“Chace mentioned him,” he says, jaw tightening. “Said he’s some kind of cult leader. You think he’s gonna give you up quietly? Or is he the kind of man who comes lookin’ when someone walks away?”
The question steals my breath. The ocean roars below us, loud enough to fill the silence I can’t. Trey steps closer, the wind pushing his hair back as his eyes search mine. “You don’t have to protect me, Sera. If there’s something I should know, you tell me.”
My throat feels tight.
“He won’t stop,” I whisper. “He doesn’t let anyone leave. Especially not me. I wasn’t just a follower, Trey. I was supposed to—” I shake my head, unable to finish.
“He-he thinks he owns me, has a right to me…my father…my…”
He reaches for me then, his hand warm against the back of my neck,
“Hey. Look at me.”
I do.
“Whatever he thinks he owns,” Trey says, voice low. “He doesn’t anymore. You’re not his to find. You’re mine to protect now. You get that?”
Tears prick my eyes, but I nod.
He leans down, forehead brushing mine. “Good girl,” he whispers, thumb tracing my jaw. “You’re untouchable, Dove, to all but me.”
I hug my arms around myself, the wind whipping my curls across my face. “Where these fuckers get off treating you like that…it makes my blood boil. Your father, my dad…parents, am I right?”
We stand in silence for a few moments, watching the waves crash against the rocks. The constant rhythm of the tide, the spray of salt on my skin, and the low roar of the ocean feel oddly soothing. It eases the tight knot in my chest, letting me breathe a little easier.
“You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want to, Dove,” he says gently, voice low, almost tentative.
“I—I want to. It’s just…where to start.”
He nods, sighing, eyes distant, lost in memories.
“My dad…really used to lay into me, you know? To toughen me up, keep me in line. Belts, bottles, fists… cigarettes… a cigar once. That one stung.” He pauses, tilting his head back, eyes closed. “My mom…she just…let it happen. I’d get so mad. So, fucking…”
He doesn’t finish. His words hang heavy in the salty air, and my chest tightens. The waves keep rolling, relentless, steady, like a heartbeat I can lean on.
I shift closer, just enough to brush my shoulder against his. The warmth of him there grounds me. I want to reach out, to let him know he’s not alone—but words feel fragile, inadequate. So, I stay silent, letting the sound of the ocean and the steady press of his presence say what I can’t.
“My father...” I start to say.
Trey shifts closer, letting me lean into him, his hands steady on my shoulders.
“Go on,” he murmurs, voice soft but insistent. He slips his cap back on, backward, then tilts his head in my direction.
I take a shaky breath. “He…he was strict. Punished me for everything. Flogged me…sometimes weekly, sometimes more than once. He…he starved me too. Said it was to purify me, to make me lean, obedient, ready for God. One time…he shaved my head. Said my hair was distracting—a flag to the devil, he called it. To the congregation.”
My hands tremble, fingers twisting together. My chest feels tight, a mix of panic and old, buried shame clawing at me.
Trey stiffens beside me, jaw tightening. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I feel the heat of him, the safety in his touch.
“Jesus, Sera,” he mutters, voice low, heavy with something I can’t name—anger, heartbreak, disbelief.
I close my eyes for a moment, even here, with him, some of the fear still lingers—but less. Just a little.
“When I misbehaved…or even thought something he didn’t like… he’d whip me. With a belt, a flogger, whatever he could reach. Said it was to teach discipline.” Trey swallows hard, hand tightening just a fraction at my waist.
“Fucker…” Trey fumes.
I take a deep breath, voice trembling. “I had to obey everything. I couldn’t question him. I was always hungry, always aching, always afraid. But I had to look holy. To be holy. If I failed…I paid for it.” He tilts my chin up with a finger, forcing me to meet his eyes. I press my face into his chest, listening to the steady beat of him, the ocean roaring beneath us.
