Chapter 26
Calla
When I step out of the shower, my clothes are gone—right from where Haiyden peeled them off me twenty minutes ago.
My thighs press together at the memory of him on his knees, his breath hot against my skin.
There was something raw about it. Almost reverent.
And if the lingering ache between my legs isn’t proof enough, then the way my fingers moved between them under the spray of his shower is.
I can’t deny it anymore. I want him.
In place of my missing clothes, a neatly folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt sit on the sink, along with a brand-new toothbrush and bottle of toothpaste. The gesture is practical, thoughtful. But it unsettles me.
This isn’t the Haiyden I know. Standing here, wrapped in steam and silence, it feels like I’ve stepped into a stranger’s bathroom.
I brush my teeth and pull on the clothes, rolling the waistband and cuffs of the sweatpants so they don’t swallow me whole.
They’re soft, worn-in, and they smell like him—faintly musky, edged with something sweet.
The brands are a little outdated, like they’ve been shoved in the back of a drawer for years.
Too small for him now, probably, but too familiar to throw away.
The thought is almost tender, though it’s hard to imagine Haiyden holding on to anything long enough to love it.
I open the door quietly and step into the hall, crossing my arms over my chest in a weak attempt to hide the fact that I’m no longer wearing a bra.
Haiyden must’ve taken it with the rest of my clothes.
A wave of self-consciousness crashes through me, but it’s quickly drowned out by the memory of him undressing me before my shower. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
Heat creeps up my neck as the morning comes rushing back. I was vulnerable.
Twice. I let it happen twice. And beyond that—who throws up in front of someone, then lets them undress them afterward?
I’m dangerously close to locking myself in the bathroom for the rest of the day when a sharp scent cuts through my thoughts. Smoke. The faint bite of something burning. My stomach twists—not just from the smell, but from the lingering nausea still swimming through me.
I inhale carefully, pulling myself together before stepping into the kitchen.
But the moment I see him, my steps falter.
Haiyden—who, to my detriment, decided to put a shirt on—stands at the stove, broad shoulders hunched like he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing.
The fabric pulls tight across his back as he pokes at the pan, hesitant.
Judging by the overcooked eggs he’s trying to flip, this isn’t something he does often.
The smell of coffee swirls around me. I scan the counter, spotting two steaming mugs and a plate of toast burnt beyond saving .
I clear my throat and step forward, making my presence known. Haiyden turns, expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he smiles. A real, genuine smile.
“You look better.”
I don’t move. It’s the last thing I expected him to say. I stand there, frozen, trying to reconcile this version of him with the one I thought I knew. He must notice my hesitation, because he glances at me, then at the table.
“Sit,” he says. “I think it’s edible.”
I hesitate, suddenly shy. He really doesn’t do this often. “You cooked?”
“I burned,” he corrects with a chuckle—just before a loud, “Shit!” slips out as he turns back to the stove.
A small laugh escapes me, but it fades as I turn toward the table and take in the details. A glass of water. Silverware. A napkin folded neatly in half. A place set just for me. The only thing missing is the plate, which I assume is the one next to the charred toast on the counter.
I glance at Haiyden, watching as he fumbles at the stove. This version of him just doesn’t match the one I met at the bar. That man was feral, all sharp edges. The one in front of me now—setting the table, burning the toast—feels like someone entirely different.
“Thank you, Haiyden.”
He shrugs. “You needed it.”
He plates the eggs and toast, setting the dish in front of me, but instead of sitting, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. The movement pulls the fabric tight across his biceps, and I catch myself staring—long enough that I almost miss it when he speaks .
“Eat.”
The command sends a spark through me. I have to break the tension before it builds into something I can’t ignore.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”
He chuckles—soft, almost sweet. “Only when I have to be.”
I take a few bites of toast, easing the food down, giving my stomach time to settle before moving on to the eggs. When I glance up, Haiyden’s still standing there, watching me.
“You’re not going to eat?”
Another shrug. “I will, eventually. Making sure you do feels more important right now.”
Heat creeps up my neck—and sinks low in my belly. I try to push it away, but I can’t. It’s been so long since someone cared for me like this.
A few more bites in, Haiyden finally moves. He rummages through the cabinets, pulls out a bowl and a box of cereal, dumps some in, adds a splash of milk, then drops into the chair across from me—lazily spooning it into his mouth like this is the most normal thing in the world.
My jaw nearly drops. “You cooked for me, but you’re eating cereal?”
He shrugs again, like the contradiction isn’t even worth acknowledging. “I’m not big on breakfast.”
I stammer, caught off guard. “I could’ve had cereal…” Then, softer. “But thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone’s cooked for me.”
“What, no visits home for free laundry and home-cooked meals?” Haiyden asks, his voice light as I raise a forkful of eggs to my mouth .
