“I’m sorry you went through that…want me to get him tied up and shaved all over?” I shove him playfully. Somehow, he can make me smile even when I’m thinking of some of my lowest points. It’s not fair—I shouldn’t be allowed to feel so…happy.
“I knew when I met you that you were good,” I whisper, my face pressed to his chest. “I can’t explain it, but I knew I could trust you.”
His hand finds the back of my neck.
“You can,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Anyone that tries to hurt you will have to go through me first, Dove. Anyone that touches you, fucks with me.” he vows, voice possessive. I tilt my head back to look at him, breath catching.
“I never thought I’d feel…safe like this.”
“You are safe,” he murmurs, forehead pressing against mine. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you decide otherwise.” The wind carries his words out across the ocean, but I feel them settle true, deep in my chest.
Chapter twenty-nine
Trey
I Believe in a Thing Called Love – The Darkness
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull into the drive, sunlight flashing across the hood like a camera flash. Behind us, a black SUV with security hums low and steady, their tinted windows catching every move we make. I’m not even sure when they fell in behind us. Maybe they’ve been stalking the whole damn way and only now decided to make themselves known.
Sneaky sons of bitches.
Do they get packed lunches?
Pretty sure half of them run on a diet of gunpowder, nicotine and whiskey.
I like them.
Sera’s quiet beside me, fingers twisting in her lap, hair pulled into one of those messy knots that makes her look accidentally perfect. Breakfast, laughter, and an incredibly tense trauma-off.
Go fish, but for childhood damage.
Does my dad get bonus points for being an alcoholic, or does hers win for being sober and just a piece of shit hiding behind religion.
For a second, I think maybe we’re in the clear. That maybe we get to stay in this bubble a little longer. But life’s a bitch with perfect timing. Because standing at the front gates—pressed slacks, mirrored sunglasses, and a look of disapproval—isPhil.
Our manager.
The man, the myth, the migraine.
He’s leaning against a silver Porsche SUV, deep in conversation with one of the security guys, and the second he spots us, his head snaps up like a hawk sighting prey.
“Ah, fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “Here we fucking go.”
Sera tenses, eyes wide. “Who’s that?”
“Phil. Burnt Ashes’ manager.” I exhale through my teeth, already bracing for impact. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t tell him about the wedding.”
Her head whips toward me. “Trey!”
“Hey, hey, don’t look at me like that,” I say, grinning even though my stomach’s doing flips. “He’s got this thing where he freaks out when one of us does something impulsive—like not turning up to a venue or event, or I dunno… getting married to a nun.”
“Trey—”
“Relax, baby.” Ikill the engine and turn toward her, lowering my voice. “We keep it close to the truth, yeah? We met in Portland, at the church, in summer—during a time we were avoiding our tour after losing Braden. Mac’s brother. Then Mac got into an accident and lost eight years of memories, and they came back slow until she was fully recovered. Then Logan, her now-boyfriend, the guy who supported her through all of it, was sho—”
“This lie is too complicated, Trey. I won’t remember all of this…” Sera cuts in.
“Nice. Mac joke. She’ll like that one.”
