded, woven into the restless current thrumming through my chest.
I want to ignore it. But it’s just not that easy.
I pull my coat tighter and focus on the plan. Tyler’s house.
The thought of facing him twists something in my gut, but my conviction burns hotter. This isn’t a confrontation—I’m just asking questions. And if nothing else, I’ll remind him that Jules isn’t forgotten. She can’t be.
I owe her that.
The drive is longer than I expected. Not because of the distance, but because of the pressure mounting inside me, the churn of thoughts I can’t quiet.
My knuckles ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, the cold still clinging to the air despite the heat blasting at full power.
My mind spirals, dissecting every conversation, every moment with Jules that now feels like a warning I missed.
What if I’d pushed harder?
What if she’d come to me sooner?
What if I’d seen the signs?
I shouldn’t be doing this—driving there. I know that. I’ve gone over every reason why it’s a mistake.
But every time I blink, I can still see her on my doorstep. Makeup smudged. Hair knotted messily on top of her head. Eyes weighted with exhaustion.
She brushed it all aside, like always, because pretending was easier than admitting he’d broken something in her.
I should’ve pushed harder. Made her stay. Told her to leave him for good.
The closer I get to Tyler’s house, the harder it is to breathe.
Wind rattles the bare branches ahead. The unease in my stomach spreads slowly, tightening through my body with every passing mile.
I tell myself it’s the isolation. The fear of being here alone.
But it doesn’t stop my hands from trembling against the steering wheel as I pull into his driveway.
When I cut the engine, the stillness wraps around me.
I sit for a moment, eyes fixed on the house’s dark windows, trying to calm my breathing.
It’s a modest silhouette against the pale sky—lived-in, but hollow.
There’s no real warmth to it; everything about it feels too perfect, like it was built to keep people at a distance, silently shouting that they don’t belong .
I force myself out of the car anyway, my legs dragging as they move up the walkway toward the front door. I knock, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to break out.
And the door slowly creaks open, revealing Tyler.
He looks the same as always—meticulously put together, perfectly controlled. But something’s off. His eyes don’t meet mine with curiosity, but with calculation, like he’s sizing me up, deciding whether I’m worth the effort.
“Calla,” he says, tone polite but clipped, already trying to get rid of me. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi.” My voice comes out stiff, forced. I shove my hands into my pockets to hide the shake. “I just… wanted to check in. See how you’re holding up.”
His brow twitches. He exhales, clearly annoyed.
“I’m fine,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face like I’m the thing he needs to get through. “This really isn’t a good time—I was just about to head out.”
His words are respectful but empty, like the kind of small talk people use when they really mean leave, and don’t come back . He’s too rigid, his smile is too thin. It’s a mask that barely hides what’s underneath.
I don’t know Tyler well, but I know him well enough to recognize that he doesn’t want me here.
The words I practiced refuse to come out. “I won’t stay long, I just—”
“Another time,” he says, already turning away. “I really need to go.”
Before I can get another word out, the door shuts, the click of the latch echoing through the front yard. I stand there, motionless, my eyes tracing the small dent in his front door.
I know I overstepped. I know I shouldn’t have come.
Was I really that stupid? To expect a confession? Some kind of breakthrough?
Still, I have to trust my gut. Something isn’t right. It wasn’t just his words or his tone—it was the way he looked at me. Detached. Cold. Like I was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. And the house… too quiet, too still, like it’s hiding something I’m not meant to find.
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets as I head back to the car, an unwelcome chill settling over me again. I should’ve handled this better. Should’ve pushed harder.
Now what?
Sliding into the driver’s seat, my hands grip the wheel instinctively. The engine kicks on, but the car still feels too quiet.
This wasn’t a mistake. I know that much. Jules wouldn’t let me walk away that easily. And I owe her more than that.
I don’t know what comes next, but stopping isn’t an option.
Not yet.