26. Goodbye For Now #2
The response came almost immediately, despite the early hour.
Tara had always been a light sleeper, and she kept her phone on loud in case I needed her.
She'd been doing that since I left Atlanta, since before I left, really.
Since the first time I'd called her crying at 2 a.m. and she'd stayed on the line for three hours, talking about nothing, just so I wouldn't feel alone.
From Tara: YES. When? What happened? Are you okay?
From Tara: Wait. Is this a "I need a vacation" visit or a "something is very wrong" visit? Because I'm getting 3am energy from this text and it's 5:47am.
From Tara: Also why are you awake at 5:47am? You hate mornings. You once told me sunrise was a personal attack.
I almost smiled despite everything. That was Tara , three texts in rapid succession, oscillating between genuine concern and the kind of teasing that meant she loved me.
To Tara: I'll explain when I get there. Nothing with Marcus. Just need to get away for a bit.
From Tara: "Need to get away" she says, at 5am, after weeks of being cagey about those three brothers she definitely isn't sleeping with.
From Tara: I'm not stupid, Serena. Something happened. But fine. I'll wait. Get your ass to Nashville. My couch is lumpy, but my wine selection is excellent and my interrogation skills are unmatched.
To Tara: I'll drive up today. Should be there later tonight.
From Tara: I'll have takeout waiting. And wine. And that listening face you hate.
From Tara: The one where I don't say anything and just let you talk until you accidentally tell me the truth.
To Tara: I love you.
From Tara: Love you too, baby girl. Now pack. I have questions, and you have an eight-hour drive to think up answers. Pro tip: the truth is usually easier to remember than the lie.
The relief that flooded through me was almost physical. A plan. An escape route. A way to put miles between myself and the brothers and the dreams and all of it, at least temporarily.
I couldn't make decisions here. Couldn't trust my own judgment while I was living in their orbit, sleeping above their garage, waking up every morning to the sight of the magnolia tree that had become such a central part of my new life. Everything was too close, too tangled, too complicated.
Nashville would give me space and time. Time to think without Callum's intense gaze tracking my every move.
Without Jasper's warmth bleeding through the walls and making me want to climb back into bed with him.
Time to breathe without Eli's methodical questions, his careful touch making me want things I shouldn't want.
A couple of weeks. That was all I needed. Enough time to get my head on straight and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with any of this.
I started packing before I could change my mind.
The suitcase came out from under the bed, the same one I'd used to flee Atlanta just a few short months ago.
It was worn at the corners now, a little battered from being thrown into car trunks and dragged up narrow staircases.
I'd never fully unpacked it, I realized.
Some part of me had always been ready to run again.
Clothes went in first. Not everything, just enough for two weeks. I told myself that mattered, that distinction. I wasn't leaving. I was taking a break.
The difference felt thin as tissue paper.
My hand paused on a familiar piece of fabric, shoved in the back of a drawer.
Jasper's sweatshirt. The gray one with the fraying cuffs that I'd stolen after that first night together.
It still smelled like him: pine, wood-smoke and something warm, something that made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to examine.
I stood there for too long, holding it. Remembering the weight of his arm across my waist. The way he'd murmured my name in his sleep, like it was something precious. The amber of his eyes when he'd looked at me in the morning light, soft and unguarded in a way I suspected he rarely let himself be.
Those same eyes had glowed gold last night. That same body had twisted into something with fur and fangs and claws that dripped blood.
I shoved the sweatshirt into the suitcase. I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know what any of it meant.
My laptop went in next, along with the charger and the external hard drive that held all my client files. I could work remotely. Had been working remotely for months. Lila wouldn't even notice I was gone, as long as I kept hitting my deadlines.
I pulled up her contact and typed out a quick text.
To Lila: Hey, going to work remotely for a couple of weeks. Visiting a friend in Nashville. I'll have my laptop and can video call for any meetings. That okay?
Lila's response was typically Lila.
From Lila: Sure thing, take a break from the swamp. I'll see you when you get back!
I wasn't running. Was I? This was a strategic retreat. A temporary relocation for the purposes of gaining perspective.
God, I was full of shit.
