The room feels too small. The air too thick. My stomach twists and my throat burns as another wave hits. I grip the edge of the toilet, trembling, tears spilling before I even realize I’m crying. My chest heaves, my heart hammering like it’s trying to escape.
Then he’s there. Trey.
His warmth hits before his words do—his hand sliding gently up my back, slow and steady, grounding me. “Hey, hey… it’s okay, baby. You’re safe. You’re okay.”
His voice is rough, steady, protective. I want to believe him, but fear is rocking me with its tumultuous grip.
The words barely register before I break completely, turning into him. My body moves on instinct, collapsing into his lap, arms clinging around his neck. The sobs come fast, ugly, shaking through every part of me, and he just—holds me. No hesitation, no questions. Just warmth and strength.
He rocks me gently on the cold bathroom floor, whispering things I can’t catch, his breath against my hair, his chest solid and steady under my palms.
“I’ve got you, Dove,” he murmurs, voice a soft rasp against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
Mac’s voice drifts from the doorway, quiet and kind. “If you need me for anything, come and get me, okay?”
I barely manage a nod as she leaves us, the sound of the closing door echoing softly.
Trey shifts, wrapping the dressing gown tighter around my shoulders, his thumb tracing the back of my hand. His eyes search mine, full of something raw and unguarded.
“Tell me what you need from me,” he says quietly. “I’ll be whatever you need, Sera. Just say it.”
I shake my head, tears fresh again.
“Just—don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” His voice is a vow, low and fierce.
He pulls me tighter, one arm around my back, the other cradling my head against his chest. His heartbeat is wild at first—then it slows, steady and strong. I focus on that sound. That rhythm.
Trey stands first, his movements slow, deliberate—like he’s afraid I’ll break if he moves too fast. His hand slides down my arm, fingers threading through mine as he helps me to my feet. My knees still feel weak, my body trembling, but he steadies me, one hand on my waist, the other still holding mine as he leads us back to our bedroom and to our en-suite.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, voice tight with worry.
I shake my head, reaching for my toothbrush. “I just need…a minute.” The bristles scrape softly as I brush, trying to wash away the taste of weakness. His reflection stays behind mine in the mirror—bare chest, tense jaw, eyes fixed on me like he’s counting every breath I take.
When I finish, I turn, swallowing hard.
“Can we just…go to bed?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
The lights dim as he leads me back to bed, the sheets cool against my skin when he pulls me close. His arms wrap around me like armor, his breath warm against my hair. I listen to his heartbeat, steady, strong, and little by little, the tremors fade. My breathing slows, syncing with his.
After a long silence, I whisper,
“Do you know who it was? Why they were here?”
He exhales, his chest rising beneath my cheek.
“No, but I do know that our new murder pooches cornered them before anyone could get close.” A small, crooked grin touches his lips. “They were fucking magnificent.”
I can’t stay in bed. I can’t rest. Not yet.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my arms, the cold still clinging to my skin. Trey slides out of bed without a word, crossing the room to the closet. He grabs one of his shirts—soft, worn, smelling like him—and pulls it gently over my head, his fingers brushing my collarbone as he straightens the hem.
“Better,” he says softly. I nod, my voice small.
“Can I draw? It…it helps me calm down.”
