Chapter 19
Calla
An unshakable chill has settled in, sunk deep into my bones. My skin feels too thin, scraped raw—like I’ve been stripped down to something fragile. A dull, familiar ache pulses through my muscles, the first sign of an oncoming cold.
Outside, muted sunlight pushes through the bleak winter sky, slipping past my curtains and sharpening the ache in my skull.
I don’t know the time.
Only that it’s too early.
But my heart won’t let me rest. It hammers—too fast, too loud—like it’s trying to warn me of something before I’m even awake enough to understand what.
A sound. Faint—so faint I almost dismiss it as my groggy mind playing tricks on me.
I shift under the covers, squeeze my eyes shut, will myself back to sleep.
Then I hear it again. A knock.
My pulse trips over itself. I freeze .
It was real. Louder this time.
Another knock—hard enough to rattle the door frame.
A cold wave of dread crashes through me. Is it Tyler? Has he finally had enough?
I barely breathe.
My fingers tremble as I peel back the blankets and slide out of bed, careful to move without making a sound.
Stay calm. Just breathe.
Someone has to hear this. A neighbor. Anyone.
They wouldn’t just ignore it… would they?
My hands fumble across the nightstand, shoving aside books, lip gloss tubes, scrunchies—until my fingers close around the small canister of pepper spray buried beneath it all.
I’ve had it for years—more talisman than tool. Something I never thought I’d actually need.
Another knock. Louder.
I jump, heart slamming into my ribs. My fingers tighten around the canister.
The pounding doesn’t stop.
Whoever’s at the door isn’t leaving.
I inch out of my bedroom, moving through the dim living room on feather-light steps. My pulse roars in my ears, but I force myself to focus. One foot in front of the other. Just get to the door.
I lift onto my toes, leaning in—
A violent knock rattles through the door.
I jolt back, a gasp tearing out before I can stop it. My stomach twists. They heard me.
Swallowing hard, I rise again, fingers stiff as I press my eye to the peephole.
Haiyden.
The fear in my chest loosens, barely. He looks… worried.
My hands shake as they fumble with the lock, the metal cool beneath my fingertips. The second the deadbolt clicks free, I swing the door open.
His breathing is uneven, brows furrowed—softening his usually sharp features with something almost pained. Shadows drag beneath his eyes, deep and dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. His jaw is clenched, but his gaze sweeps over me.
Once.
Twice.
My skin prickles under his gaze, and that’s when I realize I’m still wearing his jacket.
The memories hit hard: his hands on my shoulders, wrapping me in the heavy fabric. His voice, low and steady, pulling me back from the edge of panic.
That scent—citrus and sage—still clinging like an imprint.
“Haiyden?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Do you know what time it is?”
His voice is harsh, but not unkind—more exhausted than anything.
I shake my head. “I haven’t checked my phone. I… I was still asleep, and then I heard the knocking.”
His eyes drop to my hand, where the pepper spray now dangles limply. One brow lifts. Heat floods my face as I fumble to tuck it behind my back.
“I’ve been calling you,” he says, voice lower now. “All morning.”
He pauses, then pulls something from his pocket. My keys.
“I have your car.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn hotter. I reach for the keys, my fingers brushing his.
The contact is brief, but it sends a spark through me anyway.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “And… sorry.”
Haiyden exhales and drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back before cupping the nape of his neck. He shifts his weight, uneasy, like there’s something he wants to say.
“No, I—” His nostrils flare slightly. “I’m sorry. For waking you up. I don’t know… I just—”
He cuts himself off, mouth pressing into a hard line. His gaze drops, and he exhales through his nose.
When he speaks again, it’s quieter. “I just came to drop it off. I have to head back to the bar.”
Before I can say anything, he turns, already walking away.
“Haiyden!” I call after him, my voice still thick with sleep.
He doesn’t stop.
“Let me give you a ride,” I say, stepping into the hallway. “It’s, like, a thirty-minute walk.”
“Rest,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m good.”
But I don’t let it go. I quicken my pace to catch up to him.