I freeze. The question catches me off guard. It sounded casual, but it cuts deeper than I expect. The egg slips off my fork with a soft plop, and something passes across my face—shame, maybe. Regret. My gaze drops to my plate, and I try to keep my tone even.
“No, not really.”
I focus on my toast, tearing small pieces from it, crumbling them onto my plate.
He doesn’t respond right away, but when I glance up, his head is tilted—waiting for more.
“Why not?”
My fingers tighten around the crust, pressing into it. I wasn’t ready for this conversation today. Maybe not ever.
“Just grew apart,” I say, exhaling hard as I fight the tears threatening to rise. “Which sounds weird to say about your parents, but… they’re busy with their own lives, and I just—” I pause, trying to gather myself. “I just didn’t fit in anymore.”
Haiyden leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me with a blank expression. “Doesn’t sound like the whole story.”
Irritation bubbles in my chest. Why does he feel entitled to push when he’s the one who never opens up?
“Why does it matter?”
His voice is calm, but there’s curiosity layered beneath it. “Doesn’t.”
That easy dismissal stings more than it should. But then he goes quiet, like he’s done asking, and I can finally breathe again. The tightness in my muscles starts to ease when I realize he’s not trying to pry.
The only sound between us now is the faint scrape of his spoon against the bowl.
I take a slow breath before speaking. “They’re good people. Raised me well. I think they just… didn’t know what to do with me after a while.”
“Do with you?” His brows lift slightly.
I force a small shrug, like I haven’t spent years trying to untangle it. “I had a lot going on. I think I just… wore them out.” A dry laugh escapes me. “Loving me is hungry work. It was easier on everyone if I just left.”
When I finally look up, our eyes meet, and for a moment, something flashes through his expression.
Understanding.
“Sometimes leaving is the only thing that makes sense,” he says, his voice quieter now.
I shift in my chair, letting the weight of his words settle in. He gets it. For some reason, I believe him.
A silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. I start picking at my toast again, needing something to do with my hands. Haiyden watches me for a beat, then looks away, lazily scooping another bite of cereal.
“Well, their loss, I guess.” His voice is lighter now. “You’re not so bad to have around.”
I blink, surprised. Coming from him, that may as well be a love letter.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “High praise, coming from you.”
“Don’t get used to it.” A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth.
I laugh softly, the heaviness finally breaking.
The next question’s out before I can talk myself out of it. “What about you? Do you ever visit home?”
He tries to stay casual, but I can hear the careful edge in his voice. “Not really.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Not really, or not at all?”
He hesitates, like he’s weighing how much to give me. Then, to my surprise, he doesn’t hold back.
“We had a falling out.”
I search his face for something—anger, sadness, regret—but he keeps it locked down. I could push for more. I almost do.
“So… not at all,” he adds, quieter this time.
Something about the way he says it makes my skin prickle. It’s too vague. Too clean. Like the edges of the truth have been sanded down.
But I let it go. For now.
“Guess we’ve got that in common,” I say.
His lips twitch into the faintest smile. “To no family reunions,” he says, raising his spoon in a mock toast.
I snort, lifting my crumpled toast and tapping it against his spoon. “To that.”
After a few more minutes, Haiyden finishes his cereal, setting the empty bowl aside with an absent clink. I’m still pushing food around on my plate, more out of habit than hunger, when I catch him watching me.
“What?”
“Are you feeling better?”
I nod, swallowing the last bite of toast. “Yeah. A little. Food helped. Thank you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, pushing back from the table and grabbing my plate. “I’ll let you fend for yourself next time. ”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Next time?”
“I’m just saying,” he says, rinsing off my plate and sliding it into the dishwasher. He glances over his shoulder, a smirk playing at his mouth. “Don’t expect five-star treatment every time you overdo it at the bar.”
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “As I recall, you said something about some asshole over-serving me.” I arch a brow and add a slow, deliberate wink.
He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he closes the dishwasher. His movements are methodical—like cleaning up after someone isn’t unfamiliar to him. It’s another piece of the puzzle, one I tuck away for later.
When he’s finished cleaning, he wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, then turns toward the living room, glancing over his shoulder.
“Come on. Couch.”
I stay seated, fingers brushing the hem of my borrowed shirt. I didn’t expect this—didn’t expect that taking care of someone, despite all his gruffness, could come so naturally to him.
It softens something in me.
I push back from the table, standing slowly. “You’re being bossy again.”
He doesn’t look back. Just shrugs and drops onto the couch, long legs stretched out as he slouches into the cushions. “And you’re being slow. Get over here.”
I blink, thrown by his bluntness—but the grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
I wanted him before I knew this side of him.
Now? I don’t think I’ll ever stop.