Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Trey
All of Me – John Legend
The kitchen’s wrapped in that soft kind of silence that only exists before the world wakes up. Pale morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling glass, cutting across the marble counters in streaks of gold and gray. Outside, the ocean glints on the horizon, still half-asleep beneath the haze.
I sit at the island, mug cradled in my hands, letting the heat bleed into my palms. Steam curls upward, drifting into the sunlight like ghosts of dreams I can’t quite hold onto. The faint hum of the fridge and the distant crash of waves are the only sounds.
It’s peaceful. But it’s a peace I don’t trust yet.
The last few weeks have been quiet, yeah—but I can’t drop my guard.
It feels like the calm before the storm.
I don’t have any details on the fuckers who busted in.
No crimes beyond trespassing, so they’re already ghosts in the wind.
No weapons were found, apparently. Still, it sets my teeth on edge.
“Mornin’,” I say, my voice rough with sleep as I lean against the counter, nursing my coffee. Steam curls up between us, but it’s her I’m burning on. My eyes drag slowly, shamelessly, over the curve of her hips in those black yoga pants, the soft rise of her chest beneath the sports bra.
Dear lord, thank you for the divine inspiration behind yoga pants… not even the blatant wedgie ones either… just... thank you.
Amen.
Sera glances up, catching me looking, and that smile—God, that soft little knowing smile—kills me every time.
There’s something about her like this—barefaced, bending to loop that final lace—that hits me harder than any spotlight ever could.
You wanna fuck like monkeys?
“You want a coffee?”
I ask, because if I don’t say something normal, I might say everything I’m actually fucking thinking.
She stands, slow, crossing the kitchen with that quiet confidence that’s bloomed more each day. The dog’s pad behind her—Artemis and Klause, loyal as shadows. They never take their eyes off her. Neither do I.
Sera leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s brief but it lingers.
“No,” she murmurs against my mouth, “maybe when I get back.”
My eyes follow her as she walks to the door, the dogs falling into line behind her.
It’s become their ritual—hers and theirs.
Every morning, before the rest of the house wakes, she runs the grounds.
I watch her through the glass sometimes, the way her hair flies out behind her, the way the dogs flank her like twin sentinels.
Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been since that night. Since the fear. Since the shaking hands and sleepless hours. Somehow, she’s still standing. Still healing.
She’s learning to breathe again. To take up space. To believe that this life—the quiet, the safety—is hers.
I love watching it happen.
Every sunrise with her feels like a small miracle I don’t deserve but will fight like hell to protect.
Sera thinks she’s just running, but I see it—the freedom in every step. The weight falling from her shoulders, piece by piece.
Maybe that’s the part that breaks me the most.
Because the more she becomes herself, the deeper I fall.
Even if we are keeping her in just a bigger cage…
Fuck. Off. Obtrusive thought.
Sera slips out through the glass doors, the early light spilling over her like liquid gold. The dogs move with her—one ahead, one at her flank—muscle and grace in perfect sync. I follow her to the doorway, leaning against the frame, coffee mug still warm in my hand.
The world outside still wears dawns hush. Mist drifts low across the grounds, pale gold light threading through the trees. When she starts to run, it’s like the earth gives way for her—she doesn’t fight it, she moves with it. Klaus and Artemis flank her, muscles rippling.
I just stand there, staring like an idiot, trying to understand what this thing clawing inside my chest really is.
Love.
The word feels foreign. Like a language I was never taught but somehow understand.
I’ve seen what people call love. My parents didn’t have it. They had noise—shouting, glass breaking, nights that reeked of shit decisions and cheap whiskey. Whatever that was, it wasn’t love.
Mac and Logan though…
They’ve got something real. The kind of love that sticks, even when it’s messy. I’ve seen how he looks at her like she hung the damn stars herself. But what I feel for Sera? It’s not that.
Love, for me, isn’t fireworks or grand gestures.
It’s silence—the kind that doesn’t hurt.
It’s the peace that settles in when she’s near.
It’s her voice in the morning, the way she listens when I talk about chords and lyrics like it’s scripture.
It’s wanting to protect her, not because she’s fragile, but because she’s sacred. She’s safety. Warmth. Home.
Fuck me, she is our salvation.
Maybe love isn’t something you fall into.
But we fell into her.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s a poison. It’s blood poisoning.
