Chapter 16 #2
He’s up in an instant, checking the screen before calling over his shoulder.
“It’s my family. I haven’t talked to them yet today. Be right back!”
His cheerful voice carries into the hall.
“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Merry Christmas!”
The words hit like a gut punch.
And I know I’m not the only one who feels it. Calla tenses beside me. Her breath goes shallow.
The moment Chase disappears, we both stand. Like the shift in the room’s dynamic has yanked us both to our feet. She knows this is her way out—her chance to hide, to run to the bathroom, to breathe. But before she can move, I reach out and catch her arm.
She freezes. Her eyes snap up to meet mine. Her instinct is to pull away, and she does slightly, but she doesn’t go far.
Caught between staying and leaving.
My grip is loose. She could break away easily.
But she doesn’t.
“You’re too quiet,” I murmur, trying to bury the frustration in my voice.
I search her face, trying to find her behind whatever barrier she’s building.
“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
She stays silent, but her expression goes blank, like she’s locking something away. Slipping further from me.
“Calla,” I whisper, softer this time. A plea. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes meet mine, just for a second.
And I see it all—the pain, the hurt, the ache—before she looks away, breaking the small, fragile connection we had.
She swallows.
“Nothing.”
A beat.
“Just tired, that’s all.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. The truth is on the tip of my tongue, ready to push back. But before I can speak, Chase bursts back into the room.
I let go of Calla, step away, and watch as Chase’s eyes bounce between us. Something flickers across his face. Confusion, maybe suspicion. But it’s gone before I can place it .
“Sorry,” Chase says, a little out of breath. “They were waiting until everyone got there to give me a call.”
“It’s okay,” Calla says, just as I mutter, “No worries.”
Her voice wavers slightly, and I catch the faint blush creeping across her face.
I can see Chase taking it all in. Our plates still scattered. Calla and I standing too close. My fingers still resting around her wrist. Her breathing just a little too heavy.
He doesn’t say anything. Just starts stacking the dishes. Calla, ever the helper, pulls away, grabs the rest, and follows.
I let go of her but stay behind, begging the pounding in my chest to settle.
A few minutes pass before I move to the counter, taking my time packing up leftovers. But I keep an eye on her. She stands beside Chase, drying dishes while he washes. Her back is to me, but every time I brush past to drop another plate in the sink, I see it.
The smallest shift in her shoulders.
The way she straightens herself too quickly, like she’s steeling herself.
Like if she forces stillness, forces composure, she can pretend she doesn’t feel me there.
It’s subtle. But I notice.
When we’re done, the kitchen is spotless. The last traces of dinner fade into the quiet drone of the dishwasher and the faint scent of dish soap.
Chase leans against the counter, stretching his arms with a carefree smile.
“Movie?” he says, voice light, like he’s already decided we’ll say yes.
Truthfully, it’s the last thing I want to do.
But I can’t deny that sitting in the same room as Calla for another two hours has its appeal.
My mind starts to wander, picturing her curled up on my couch under a blanket.
Knees tucked to her chest. A glass of wine in her hand.
Her body relaxed, face soft in that way I haven’t seen enough of today.
But she shuts it down.
“I should probably get going.”
Disappointment flashes across Chase’s face before something more thoughtful takes its place. He’s starting to notice, even if he’s not saying anything.
“Okay, no worries,” he says, tone easy. “Thanks for coming.”
He pauses, glancing at me before turning back to her.
“Oh—before you go, maybe grab Haiyden’s number? Just in case. I leave tomorrow and I’m gone for a while, so if you need to get into the bar or… whatever.”
I expect her to brush it off. To make some excuse. Hell, I expect her to look at Chase like he’s lost his mind for offering this on my behalf.
But she doesn’t.
She just nods, pulls out her phone, and hands it to me like it’s nothing. Like giving me that kind of access doesn’t mean anything.
She presses it into my palm, her fingers barely grazing my skin, but it’s enough.
Enough to remind me how small her hand is compared to mine. How warm she is, even with that chill still rolling off her in waves.
I should be focused on typing in my number.
But all I can think about is the way she’s watching me.
Guarded. Like she’s waiting for this to feel like a mistake.
I send myself a text and hand the phone back, but my fingers hesitate against hers. They drag slightly before I let go.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
But I want to.
I want to touch her, pull her in, press my lips against the spot just beneath her ear and see if she’d shiver for me.
Instead, I step back and focus on the slight twitch of my fingers, willing my body to get its shit together.
She’s sad, and I’m hard.
Fantastic.
But it’s not just that. I don’t just want to fuck her.
I want to hold her. Keep her. Make it so she never looks at me with that kind of sadness again.
It’s a fragile moment, stretched thin like a thread about to snap.
Calla slips her phone back into her bag and takes a small step away. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking and needs to put some space between us.
I watch as Chase pulls her into a hug, his voice soft.
“Merry Christmas, Calla. Thanks again for coming over—and for the gift.”
He releases her, then adds, “I’ll walk you out.”
I cut in.
“I got it.”
Calla pauses, glancing between us, something reluctant in her eyes.
Chase looks at me too, his expression a mix of confusion and quiet amusement.
I follow her out, and the door clicks shut behind us, sealing us into the dim hallway.
She shifts on her feet, turning like she’s about to leave, but the thought of her walking away like this—quiet, distant, unraveling at the edges—doesn’t sit right with me.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out. My fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling her back. She stumbles, just slightly, and my hand slides up her arm to steady her.
I don’t let go.
I pull her in, holding her tight against my chest.
My arms lock around her, and she fits like she belongs there—every curve, every breath, warm and seamless against mine.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear. “You don’t have to tell me, but you don’t have to pretend.”
I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t. Not when I’m this close.
Not when I can feel the slight tremor in every exhale.
But she lets me hold her.
She softens, something in her giving way. Like she’s letting herself lean into me, if only for a moment.
She shifts slightly, just enough that I feel her breath warm against my neck. And in a voice so quiet I almost miss it, she whispers, “Thank you.”
And then it’s gone.
She steps back, and the warmth goes with her.
I watch her walls go up in real time—shoulders straightening, expression smoothing over. She doesn’t even look at me as she turns and walks away.
Her footsteps are soft, but they echo in the quiet she leaves behind.
And I’m stuck. I can’t move.
I just watch her go, fingers still curled like they’re trying to remember the shape of her.
When I open the apartment door and step inside, Chase is waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a knowing look.
“So…” He drags the word out. “What was that about?”
I give him a flat look.
“Nothing.”
His smirk deepens, but he lets it go.
I walk past him without another word, head straight to my room, and slam the door shut behind me.
The room feels smaller, like the walls have inched closer, trying to close in and soften the absence of her.
My eyes land on the plant in the windowsill, its leaves now catching the moonlight streaming in through the glass. I don’t know why, but I have to keep it alive.
It feels like taking care of her.
It feels like taking care of me.
I blow out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Chase!” The word is out before I can overthink it.
There’s a pause. Then his irritated reply from the living room.
“What, Haiyden?”
“Pick a movie,” I say, resigned but certain. “I’ll be out in five.”
My words hang in the air for a few seconds before I hear him mutter, “Finally,” under his breath.
I almost smile. Almost.