I kept packing anyway.
Toiletries. Phone charger. The book I'd been meaning to finish for three weeks. I pulled Tara's charm from my pocket, ran my thumb over its rough surface, then slipped it back into its usual home against my thigh.
The texture was comforting. Real. Solid. A piece of my best friend, carried across states and through nightmares.
The apartment felt different in the morning light. Smaller, somehow. The porch where I'd stood barefoot in blood. The kitchen floor where I'd sat with my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking slightly while the brothers talked through the door.
I loved this apartment. Had loved it from the first moment I saw it, with its view of the magnolia tree, its cozy corners, and its sense of being tucked away from the world. It had felt safe here. Peaceful.
Now it felt like a crime scene I couldn't stop revisiting.
I needed to tell them I was leaving. The thought made my stomach clench, but it was the right thing to do. After everything they'd shown me, everything they'd trusted me with, I owed them that much.
But not in person. I couldn't face them yet, couldn't look into Jasper's worried amber eyes or weather the intensity of Callum's silent regard. I couldn't let Eli's careful logic convince me to stay before I'd had time to think.
A text. That would have to be enough for now.
I stared at my phone for a long moment, trying to figure out who to message. All three of them seemed like overkill. One felt like favoritism. I set up a group text.
To Voss brothers group text: I need some time. Going to visit a friend for a couple of weeks. I'll be working remotely. I'm not making any permanent decisions. I just need to think.
My finger hovered over the send button.
Three dots would appear after I sent this. One of them would be typing. Probably Jasper, with his careful words and his gentle handling. Or Eli, with his logical reassurances and his patient explanations.
Not Callum. Callum would come to my door and stand there in silence until I opened it, until I let him see whatever he needed to see in my face. Callum wouldn't text. Callum would show up.
I needed to be gone before that happened.
I hit send.
The suitcase was already by the door. My keys were in my hand. I grabbed my jacket, my laptop bag, and the small box of things I kept meaning to unpack but had never gotten around to.
The response came as I was reaching for the doorknob.
From Jasper: Take whatever time you need. We're not going anywhere.
From Eli: We’ll hold your mail. Drive safe.
Callum didn't text. Of course he didn't.
From Jasper: We'll be here when you get back.
Not if. When.
They weren't trying to stop me. Weren't demanding explanations, making promises, or begging me to stay. They were just... letting me go. But they fully expected I would be back.
If you want to leave, you leave, Callum had said last night, his voice rough with something that might have been pain. We're not going to trap you here. We're not going to make you stay.
Very unlike Marcus. Marcus had made it clear, in a thousand small ways, that leaving wasn't an option. That I belonged to him. That trying to run would only make things worse.
The Voss brothers were telling me I could go, and somehow, impossibly, that made part of me want to stay.
But I couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't let myself feel the weight of what I was walking away from, even temporarily. I had eight hours of driving ahead of me, eight hours of highway, silence, and the endless loop of my own thoughts.
Plenty of time to fall apart.
Plenty of time to put myself back together again.
I opened the door — and froze.
Rowena was on the front porch of the main house.
She sat in one of the old rocking chairs, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in her hands, her silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders.
The sunrise painted her in shades of gold and rose, and she looked utterly peaceful.
Utterly human. Like a grandmother enjoying the quiet of early morning, watching the world wake up.
She hadn't seen me yet. Or maybe she had and was giving me the chance to retreat.
I could go back inside. Wait her out. Surely she'd go in eventually, and then I could slip away without…
Without what? Without thanking the woman who had welcomed me into her home, fed me Sunday dinners, and treated me like family from the first moment I'd arrived?
Rowena had shown me nothing but kindness. She'd given me pie and advice and the kind of maternal warmth I'd stopped believing existed outside of Hallmark movies. She'd never asked intrusive questions, never pushed, never made me feel like I owed her anything for the roof over my head.
And I was going to sneak away like a thief in the night? Let her find out I'd just left?
The guilt was a physical thing, heavy in my chest.
I could lie. Could walk over with my suitcase and say I was visiting a friend, nothing serious, back in two weeks. That was technically true. It just wasn't the whole truth.