Chapter 18
Haiyden
Chase left early yesterday morning. I’m “holding it down” while he’s gone.
I don’t know why, but I thought she might show up yesterday. Embarrassingly enough, I got here early. Just in case. I’m still not sure how I feel about it—disappointed, maybe. Or just… concerned.
I can’t stop thinking about her. About Christmas. There’s something off about it. Something I can’t shake.
I’ve been pacing more. Thinking too much. Listening for a text that never comes.
I’m at the bar earlier than I planned. Again. It’s not because I want to be. There’s something about Chase being gone, about the silence in the apartment when no one else is there.
It gets under my skin. Makes me restless.
The bar is quiet this morning, still waking up.
I let myself lose track of time, moving through the prep without thinking—cleaning bottles, cutting fruit, reorganizing shit that doesn’t need it. Anything to keep my hands busy.
I don’t know why I care so much. We’re not friends. I don’t let myself get close to people like that anymore.
But it’s different with her. I don’t know how. I just know it is.
At lunchtime, I lock the bar and head home.
I throw together something quick—just enough to fill the emptiness—and eat it standing over the sink.
It’s not like I don’t enjoy being alone.
I always have. But today, it feels different.
Like something’s missing. Like I’m waiting for something that isn’t coming.
When I’m done, I grab my jacket, eager to escape the silence. My fingers pause on the sleeve longer than they should, but I shake it off and head back to the bar for the first half of the night shift.
For a few hours, I hang back, keeping an eye on Tanner, our newest hire, as he covers while Chase is out of town.
The kid’s eager and quick enough, but I’ve seen plenty of rookies burn out when things pick up, so I stick close.
He’s trying a little too hard to fit in.
Not a bad thing. Just means he doesn’t fully get what the world demands yet.
He’s still got that boyish face, like he barely stepped out of high school, and those ice-blue eyes—intense, but carrying something painful. Something that doesn’t quite match the rest of him.
His hair’s always falling into his face, too much product trying to hold it back but never quite doing the job. I have to bite back a smirk every time I see it. He’s young. For now, he can get away with it. But sooner or later, life has a way of making you outgrow shit like that.
The bar’s filling up. The usual crowd trickles in, the noise builds.
Tanner’s holding his own—keeping up with orders, checking tables, keeping things running smoothly enough.
I try to give him space, let him do his thing, but something about him keeps me watching.
Last thing I need is him fucking up now, especially with how much busier we’ve been getting every week.
By the time the bar clears out and the last of the regulars are nursing their final drinks, my mood’s shot to hell. Barely two days, and they’re already closing in on me. Calla’s still MIA, and the worry is starting to eat at me.
I don’t like the not knowing. But the complete silence is driving me fucking crazy.
I walk over to Tanner, who’s wiping down the bar for what’s probably the fifth time tonight.
“Hey, Tanner.” I keep my tone even, but the rage that’s building in me is hard to hide.
“Sup, boss?” He looks up, blue eyes bright, but rimmed with exhaustion. He’s still figuring out how to balance charm and competence without overstepping.
“I’m heading out for a bit,” I tell him. “I’ll be back to close. If anything comes up, call me. Got it?”
He nods quickly, still wiping down the counter.
“Yeah, no problem.”
I step in closer, making sure he’s actually listening. “No, I mean it. If anything feels off, if there’s a hint of an issue, you call. Understood?”
His hand stills for half a second before he nods again, slower this time. His brow furrows, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m messing with him.
“Got it. All good here.”
I give him a nod. There’s something about him that always feels like he’s on the edge of saying or doing something dumb. Maybe it’s the forced charm. Maybe it’s the youth. Either way, I’m not leaving the bar in his hands without making sure he knows I’m watching .
“Good. See you in a few hours,” I say, turning on my heel and grabbing my jacket.
As I head for the door, I take one final look back and catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He’s wiping the back counter now, but there’s a tightness in his expression, like he’s still turning the conversation over in his head.
He’s got potential. But right now, I’ve got bigger shit to deal with.
Halfway to my apartment, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it, assuming it has to be Chase. But then I remember he’s on vacation with his family. He barely touches his phone when he’s with them.
I pull it out, glance down —
And freeze mid-step.
Calla: I need help.
I fucking knew something wasn’t right.
