Chapter 39
Calla
Shit.
I guess I should’ve seen this coming. My work life has been practically non-existent. Between Jules, Haiyden, and everything in between—I haven’t had the time, the energy, the motivation.
A pit forms in my stomach, tightening as the reality of my neglect settles in.
My phone feels heavier in my hand, like another burden I can’t shake.
I only have thirty minutes to get to the office—no time to sit here, no time to overthink or come up with some excuse that won’t make me sound as pathetic as I feel.
I haven’t even answered her yet. I don’t know what to say, how to soften the blow, how to ease the embarrassment of having to face this.
How long has it even been since I was actually present in something that wasn’t my own mess?
I try to count the days, but my mind blanks, refusing to acknowledge the answer. Time has blurred, stretched, collapsed in on itself. The past few days haven’t felt real—like I’ve been drifting outside of time, a visitor in my own life.
Moments pass, but nothing sticks.
I force myself out of bed, but standing makes my head swim. Dizziness washes over me, and I have to plant my feet just to stay grounded.
My movements are slow and detached as I grab a crumpled sweater from the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor. I pull it over my head, sniffing as it goes on. Passable. Good enough.
Turning to my desk chair, I search for a pair of worn-but-not-ready-to-wash jeans, but my breath catches.
Haiyden’s sweatshirts. His t-shirts.
The ones I’ve collected over the past week are still untouched, right where I left them. My jeans are nowhere in sight.
I reach out automatically, hand hovering over the pile, but something stops me.
Maybe it’s the fear that if I touch them, they’ll disappear—just like he did.
The thought hits me hard, low, like a punch to the ribs.
I have a track record, don’t I? People leaving. Slipping through my fingers. Maybe it’s me. Too complicated. Too messy. Too much.
It’s exhausting, carrying that weight. And I wonder—maybe in another world, I don’t feel like this all the time. Maybe in another world, I don’t have to carry all of this grief.
I shake the thought away and force myself to focus. Getting to the office is the priority.
Grabbing a protein bar from the kitchen, I head to the car and start driving. Only once I’m on the road do I realize how little effort I put into the basics before leaving. I haven’t been to the office in two months, and now I’m showing up in dirty clothes and unbrushed teeth.
I pop a piece of gum into my mouth, hoping it’s enough to mask the neglect. That’s what everything has been lately—a bandage. A temporary fix for a bigger problem I keep pushing aside.
The drive is short but drags endlessly. The silence in the car presses down on me, heavier the closer I get. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, my body moving through the motions while my mind floats miles away.
When I pull into the parking lot, I check my phone again, knowing I shouldn’t. Knowing it’ll only hurt.
But some stupid, desperate part of me still hopes. Still waits.
Nothing.
I make my way across the parking lot, and before I can even reach the office door, movement catches my eye from inside.
Hannah shoots up from her desk, crossing the room with an intensity that cuts straight through the fog that I’ve been trapped in for days.
“Jesus, where have you been?”
Her voice is harsh but hushed as she grabs my arm, pulling me aside before I can even open my mouth.
I lost track of time , I want to say. Everything hurts.
But those words are too easy. A shield. A bandage slapped over something deeper, something messier.
She looks at me—really studies me—her eyes narrowing. “You need to pull it together before you go in there. I heard they’re thinking about dropping you.”
The words land like a blow to the chest, pressing down until it’s hard to breathe. My throat tightens. My vision blurs for a second. The backs of my eyes prickle, shame curling hot in my stomach.
What a mess I’ve made.
Hannah must see something in my face, because her expression softens—just a little. She leans in, lowering her voice. “Is it Jules?”
My body tenses, pulse spiking.
Fight or flight kicks in, but this time, I want flight.
My feet stay planted, but every part of me itches to run. To escape.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag, gripping it like it might tether me in place. I shrug—a noncommittal answer. The safest response I can manage.
A second passes. And before I can stop myself, the words slip out.
“I’ve been seeing someone, I guess.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she stays quiet, letting me get there on my own.
“It’s… new,” I say, though the word feels too flimsy, too small for the significance of it. “But the other day, he told me something about his sister. Something awful. And then he just… left.”
The second I say it, regret slams into me. Panic. Shame.
What the hell am I doing?
This isn’t my story to tell. It’s Haiyden’s life. Haiyden’s past. And I’m spilling pieces of it to a stranger because I’m so desperate for someone to care.
But Hannah doesn’t look judgmental. She doesn’t look like she’s waiting to pick my words apart. There’s just quiet understanding in her eyes.
“Maybe he just needs time? To figure it out?” she offers gently.
I shake my head, slow and unsure. “I don’t know… Haiyden’s just no t acting like himself.”
Something shifts in Hannah’s expression. A flicker of realization.
“Wait,” she says carefully. “Are you talking about Haiyden and Willow Greystone? The twins?”
I nod, but a cold shiver crawls up my spine.
Something about Hannah making the connection so easily doesn’t sit right with me.
Like I’ve stepped too close to something dangerous.
Like I’m feeling too much.
Her voice drops, barely above a whisper. “I heard about that. My sister was at the party that night—she saw Willow right before. It’s so sad.”
I freeze.
My thoughts collide in a chaotic, dizzying mess.
The walls I thought were strong enough to keep the worst of it out begin to crack. Then crumble.
Images slam into me, one after another—Haiyden’s face when he shut off the burner that night. The way his shoulders tensed as he watched the flame die. The fear in his eyes at the lake, standing at the water’s edge like something unseen was bound to pull him under.
Each memory is another stone hurled at my breaking walls, and I’m powerless to stop it. Powerless to do anything but watch.
I shift uncomfortably as the knot in my stomach twists tighter. I need to say something. Acknowledge it.
But before I can unravel, before I can find the words, I see her.
Madelyn.
She strides toward us, fire in her eyes, her expression controlled but razor-sharp. When she speaks, there’s a cool politeness to her tone, but I don’t miss the ice beneath it.
“Thanks for coming in. Can I steal you for a minute?”
I nod, falling into step behind her.
Madelyn’s office is small. Quiet. The kind of quiet that hums in your ears, making the space feel smaller.
She starts talking, but the words barely register. Everything feels distant, muffled—like I’m underwater, kicking to stay afloat.
“I’m going to be honest. We haven’t received anything from you in weeks. If you want to continue your contract, we need to get you back on track.”
I curl my fingers around the edge of the chair, gripping tight—trying to ground myself in something solid.
I know. I know.
The words sit on my tongue, but I hold them back.
Let them rot there.
“I understand.” My voice is soft, strained around the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll get caught up.”
“Good.” Madelyn exhales, looking me over. “I don’t want to be the bad guy, Calla. Honestly. But I need to know you’re still serious about this.”
“I am.”
The words leave me too quickly, an automatic response, but she seems satisfied enough.
She stands, signaling the conversation is over. “See you soon.”
I step out of her office, forcing a weak smile as I catch Hannah’s gaze.
“I’ll be back.”
I can feel her watching me as I go—waiting, maybe hoping I’ll say more, but I don’t look back.
The door thuds shut behind me.
And I’m left alone in the emptiness again.