“Haiyden, wait,” I say again, quieter this time.
He finally stops.
I hold out his jacket. “Thank you. For everything.”
For a moment, he just looks at it. Then, slowly, he takes it from my hands, his fingers brushing the fabric—almost hesitantly.
“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze flicks away for a second before coming back, something unreadable passing through his expression .
“Just… be careful, okay?” He runs a hand over his face. “It’s not always worth what it costs.”
A chill slides down my spine.
I blink, lips parting, but the words dissolve before they form.
He’s already turned, disappearing down the hall without looking back.
Once he’s out of sight, I step back inside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. The air feels still. Undisturbed. Like the moment he was here doesn’t quite belong to reality.
I head straight for the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove.
The motions steady me—picking out a mug, dropping in a tea bag, drizzling honey in slow, absent swirls.
When the water finally boils, I pour it, watching the steam curl upward and evaporate like a transient thought.
I sink into the couch, cocooned in blankets, my hands curled around the mug’s fading warmth. It’s comforting, but it’s no comparison to his jacket. To the lingering traces of him that clung to it.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed that warmth until it was gone.
I draw in a slow breath. Then another.
But it doesn’t help.
I drop my head into my hands, dragging my fingers down my face like that could somehow erase the flood of memories rushing in.
The sick feeling in my stomach as I stood on the side of the road. My car breaking down. Tyler’s house.
Stupid.
Stupid for going there at all. For thinking I could handle it alone. For needing Haiyden, of all people, to get me out of it .
It’s just another reminder that I’m not as capable as I want to be.
I think about the way he yelled at me, frustration thick in his voice—but there was something else beneath it. Something raw.
His anger wasn’t what I expected. It didn’t feel like rejection. If anything, it felt like the opposite.
Haiyden’s usually so closed off, so impossible to read.
But last night… last night was different.
And the kiss.
A familiar, unwelcome warmth blooms low in my body.
It was everything and nothing like I’d imagined. Urgent. Intense. Like he’d been holding something back too long and finally let it slip.
Now, in the quiet, I can’t stop replaying it. The heat of his mouth, the weight of him against me. The way he tore through me like I wasn’t something to be careful with.
And now?
I don’t know what to make of any of it—of him.
The hours slip by, the last streaks of sunlight stretching weak across the floor before fading completely as twilight bleeds into night. The TV murmurs in the background, a low buzz that does nothing to quiet the thoughts circling my head.
Something about him just seemed… off.
He brought my car back fast. Too fast.
If he’d been calling all morning, that means he must’ve gone back for it late last night. Or early this morning.
But why didn’t he just wait for me to answer?
I exhale deeply, rubbing at my temple. Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe it was nothing.
But the way he looked at me this morning, brows drawn, shoulders tense, replays on a loop in my head.
Like he’d been bracing for something worse. Like he was… relieved.
It was probably a simple fix. Or—
What if there was nothing wrong with my car at all?
I shift against the couch, embarrassment sliding through me in a steady stream. Maybe I should’ve figured it out on my own. Maybe it was something obvious—something I would’ve caught if I hadn’t panicked.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk into the bedroom and grab my phone from the nightstand, hesitating for just a second before opening my messages.
Me: Thanks again.
His response comes almost immediately.
Haiyden: No problem.
I tap my fingers against the side of my phone before typing again.
Me: What was wrong with it?
The reply doesn’t come right away. A minute stretches. Then another.
I shift on my feet, already reaching for humor to soften the silence.
Me: Something stupid?
Me: Sparing me the embarrassment of telling me I could’ve fixed it myself?
Haiyden: Battery was dead.
Me: ?
Haiyden: Not sure. Seemed fine once I got it running.
I frown, my brows pulling together.
Me: Weird .
Haiyden: Yeah.
I chew the inside of my cheek. It’s an old car—maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I left a light on. Maybe the cold drained the battery faster than usual.
But something about it doesn’t sit right. If it were that simple, why does it still feel off?
Before the thought can fully take root, though, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Haiyden: You know you can still come by in the mornings.