Chapter 15
Calla
I must have checked out entirely during the drive, because the next thing I know, I’m parked in Tyler’s driveway. The sight of his house hits me like a blow. Familiar, but off—like something I should recognize, but can’t anymore.
It’s mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve. Most people are wrapping presents, setting tables, gathering with family. But I’m here, standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump.
The house is a spectacle of flashing decorations—strings of multicolored lights, glowing reindeer, a nauseatingly cheerful Merry Christmas sign blinking in the window.
It looks warm and inviting, but it’s all a front.
The kind of holiday cheer that sits on the surface, never quite seeping into the walls, never touching the bones of the house.
The lights flicker too fast, the reindeer’s mechanical head jerking like a glitching puppet.
Something about it feels off, like a staged scene with no one behind the curtain.
I force myself out of the car, my legs heavy with hesitation, and make my way to the door. My knock lands softer than I mean it to—too weak against the solid wood, a far cry from the confidence I meant to bring with me.
When Tyler opens the door, I watch his expression shift. Easy contentment wiped away in an instant, replaced first by irritation, then something smug. He doesn’t say a word. Just steps aside and gestures me in with a lazy flick of his wrist. It’s dismissive, like he already regrets answering.
I pause for half a second, then step inside.
The air smells faintly of pine and something artificial, like a candle burned to mask the absence of real comfort.
The house is pristine—the kind of clean that feels untouched, like no one actually lives here.
The furniture matches perfectly, the decorations look straight out of a magazine, but there’s nothing real about it.
No life. Just a carefully arranged set, polished and vacant.
We’re barely past the entryway when his voice breaks through the quiet.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Calla.”
“I know.” My voice is steady, even if I can’t quite meet his eyes.
He exhales harshly, already impatient. “What do you want?”
I take a deep breath, readying myself. “Jules.”
Her name floats between us, unclaimed.
Tyler doesn’t respond right away—he just nods toward the kitchen table and turns, already moving before I can decide whether to follow.
I do.
I pull out a chair and sit, watching as he circles slowly, eyes on me the whole time. Like a predator sizing up its prey.
When he finally stops, he plants himself directly across from me, arms crossed tight over his chest. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t relax. Just stands there, watching. His stare is unwavering, forcing me to lift my gaze and meet it.
It’s a power play. Exactly what I expected.
His jaw tics, something flickering in his eyes—grief, maybe, buried under months of bitterness.
“You think you’re the only one who’s been thinking about her?” The edge in his voice cuts clean through the air, laced with something that almost sounds like pain. “I don’t need you showing up at my house—on a holiday, might I add—acting like you cared more about her than I did.”
My stomach twists, but I force my expression to remain neutral.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Right.”
A long silence stretches between us. The house is so still, it’s like the walls are holding their breath.
“How are you, Tyler?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. “Really.”
His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. When he speaks, his voice is eerily calm.
“I’m fine. What else do you want me to say?”
I watch him carefully. His fingers curl around the edge of the table, tension visible in every line in his body.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Jules being gone—it’s hard. Anyone would be struggling.”
He leans forward, his grip tightening on the table until his knuckles turn white.
“I don’t need your pity, Calla. I’m dealing with it.”
“Are you, though?” I ask, my voice quiet.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it won’t budge .
“You’re always so in control. It’s like nothing ever gets to you.”
A humorless half-smile tugs at his lips. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh? You don’t know shit.”
My breaths become shallow, but I hold his gaze. “Maybe not. But I know pretending everything is fine usually doesn’t make it true.”
His laugh is flat and dismissive. “What, you came here to play my fucking therapist?”
“Nope.” My voice is gentle, but the flicker in his jaw tells me I’ve struck a nerve. “I just think it’s okay to admit it. You don’t have to pretend.”
He shakes his head, gaze dropping for a moment before snapping back to mine. “Maybe I am. But I don’t need your fucking help to deal with it.”
I shift in my seat, fingers twisting in my lap.
“It just seems like you moved on fast—for someone who claimed to love her.”
His nostrils flare, breaths coming faster. “You’re acting insane again, Calla. You don’t know shit about me or her.”
“Then help me understand.” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. “Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like you already forgot her. Like she didn’t matter.”
His fingers twitch against the table, like he’s deciding whether to lash out or hold back. His eyes darken, voice dropping to something lower, something dangerous. A warning.
“Enough.”
“I don’t trust you.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “What did you do, Tyler?”
The air thins, a chill settling over the room. Tyler goes still—too still—before his fist slams against the table. The sound cracks through the silence like a gunshot, and I flinch without meaning to.
“What? You think I had something to do with this? You think I’m capable of hurting her?”
My pulse thunders. I should back down. I should leave. But I don’t.
“With the way you’re acting right now?” I meet his eyes and don’t blink. “Yeah. I do.”
A long silence stretches between us, crackling with hostility. His chest rises and falls too fast now, like he’s seconds from coming undone. I study his face, searching for the person beneath those cold, dark eyes.
Something menacing passes through them before he shoves it back down and smooths over his expression.
“You have no fucking clue what I’ve been through.”
“Then tell me!”
The chair scrapes against the floor as I shove it back, standing abruptly.
“Because right now, it looks like you’ve just moved on—and I’m the only one still trying to figure out what happened to her!”
“I didn’t do anything,” he seethes, quieter now but no less venomous.
“You just want someone to blame. Because it’s easier than facing the truth—that you didn’t protect her. That you weren’t there when she needed you.”
“That’s not— ”
His face twists.
“Get out.”
The words are low. Lethal.
“Before I say something I’ll regret.”
A burning rises in my chest, but I stand my ground. My hands are clammy, my heart pounds, but I don’t look away.
Every part of me wants him to snap—so I can tear into him, force something out of him, anything that resembles the truth.
But the look in his eyes stops me.
It’s not guilt. It’s not grief.
It’s something colder.
Hands unsteady, fingers clumsy, I grab my bag and head for the door. But just as I reach it, I pause.
“The truth will come out someday, Tyler.”
Glancing back at him, I speak with conviction.
“This was your chance.”
He doesn’t respond. His body is rigid, eyes locked on the door like he can’t look at me. I walk out, breaths scattered, the door slamming shut behind me. The sound echoes, cutting through the forced Christmas cheer still spilling out into the yard.
The drive home is a blur of panic. My hands won’t stop trembling, and my lungs feel too tight to draw in air.
I have to pull over four times. Each stop ends the same, with me gripping the seat beneath me as violent sobs tear through my chest. Tears blur everything, and for long stretches, I just sit there with my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, gasping for air.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, it feels like I’ve been driving for hours.
I stumble inside, kick the door shut behind me, and press my palms to the cool surface of the kitchen counter.
But my legs won’t hold me. I sink to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, my body shaking with the force of everything I’ve been holding in.
The sobs still come in waves, unstoppable, until exhaustion finally takes over, gouging me out.
Eventually, I drift into a broken, restless sleep, grief making a home deep inside me. The floor’s cold tile presses against my cheek, and I find myself silently begging the earth to open up and swallow me whole.