My pulse spikes. I shove my phone into my pocket and move faster. By the time I hit the apartment, I’m practically running. I don’t bother with lights or locking up—just grab my keys and head straight for the car. The door slams behind me as I jam the key into the ignition.
This isn’t like her.
I don’t know her well, but I know enough. She keeps things close, handles shit on her own. For her to ask for help like this?
Something’s wrong.
The engine roars to life. I yank my phone out and dial her number.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”
Her voice is trembling, teeth chattering so loudly I can hear it through the line.
A burn ignites in my chest—rage, not at her, but at whatever the hell put her in this situation.
“Where?” I snap, my voice harsher than I mean for it to be.
“Off the main road… about thirty minutes. Near Cedar Hollow,” she says, rushed and shaky.
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” I grit out, hanging up before she can say anything else.
Tires screech as I tear out of the parking lot. Whatever this is, it’s serious. I can feel it.
Is she hurt?
Why the hell is she that far out of town this late?
She sounded freezing. Upset.
Alone.
She must be alone. She wouldn’t have texted me otherwise. And if she did text me, it has to be bad—bad enough to push past whatever’s kept her from the bar these last two days.
My grip tightens on the wheel, tension coiling through my arms. I try to keep my emotions in check, but the harder I try, the worse it gets.
Five minutes out, it boils over. I slam my fists into the steering wheel, the sound crackling through the car.
I can’t stand this—the not knowing, the not getting there fast enough.
I shouldn’t have hung up the phone.
God dammit, Haiyden.
I can’t do this again. She has to be okay.
Easing off the gas, I force myself to focus as I get closer. The sun is long gone, and only my headlights cut through the dark. I scan the road, the shoulders, the trees lining the highway.
Then I see her .
She’s standing next to her car, the hood propped open.
My headlights sweep over her, throwing harsh light across the otherwise empty road.
She’s leaning against the side, arms wrapped around herself, shaking so hard I can see it from here.
Her breath escapes in weak, misty puffs, barely holding shape in the freezing air.
And she’s too close to the woods.
Something twists deep in my chest—a mixture of anger and relief.
I throw the car into park and jump out, my movements quick and messy. She turns at the sound, and the sight of her stops me cold. Her makeup is streaked, dried in smudges, like she ran out of energy to keep crying.
Her lips are fucking blue.
I can see it from here.
How long has she been standing out there?
“What the fuck?” I mutter, barely aware I’ve spoken.
I rip off my coat and stride toward her, wrapping it around her in one swift motion. She barely reacts—just stands there, stiff and frozen, like the cold’s already sunk too deep.
I want her to lean into it. To let it help. To let me help. But she’s so damn cold, it doesn’t even make a difference.
My hands hover near her shoulders, but I hesitate, resisting the urge to shake her—just to get a response, to make sure she’s still in there.
My hands settle on her shoulders, and I guide her gently toward my car. My heart pounds with every step. I can’t handle seeing her like this. Fragile. Quiet. Like she’s barely holding herself together.
I open the passenger door and ease her into the seat, her body stiff, like she doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Like the cold got the last of her—and now there’s nothing left.
Her teeth chatter so violently it makes my chest ache.
When she’s seated and buckled, I shut the door carefully, resisting the urge to slam it just to let some of this fucking tension out.
By the time I make it around the driver’s side, the anger is clawing its way back up. I yank the door open, drop into the seat, and slam it shut anyway. The sound cracks through the car.
She’s shaking uncontrollably now, her whole body racked with tremors. I reach over and crank the heat as high as it’ll go, ignoring the sweat already beading at the back of my neck.
She won’t look at me. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched, hugging her arms to her chest like she’s trying to make herself small.
The silence is deafening. Every second she won’t meet my eyes, the angrier I get.
I’m helpless. Fucking helpless.
And I snap.
“What the fuck, Calla?” It comes out harsher than I meant, almost cruel, but I don’t pull it back. My fists clench against my thighs as I force myself to breathe, to steady the uneven beating in my chest.
She jerks like I hit her, like the sound alone cut far deeper than it should have. Then the worst sound I’ve ever heard claws out of her throat.
A loud, weeping sob.
And it cuts me wide fucking open.
I exhale hard, dragging a hand down my face.