Chapter 18 #2
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, but I can’t stop. “But what the hell were you doing standing outside like that? How long were you even out there? It’s twenty degrees out, Calla! Twenty degrees! ”
My voice keeps rising, spilling over even though I know it’s not helping.
Her breath breaks against her lips like she’s choking on it.
“I—I tried,” she stammers, voice thin. “It wouldn’t start.
I opened the hood, I tried to look, but I don’t know what anything is.
” She’s unraveling, hands flying up, grasping at the air like she’s trying to reach for something solid.
“And then someone told me once you’re not supposed to sit in the car if it won’t start.
If the lights are off, someone might not see you… You could get hit.”
She takes a breath, but it barely helps. The second she stops talking, her teeth start chattering again—loud and violent.
“Fuck!” I slam my palm against the wheel.
Calla jumps. I shake my head, jaw locking so tight it aches.
I reach over and twist the heat knob again, even though I know it’s already maxed out.
It’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
“Just—just warm up, okay?” My voice is softer now, but the rage still coils tight around every word.
I shift toward her, hands moving automatically as I adjust the vents, angling them so the heat hits her full-on.
“Make sure it’s getting you.”
She doesn’t answer. Just nods, barely. Still trembling so hard I feel it under my skin.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, more to myself than to her, as I shove the door open and step out into the cold.
The air burns against my bare arms, but I barely feel it. My boots crunch over frozen grass as I stalk toward her car, every muscle in my body wound so tight I feel like I could snap.
I slam the hood shut. Hard. The clank of metal echoes into the empty night.
My breath fogs in front of me as I grab her keys from the driver’s seat, shove them into my pocket, and head back to my car.
I climb in without a word. The silence between us is thick. Tense.
Calla doesn’t look at me. She’s curled into herself, turned slightly away, her posture tight and closed off.
But I see it—the way her fingers twist in her lap, the way her breathing still hasn’t steadied.
And I can’t deny the mess brewing inside me.
Worry. Confusion. That fucking anger again, begging for somewhere to land.
I pull a U-turn, watching Calla’s head turn as we leave her car behind, swallowed by the dark.
A few minutes into the drive, though, I can’t hold it in anymore.
My grip on the wheel tightens, and before I can overthink it, I jerk the car to the side of the road. The tires skid slightly as I slam it into park.
The engine hums, steady and low, but the air inside the car is anything but calm.
I turn to her.
The second her eyes meet mine, something inside me cracks.
“What were you doing, Calla?”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “I was trying to fix it.”
“Why do you do that?” I ask, quieter now. “Why do you feel like you have to fix everything yourself?”
She shrinks back into her seat, fingers picking at the seams of her sleeves.
“I just needed help getting home.”
Her voice is quieter now. Almost apologetic.
But I need more.
I lean in a little closer.
“Why were you all the way out here? Alone?” The frustration claws out of my throat. “For how long, Calla? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
She hesitates, eyes darting away, refusing to meet mine.
Everything in her is wound so damn tight. Her whole body is stiff, like she’s holding herself together by the sheer force of will.
I see it—the way she’s fighting the urge to pull away, to retreat into herself, to shut me out completely. And the fact that she’s trying so hard to deflect only makes it worse.
I know I’m pushing her.
But I can’t stop.
My voice drops low. Stern.
“I swear, I’ll leave this car parked here all night if you don’t tell me why I had to drive thirty minutes out of town to come get you.”
I lift my hand and cup her face, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as I tilt her toward me.
“What. Were. You. Doing?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but the words catch in her throat.
She swallows hard, blinking too fast—like she’s trying to push them back down.
But they rip free.
“My best friend is dead.”
She spits it out, voice ragged, like forcing the words into the air physically hurts her. It probably does.
A long exhale leaves my chest. My mind’s already moving a mile a minute.
“That was her boyfriend’s house,” she continues.
A dry laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. Unbelievable. A dozen worst-case scenarios flash through my head, each one worse than the last.
But before I can say a word, she’s already shaking her head.
“No.” Her voice is bolder now, more certain. “They didn’t have a good relationship.” The words come out fast, like she’s afraid if she doesn’t get them out, they’ll disappear. “I was… worried, I guess. Not looking into him. But I stopped by recently, and he was just… weird.”
I watch her, waiting, knowing there’s more she hasn’t said yet. She’s holding back—I can feel it. But I wait, letting her give me whatever she’s ready to hand over.
To my surprise, she keeps going.
“I wanted to come back when he wasn’t there…” Her voice sinks so low I barely catch it. She tips her head back against the seat, eyes lifting to the ceiling like she’s trying to find the right words—or maybe the strength to say them. “I think he might have something to do with it.”
That does it.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Calla?” The words tear out of me, and the rawness in my own voice surprises me.
My chest is heaving now, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
“You think he had something to do with this, so your solution is to show up alone? In the dark? You really thought that wasn’t going to get you hurt? ”
The anger’s pouring out of me, but underneath it, something else is unraveling.
Something closer to fear.