Sepsis. There’s contact, a wound, it gets inside and spreads through your blood vessels.
It consumes you, sneaking up on you like a fever.
You can fight against it, with your bitter antibodies, trying to repel it.
Lie to yourself, tell yourself over and over again that you are fine.
But sneaky bitch that it is, just sits in your system till its consumed you.
Slips under your skin, rewires your nerves.
Before you know it, your decaying husk of self is reanimated with purpose.
You feel permitted to breathe again. You have reason to open up. To share. To Care…
Definitely describe falling in love with her like a fucking bacterium, you weird bastard.
It’s true though. Shit, the longer she seems to care, the more I feel like it’s okay to be cared for. Like I am worth a damn.
Because that’s what she’s done to me.
Taught me that peace doesn’t have to mean numb. That I can be touched without pain. That maybe I’m not broken beyond repair.
I sip the last of my coffee, the taste bitter. My gaze follows her figure as she disappears past the tree line, the dogs close behind.
Yeah.
This isn’t the love I grew up watching on the TV.
This is the love that makes you want to be better.
For the first time in my life, I think I finally get it.
I should go out and join her for a run.
I get my cardio in other ways…me and Henry Cavill.
That’s my peace right there—wrapped in yoga pants and bathed in sunlight.
The vibration in my pocket breaks the spell. I sigh, fishing out my phone and glance at the screen.
Phil.
I swipe to answer, keeping my eyes on the horizon.
“Yeah.”
“Mornin’, rockstar,” Phil’s voice crackles through, too chipper for this early. “Just checking in to make sure you and the guys are prepped for tonight. Don’t make me chase you down again, yeah? It’s the L.A. Live Holiday Spectacular, not a backyard gig.”
“Relax,” I murmur, leaning against the doorframe. “The guys are coming over this afternoon. We’ll run through the set before heading out for sound check.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” My gaze drifts back to where Sera disappeared. “We’ll be there.”
“Good. They’ll have cameras everywhere tomorrow night, so don’t show up looking like you crawled out of your honeymoon bed. Try to keep your shirt buttoned, Baker. It’s a family event.”
“Not making any promises.”
Phil groans. “Jesus Christ. Just—be on time, alright? Call time’s six. You miss rehearsal, and I’ll drag your ass there myself.”
“Got it.”
“Atta boy. Merry almost Christmas, Trey.”
“Yeah, you, too.” I mutter, ending the call, the faint echo of his words hanging in the silence.
Merry almost Christmas.
Weird how this year, those words don’t sound hollow.
I slip the phone into my pocket and step out onto the deck, cool air biting at my skin. The dogs reappear first, shadows streaking through the fog, then Sera—cheeks flushed, hair flying behind her, breath curling like smoke.
She slows when she spots me, and I realize I’ve been waiting for her—like I always do.
She jogs up the steps, breath catching.
Artemis and Klaus slow at her sides, loyal shadows falling into place. She’s all soft edges and wild grace, and for a second, I forget every reason I ever built walls.
“Hey,” she breathes, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
“Hey,” I echo, stepping forward before I even think. The cool morning air smells like dew and vanilla and cherry shampoo—her scent. She stops a few feet away, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.
“You were watching again,” she teases gently, eyes glinting.
“Guilty,” I admit, voice rough around the edges. “Kinda hard not to when the view’s that good.”
Her smile wavers into something shy, something that feels like it belongs only to me. “You say things like that, Trey Baker, and I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Just take ’em,” I murmur,
Like a good girl.
I reach out, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “They’re yours anyway.”
The dogs stretch and yawn at our feet as she steps closer.
Close enough for me to catch every detail I’ll never stop memorizing.
The tiny freckles dusted across her nose.
All twenty-seven of them. The three hidden behind her left ear.
The two tucked behind her right knee. The three soft ones under her left breast that drive me insane every time I think about them.
Fuck.
I am one hundred and ten percent obsessed with my wife.
I tilt her chin up, studying her like she’s another one of my songs—every line, every note memorized but still finding something new every time I look.
“How was it out there?” I ask quietly.
“Chilly…but Peaceful,” she says, her voice soft but sure. “It’s strange… it feels like I can finally breathe here.”
“Something you don’t often hear with L.A.’s smog.” I snort, “Good.” I nod, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s all I want for you, baby. To breathe easy.”
Her lips curve, slow and sincere.
“You make it easy.”