Chapter 23 #2
She leans in closer, voice quiet.
“I care about you, too.”
The words barely exist in the space between us, but they hit me like a goddamn train.
She plops back down on the barstool, movements loose and unsteady. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine—light, tentative—before resting there. Waiting.
I flinch.
Pure instinct. Pure defense. But the look on her face stops me cold.
She’s drunk, yeah. A little lost in it. But there’s something else. Something raw and open in the way she let those words slip.
Like she didn’t mean to say it, but she won’t take it back either.
I can’t let her close up again.
I reach out, covering her hand with mine, leaning in slightly.
“What I think, Calla…”
She hums, eyes half-lidded.
“… is that you’re drunk, and it’s time for another glass of water and some sleep,” I finish, a slow grin tugging at my lips.
She laughs again. It’s like music. Golden, warm. Curling around my ribs.
I grab her water glass, refill it, and slide it toward her.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she announces, sliding off the barstool with a wobble. She grips the stool for balance, swaying slightly before straightening. “Can you watch my stuff?”
I glance around the now-empty bar and let out a short, dry laugh.
“There’s no one else here.”
She rolls her eyes, an amused smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
“Yes,” I say, still laughing. “I will watch your stuff.”
I watch her disappear down the hallway, my gaze lingering a second longer than it should before I turn back to the bar.
Grabbing a rag and a bottle of cleaner, I spray down the counter, wiping away the night’s mess. I rinse our wine glasses and leave her water where it is—just in case she needs it when she gets back.
Movement catches my eye.
Tanner, hovering near the edge of the bar. His steps slower than usual.
“I’m gonna take off,” he says, voice subdued, not quite meeting my eyes. “Everything on my end is good to go. Tables are clean.”
I nod. “Sounds good. Thanks, Tanner. I’ll lock up in a bit.”
He nods back and grabs his jacket, heading for the door.
I exhale.
I can’t let him leave like this.
“Tanner.”
He stops, shifts slightly, but doesn’t turn all the way around. “Sup, Haiyden?”
I keep my tone even. “Sorry about earlier.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it didn’t sit with him the same way it’s sitting with me. “No worries. It was my bad.”
And with that, he’s gone. The door swings shut behind him, the night swallowing him.
Still, something about it doesn’t sit right. Tanner’s not himself. Maybe it’s leftover strain from earlier. Maybe it’s something else.
Either way, the guilt doesn’t let up.
But before it can fully take hold, the sound of staggered footsteps pulls my focus.
I turn just in time to see Calla coming down the hallway, her face flushed deeper than I’ve seen it all night. She’s breathing hard, like every step is taking twice the effort it should.
I shouldn’t have let her drink this much .
Or at the very least, I shouldn’t have been the reason for it.
Her hand catches the wall for support, and I’m moving before I even think—at her side in an instant. I wrap a hand around her arm, holding her up.
“Whoa, I got you,” I murmur, guiding her toward the table where she always sits. Her legs shake, but I lower her gently into the chair, then head back to the bar. I grab her water and set it in front of her.
“Here, if you need it.”
But she’s already leaning back, eyes fluttering shut.
Her breathing slows—deep, a little irregular, heavy with exhaustion.
I crouch beside her, my voice softer now. “Give me five minutes to lock up, then we’ll leave, okay?”
She doesn’t answer, but her hand shifts slightly toward the glass, her fingers falling limp against the armrest.
I move quickly. Lock the front and back doors. Close out the register. Shut down everything in the back office.
When I return, she’s asleep.
She’s curled into the chair now, legs tucked beneath her, head resting against the back.
It has to be the most uncomfortable position I’ve ever seen someone sleep in, but somehow, she looks peaceful. Like for once, she isn’t bracing for something.
“Calla,” I say gently, kneeling beside her, shaking her shoulder just enough to stir her from sleep. “Let’s go.”
Her eyes fly open, unfocused as she pats around the chair, blindly searching for her phone.
“Let me call a car,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep and wine.
I shake my head, firm. “Absolutely not. I’m not putting you in a car and hoping you get home safe.”
“Haiyden, no,” she slurs, her tone petulant—like she already knows she’s losing this fight.
“Calla, please,” I say, leaning in, brushing my fingers over her arm. “Please don’t make me worry.”
She exhales, and I watch the last bit of restraint slip away.
“I’ll drive you home first thing in the morning,” I promise. “But tonight, you’re staying over.”
I stand and hold out my hand. “Come on.”
For a second, I think she’s going to argue again.
Instead, she slips her hand into mine.
She leans into me as I guide her to the door, her small fingers tangled with mine, and with every step, something inside me eases.
I tell myself it’s just about getting her home. Getting her to bed. Knowing she’s safe.
But as soon as I open the door and step out into the cold with her pressed against me, I know that’s a lie.
Because this—her—is starting to feel like something I can’t walk away from.