“Just what did you do to me,” I murmur, eyes locked on hers, “when you blessed me on my knees in church?”
Chapter sixteen
Seraphina
Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol
The blankets are heavy and warm, cocooning me like a promise I never thought I’d be allowed to have. They smell faintly of soap and rain andhim. My knees are tucked to my chest, arms wound tight around them, but I can feel Trey’s presence beside me—steady, deliberate. The mattress dips with his weight, his body a quiet, anchor against the storm inside my head.
He’s half sitting, half sprawled against the headboard, phone in hand, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips. The glow from the screen paints soft gold over the ink on his forearms. His eyes catch mine—green, intense—and I shiver. Not from cold, but from the way he looks at me. Like I matter in every hidden, unworthy piece of myself.
“Was something wrong with your blessing?” I whisper, my voice barely louder than the hum of the heater.
He leans forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees.
“Hmm. That’s to be debated.” His smirk softens, eyes flicking over my face. “Starting to think it might’ve been something else entirely.”
I bite my lip, heartbeat tripping over itself. The weight of the last twenty-four hours presses heavy on my chest—fear, exhaustion, the ghosts of everything I’ve run from. But Trey pats the space beside him, a small, wordless invitation. I inch closer, the blanket dragging with me, soft warmth wrapping around my legs.
He’s scrolling through his phone with easy focus, the light catching on his rings.
“Pick whatever you want,” he says, thumb stopping on a pizza menu. “Pizza, wedges, cola—go wild. Don’t hold back.”
It’s such a small thing, food. But it feels monumental. Like choice is a language I’ve forgotten how to speak. My throat tightens. Tears sting before I can stop them.
Trey notices. Of course he does. His hand brushes mine, light and careful, like he’s touching something fragile that could break beneath too much care. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Cry if you need to. I’ve got you.”
The words undo me. I press my face into the pillow on my lap, trembling. “I’m not used to being allowed to choose,” I whisper. “Not ever. Always rules. Always…” I can’t say the rest. Chains.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you. You just exist. That’s enough.”
I curl tighter, letting his words sink into me like warmth spreading through frozen veins. My chest aches—not from fear,but from relief. From the sheer, impossible enormity of being allowed to feel safe.
“Do you…ever get scared?” I ask, raising my head after a long silence. My voice sounds small, uncertain.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Of what?”
“Of…life, I guess.” I swallow hard, stare at the window where rain streaks blur the city lights. “Of being alone. Of losing control. Of… yourself.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches between us, thick and tender. Then, in a low voice, rough around the edges, he says, “Every damn day.”
I glance up. His jaw’s set, but his eyes—his eyes are raw.
“I get scared of what’s inside me,” he continues quietly. “The anger. The noise. The parts that don’t know peace. You think fear makes you weak, but it doesn’t, Seraphina. It just means you’ve got something worth losing.”
His words hit like a pulse I can feel in my bones.
“You don’t seem scared,” I whisper. “You seem…unshakable.”
He huffs out a laugh, soft, humorless. “That’s the trick. You act fearless long enough, people stop asking what it costs you to keep standing.” A thumb traces the faint scar along his knuckle. “But I’m terrified most of the time. Of losing people. Of turning into someone I swore I’d never be. Of hurting what I care about without meaning to.”
Something tugs in my chest. “You don’t seem like that,” I say quietly. “You’re not like them.”
“That’s just it, though, isn’t it?” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You never really know people.” Then, softer,almost to himself, “Fear doesn’t always come from the past, Sera. Sometimes it’s born in the mirror.”
The truth of that lands heavy between us. I draw in a shaky breath.
“I spent so long being told fear was sin,” I whisper. “That it meant I lacked faith. But I think…fear means I still care. That there’s something left in me worth saving.”
