Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Trey
Run – OneRepublic
The phone won’t stop buzzing.
I stare at it where it rattles against the table, light flashing in the corner of my vision.
I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost.
Then I see the name.
Dean.
My stomach drops.
I fumble for the phone, thumb swiping before my brain catches up. “Dean?”
His voice is steady, like it always is. Calm in a way that makes you believe the ground won’t break under you. “Trey? Yeah…you’re gonna wanna come down here.”
There’s no fucking way she ran. Not after all this time, right?
“We’ve got a girl here. She says her name’s Seraphina. She looks half-frozen, scared out of her mind. She’s asking for you.”
Everything inside me stops.
For a split second I think I misheard him. My chest hollows, ears ringing. Then the words land hard enough to steal my breath.
Seraphina.
The chair screeches against the floor as I shoot up, heart hammering. “Is she—fuck—Dean, is she okay?” My voice shakes, betrays me. I don’t care.
Dean’s tone doesn’t change. “She’s safe. Fragile, but safe. Clay’s with her now. Trey… she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”
“Don’t let anyone in,” I rasp. “No one. I told her she’d be safe with you. Keep her there until I get there.”
There’s a pause. “Do you want to talk to her?”
“Yes.” The word rips out of me.
Muffled voices. Shuffling. My chest cracks open with each second that passes.
“T-Trey?” Her voice is small, broken. Like wind through a cracked window.
I press the phone so hard to my ear it hurts. “Sera.” My throat closes around the word.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”
A shaky inhale. I hear her swallow. I can almost feel the way she curls into herself. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.” It’s like my soul’s been wrung out and shoved back in my chest, the rush of her voice ripping straight through me.
God.
My knees give out and I drop onto the edge of the couch, head bowed, gripping the phone in a death grip. “You did the right thing. You hear me? You’re safe now. With Dean and Clay—you can trust them.”
Silence, then the faintest whisper. “Are you… are you coming?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah. I’m already on my way. Nothing’s gonna stop me, you got that? Just… hold on a little longer, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
A breath catches in her throat.
The line shifts, Dean’s voice back in. “We’ll keep her warm. She’s exhausted. You get here as fast as you can.”
“Don’t let her out of your sight,” I snap, harsher than I mean. My hand shakes. “I’ll be there.”
I hang up before he can answer. My body’s already moving.
Logan looks up first. He and Chace are going through lyrics to a new song. Sam’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and Mac’s curled up with a mug of coffee.
Every head rises when they see my face.
Logan sets his pen down slowly. “What happened?”
“It’s her.” My voice scrapes raw. “Seraphina. She’s in Portland. At Rosewood. She—she found her way there.”
The silence cuts deep.
Mac is the first to move. Her mug clinks down, eyes wide, soft. She knows what Rosewood means—what it meant to her.
Chace mutters, “Holy shit,” dragging a hand through his hair. He tries for a grin, but it dies halfway. “Guess she figured you were worth the trip, man.”
Sam shakes his head, blunt. “I dunno, seems a little sus.”
“I don’t care.” My words slice through the air, sharp, wild. “I have to go.”
Logan’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering with quiet warning. “Don’t go in blind, Trey.”
“I’m not.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, chest burning. “I just need to make sure she’s okay.”
I’m grateful for our get-the-hell-out-now pack, always ready in case life decides to explode again. Clothes, documents, essentials. It’s not been there long, maybe a week, but nights like this make me grateful for the habit.
Mac steps forward, crossing the room. She presses her hand over mine. “She must really trust you.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Be careful.”
I swallow hard and nod. Words are useless right now.
I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back and a small gym bag that feels lighter than it should.
Everything else—noise—people—is a blur. The terminal hums around me, all fluorescent light and recycled air, announcements cutting through the buzz in clipped voices I barely register.
My head’s not right. Not since her call.
Chace handled the ticket, got me on the first flight, he could find.
I didn’t even ask where it connects. I just move when they tell me to, half-awake, half-lost. I thought about driving south down the I-5, but I don’t trust myself behind a wheel right now.
The jet crossed my mind too, but getting it prepped would take too long, and I’m not in the mood to have my manager breathing down my neck.
Too many thoughts.
Too much static.
By the time I’m strapped into the narrow seat, Vancouver glows gold beneath the wing, tiny lights in a city that suddenly feels too far behind me. My hands won’t stop shaking. I dig my nails into my palms, trying to stay in the present, but every second stretches thin.
Everything takes so fucking long.
Don’t you think you’re being a bit rash?
Her voice lingers, soft, exhausted, the kind of fragile that cuts right through you. She didn’t know where else to go.
Christ, I know that feeling.
That bone deep panic when the world caves in and all you can do is run, even if you don’t know where you’ll land. I press my head back against the seat, eyes closed, the low hum of the engines vibrating through my bones. Someone coughs three rows up. The air smells stale.
I start to draw parallels between us I shouldn’t—old scars, old escapes, but this isn’t about me. Not now.
The plane lifts, and so does my pulse. There’s no turning back now. She called—and I’m already gone.