Her tears spill over, unrestrained, choked sobs breaking through the words she’s barely managing to hold together.
“I know, okay? I get it,” she cries, her voice shaking, breaths fast and uneven. “I just… I can’t do this without Jules.”
The admission fractures something in her—like she’s been holding back an avalanche, and this is the moment it crashes down.
“We did everything together, and now she’s just gone. I can’t leave my apartment. I don’t do anything. I can’t go anywhere. I’m lost.”
Then she shatters completely.
Her face twists with anguish as a wail tears from her throat—a sound so full of pain it knocks the air from my lungs.
She throws her arms up, helpless.
“We had all these plans… and she’s just gone!”
Her grief fills the car like a living thing, pressing in on all sides.
I don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to fix this. She’s breaking apart right in front of me, and all I can do is watch.
I want to tell her that I understand—that I know what it’s like to drown in the emptiness someone left behind—but what would that change?
It won’t bring Jules back. It won’t stop the ache.
Nothing will.
She pulls in a breath, trying to steady herself, but it barely helps.
“I just need to figure it out,” she whispers, the fire in her voice flickering low. “I just need to fix it.”
Her whole body slumps, completely still, exhaustion bleeding through every inch of her. The dark smudges beneath her eyes. The way her breaths drag like they physically hurt.
My body moves before my brain can catch up, before reason has the chance to stop me.
My hand finds her face, desperate, pulling her toward me. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away.
My other hand braces the shoulder of the passenger’s seat, anchoring me as I close the space between us.
I watch her.
I see it—the shock, the hesitation.
All tangled with something darker.
My mouth crashes against hers.
Her soft gasp is swallowed between us, and I take it—take all of it. Everything she’s been holding back.
She stiffens for half a second before something gives. Her lips part beneath mine, melting into the kiss.
I don’t stop. I can’t .
She tastes like desperation. Like heartbreak.
Like something I should’ve never let myself want but suddenly can’t live without.
Her hands stay frozen in her lap at first, hesitant, unsure, but she doesn’t pull away. And that’s all the permission I need.
My grip tightens, anchoring her to me, mouth moving against hers in a need that borders on feral. I can’t get close enough. Can’t get deep enough.
She tries to break away for air, but I don’t let her.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, taking everything. Claiming her like I have any fucking right to.
She meets me there. Her tongue brushes against mine, growing bolder, like she’s just as lost in this as I am.
But it’s not enough.
I need more. I need her closer. I need her everywhere.
She tastes like something I could lose myself in forever, and I’m getting greedy.
My left hand drifts down her cheek, thumb grazing over her chin before sliding lower. My palm finds the front of her throat, fingers curling gently against the flutter of her pulse.
It’s deliberate. A mirror of what she did to me that night at the bar.
But this time, it’s different. Softer. Laced with possession. I want to claim her. I want her to feel what she does to me.
A soft, breathy moan spills from her lips, and it nearly undoes me.
My cock throbs against my zipper, the pressure painful as I shift forward, desperate to feel her against me.
The sound—fuck, the sound—pulls something primal out of me.
My mind floods with unfiltered images: dragging her over the console, pinning her beneath me, her thighs locked around my waist, heels digging into my back like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
Her breath against my neck.
Her fingers in my hair.
Her nails scraping down my back as I push deeper—take her apart, wreck her, make her mine.
The need crashes through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I could take her right here. Right now.
But that thought alone is what stops me.
Because I want it too badly.
Because I can feel myself slipping.
My control is dangling by a fucking thread .
I tear myself away from her with a shuddering breath, my forehead dropping against hers as I fight it. My chest heaves, out of sync with hers, every part of me screaming to take more—to keep going.
She blinks up at me, wide-eyed and dazed, lips parted and kiss-swollen. It takes everything I have not to dive back in, to taste her again. Because seeing her like this, flushed and trembling, could bring me to my knees.
For a second, it looks like she wants to say something. But nothing comes.
I force myself to lean back, inch by inch, even though it feels like I’m tearing myself apart. My body fights it, but I ease back into my seat, hands fumbling for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks into place with a sound that feels too final.
My hand moves to the gear shift, but I hesitate—turning to her one last time.
She’s staring at me, gaze searing and searching.
Looking for something.
Answers. Explanations.
A reason why I snapped. Why I kissed her like I couldn’t breathe without it.
I give her nothing.
Tearing my eyes away, I stare at the stretch of road ahead, forcing a breath. When I speak, my voice is controlled. Detached.
“I’ll figure out the car situation tomorrow,” I say, gripping the gear shift like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. “I’ll fix it.”
She nods, the faint rustle of fabric following as her hair brushes against the inside of my coat, still wrapped around her like armor.
Without another word, I press my foot to the gas and pull back into the road.
The streetlights flicker past in broken intervals, their glow stretching across the pavement in shifting streaks—but I barely notice.
I steal a glance at her as she leans her head against the window, her profile lit by the soft blur of passing light.
That’s all I can do. Drive forward.
Pretend I can leave the moment behind, even though I know there’s no fucking way I will.