Chapter 17 #2
“Sam, I’m fine,” Logan mutters. “Besides, my Angel thinks the physio just wants an excuse to grope me.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Mac teases. “My sexy hero.”
“Uh, not to brag,” I say, “but I saved him.”
“Please,” Mac scoffs. “He took a bullet for you. All you did was break your parrot.”
“You weren’t there,” I protest, half joking, half wounded.
“Trey. Mac.” Sam cuts in. “Focus. What’s going on? Talk.”
“Oh, hey Dean. Clay.” I wave to the brothers slumped by the door. They look bored, Clay limping, Dean glaring like I’ve personally offended gravity. Mac nearly bowls them over trying to hug both.
They look so damn…close. I can’t help but think—they kiss on the mouth, don’t they?
“Why am I picturing them saying ‘I love you, bro,’ and then—boom—lip action?” I mutter.
“Earth to Trey,” Sam sighs, whacking my shoulder.
“Ouch! I was just wondering if the Wincester’s make out sometimes.”
Everyone stares.
Dean blinks. “Nope. Too tired for this.”
“That wasn’t a no…”
Mac looks at me like she’s genuinely considering the logistics.
Nah—she’s too far gone on Logan. The way she looks at him? Game over. Hallmark bros never stood a chance.
“Trey.” Mac folds her arms. “When you’re done with your mental fanfic, talk.”
“Okay, okay. But let me tell the whole story—no interruptions.”
Logan shifts, hand rubbing his shoulder. Mac notices, grabs painkillers from her bag.
“Want an aspirin? Or the ones I take for cramps?”
He sighs. “If it won’t make me loopy, sure.”
“Babe, you should rest.
“If I do, they’ll draw dicks on me.
“It’s true,” Sam nods.
“Big veiny ones,” I add.
“Like your burst balloon piercing?” Chace mutters.
“It’s not a burst balloon. It’s art.”
“Looks like a sock with holes in it.”
“Guys!” Mac snaps. “Focus. Trey—go.”
I take a breath. “Right. So…Seraphina’s upstairs. Asleep.”
My voice sounds raw. “It’s bad.”
That gets their attention.
“She ran away. From her church. Her father’s the priest.”
Dean exhales. “Jesus.”
“Yup, that’s the guy. Anyway—don’t interrupt, let me cook.
She was being abused. Physically. Emotionally.
I don’t know about sexually…but considering the culty vibes…
not ruling it out. Then there’s this other guy—one of Daddy Dearest’s disciples.
Old. Creepy. He was supposed to marry her off to him. ”
Mac’s face drains of color. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Night before the wedding, she bolted. No money. No clothes. Nothing. So…” I swallow. “We have a plan.”
Sam groans. “You’re gonna say ‘start a cult.’”
“Better.” I grin. “We’re getting married.”
“Genius,” Chace deadpans, face in his hand.
“Right!”
“No, not right. You lunatic. Your solution to stop a forced marriage is another marriage?”
“She needs protection,” I say simply. “If she’s married, her father can’t touch her. He won’t have a claim. I can get her out. Keep her safe.”
“Or,” Sam says, “we could go to, I don’t know, the police? The FBI? Any group with an acronym that helps people?”
“Uh…” I blink.
They all stare.
“Look,” I say, “I know this sounds insane. It is insane. But for once, it feels right. You’ll understand when you meet her.”
Dean frowns. “Did you say Wincesters?”
“Yes, you absurdly sexy bro-con.”
He just stares. They huddle. Low mutters. A few creative insults.
Finally, they break.
Mac looks at me, eyes soft. “If this is what you want, we’ve got you. No questions.”
Chace nods. “Just make sure it’s not a trauma impulse.”
Logan’s silent, watching me. When our eyes meet, there’s no judgment—just understanding. He nods once.
That’s all I need.
I grin, pulling them all in for a hug. “I’m getting married, bitches! Before any of you!”
Mac laughs. “We kept you out of Vegas for a reason.”
“Probably wise,” I admit. “Indubitably.
“So…”
Chace sighs. “We need logistics. You’ve got no clue, do you?”
“Zero.”
“Here in Portland?”
“For now. But I’m getting her to L.A. after.”
Sam still looks dubious, but doesn’t push.
Mac leans back. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Silence settles.
“I’m gonna check if she’s awake,” I mumble, backing away like I remembered I left the oven on.
No one stops me.
At the top of the stairs, I glance back—my people. Not blood, but still my family.
Okay, maybe not Dean. Because the way he’s looking at me? I’m rethinking things.
“Why does he keep looking at me like that?” Dean mutters.
“I’ve seen that look,” Chace says flatly.
Nope. Not today.
I turn and head for the room. My bride-to-be.
The world’s a mess. I’m a bigger one.
But I’ve made my choice. I’m not taking it back.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Mac: If she’s getting married in the morning, she’s gonna need a dress. Lace or satin? Size? Height?
I’ll have it ready when she wakes up.
A quiet laugh slips out of me—rough, disbelieving.
Even now, Mac’s thinking about details. About making the impossible possible.
I lean against the door, thumbs tapping.
Trey: Fuck. I don’t know. Get both. She’s tiny—size 0. 5’2. Wild red hair. Curly. Beautiful.
The words look weird on the screen. Too honest. Too soft.
But they’re true. Every damn one.
Mac: Got it. We’ll handle everything. And if you change your mind—we’ll keep receipts, just in case.
My throat tightens.
Trey: Receipts are for pussies. Let’s fucking go. Also—you’re Best Man. The guys are bridesmaids. Dresses or kilts?