Chapter 16
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 and him.
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.”
His eyes soften. “Fear isn’t the enemy,” he murmurs. “It’s the reminder you’ve still got something to fight for.”
The line wedges itself deep in my chest, glowing quietly like a spark in a dark room.
“I used to pray for the fear to stop,” I admit, voice trembling. “Now I just pray I survive it.”
He reaches for me then, fingers brushing mine where they clutch the blanket.
“You already are,” he says. “Every breath you take is defiance. Every choice you make—every time you say no more—that’s you surviving.”
The words hit harder than I expect. “You make it sound like being broken is something to be proud of.”
He smiles faintly, a little crooked. “Maybe it is. Maybe being broken just means you lived through something that tried to end you—and failed.”
I blink fast, trying to clear the sting from my eyes. “You really believe that?”
He nods slowly, gaze steady. “Yeah. Because I’m looking at the proof.”
The quiet that follows isn’t empty anymore. It’s soft. Safe. The kind of silence that holds you instead of swallowing you whole.
After a moment, his voice breaks it gently. “You ever think fear can be beautiful?”
I tilt my head. “Beautiful?”
He smirks, that boyish smile that makes the air shift.
“Yeah. Because when you’re scared, it means you still have hope. If you didn’t, there’d be nothing left to lose.”
My chest tightens. “You make it sound like being afraid is…allowed.”
He leans closer, his voice dropping low, rough in the quiet. “Because it is, Dove. Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s loving something enough to face it anyway.”
He passes me his phone, I scroll slowly, heart pounding, looking at all the different pizza images. There’s one with cheese and something green, and one with little circles of red meat. I tap the picture before I lose my nerve. “That one,” I murmur.
“Good choice.” He grins, hitting a few buttons. “Pepperoni. Classic.”
I pull the blanket higher around me, curling into it. He puts his phone down and glances at the TV. “You ever picked a movie before?”
I shake my head.
“Well,” he says, picking up the remote, “tonight’s the night.”
He scrolls through rows of bright images and moving words, stopping at random ones to describe them in that deep, easy voice of his.
“This one’s about space. This one’s a murder mystery. This one’s a dog that breaks your heart in the last five minutes—so, no.”
I laugh before I mean to. It bursts out, light and strange, and for a second I forget I’m supposed to be quiet. I forget I’m supposed to be small. He glances at me, and his smile softens.
“Go on,” he says, nodding to the screen. “Pick one.”
My hand trembles when I take the remote. It feels heavy, foreign. I click until I find something gentle—people dancing under lights, music soft and bright.
“That one,” I whisper.
“Romantic,” he teases. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I curl beneath the blanket, the glow from the TV painting the room in soft colors.
I should be happy, maybe even proud. But instead, tears burn behind my eyes.
They come slow, uninvited. Not from sadness—something deeper.
The simple kindness of it all—the pizza, the movie, the space to choose—it breaks me in a way nothing else ever has.
A sound escapes me—half-sob, half-breath—and I shake my head. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” I whisper.
He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Because no one ever let you just be,” he says. “But that’s over now. You hear me? I’m gonna take care of you, Sera. You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”
The promise in his voice is too much. It makes my throat ache, my eyes sting harder. I nod, trying to breathe through the storm building inside me.
Then a noise outside cracks the silence—a sharp bang, metal against metal. I jolt, heart leaping to my throat. Before I can stop myself, I reach for him. My fingers clutch his arm, hard, trembling.
He reacts instantly, wrapping an arm around me, tucking me in against his chest.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, hand smoothing over my back. “It’s okay. Just a car door. Nothing’s gonna hurt you here.”
But my heart won’t slow down. It hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I bury my face in his shirt, the scent of his cologne and warmth grounding me. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles against my spine until my breaths even out.
The phone on the nightstand buzzes. Trey reaches for it with one hand, still holding me close. The screen lights his face, a soft blue glow across sharp cheekbones.
“Mac,” he mutters, thumb swiping over the message. His jaw tenses, then eases. “They’re on their way. Couple hours out.”
Trey’s gaze doesn’t move from me. The room hums with silence, a fragile thread stretched between us. He looks like he’s about to say something, then stops, running a hand through his hair before exhaling softly.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs. “Even if you wake up tomorrow and change your mind—if you decide you don’t want me to marry you—.”
My throat tightens.
“I’ll be whatever you need, Sera,” he continues, voice roughened by something I can’t name. “A wall between you and them. A place you can breathe. A space to just be.”
He shifts closer, his hand barely brushing the blanket that covers me.
“I’ll be the silence when your world gets too loud. The hands that never hurt. The kind of safe you don’t have to earn.”
The words hit like a breaking wave. My lip trembles, my breath stutters.
“Trey…”
He shakes his head gently. “You don’t owe me anything. Not a vow. Not forever. Just—” His voice cracks. “Just give yourself a chance to exist. That’s all I want for you.”
I can’t stop the tears this time. They burn hot and relentless down my cheeks, falling onto the blanket. I turn toward him, searching his face for the catch, the joke, the warning. There isn’t one. Just truth.