Page 11 of Captured Immune

The second I finish reading our texts, my YouTube app is up, and I’m typingFlames in the Nightinto the search bar. The first video that pops up is their original song “Fired Up!” I tap it, then shove my earbuds in and turn the volume up as loud as it will go. A familiar drum solo rattles my brain, followed by Trey’s guitar riffs. This is the song they use as their upbeat opener for all their shows, so I’ve heard it plenty. It brings back good memories.

I finish that video, then scroll until I come across their cover of a Justin Timberlake song. I was there for this shoot, like I was for many others. This one stands out to me because in the middle of filming, Trey dropped to his knees in front of me and kissed me like his heart would collapse if he didn’t. I’ll never forget the intense way he looked at me when he came barreling through that bedroom door and seized my face without a single word.

I can’t get through the whole video because it’s a bunch of footage of Trey cuddling with some blonde actress playing his love interest. So I skip to the next video.

It’s about to play whenTap! Tap! Tap!

That can’t be the rain. I rip my earbuds out.

“Arella?” someone yells from outside.

The blinds are shut. I know who it is though. No one else ever calls me by my full name.

“Arella, please. I need to see you.”

Need?I hop off the bed and yank the blinds up. There he is, sopping-wet hair and all. I unlock the window and crank it open.

“What are you doing here?” I hate that there’s a screen between us. My racing heart wants to be near him, and this stupid mesh thing is in the way.

Rain pours over him as he slurs, “I knocked on your door, like, a ba-jillion times. Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t hear it. I was listening to—” I can’t admit that I was hopelessly listening to him sing me to sleep. “Music.”

“Will you let me in?”

I nod slowly, even though I want him in here so bad, I’m willing to break through this screen. Instead, I rush to the door.

I open it to find Trey more drenched than expected. His black T-shirt clings to his skin, outlining his defined pecs. Raindrops slide down his leather jacket until they hit the concrete. His jeans look like he just crawled out of the ocean.

When we lock eyes, a rush of emotions hits me like heavy sand dumped over my head. It submerges all my other emotions under its weight, replacing them with sadness, anxiety, and heartache. I mean, my heart was already aching, but now it’s throbbing.

I don’t get a chance to say anything before Trey steps inside and crushes me against him. His arms squeeze me so tight, I lose all the air in my lungs. With a little sigh, he buries his face into my neck. At first, I stiffen, but it’s not long before my body softens into him.

The sadness weighing me down is quickly replaced by a warm sense of belonging and hope. A trickle of peace runs from my shoulders to my toes. It’s an odd sensation, like an electric current rushing through me, except I think it’s coming from him.

We stand in my doorway while the rain drowns my front step behind him. No words. No movement. Just arms wrapped around each other’s bodies. I think we both needed this. I, for sure, needed this.

The scent of him is familiar—mostly. Manly cologne, his shampoo, and...alcohol?Has he been drinking?

“I missss you,” he slurs.

I suppose that’s my answer.

When I don’t respond, he asks, “Do you miss me?”

I’ve missed you since the moment I drove away. I waited seven days for you to show up, and every minute you didn’t felt like years in a dark abyss. What took you so long? Why didn’t you come after me? And why are you drunk?

I pull back. “Trey, why are you here?”

He wraps his arms around me tighter, crushing me against his chest again. “I wasn’t done yet.”

Tears threaten to burst from my eyes. Being held by him makes me feel whole again, so I don’t fight it. I’d stay in his embrace forever if I could, but I can’t. So I give him another minute before saying into his shirt, “You’re soaking wet.”

“Sssorry.” He lets me go, and I gesture for him to step all the way inside.

After he does, I shut the door, muting the rainfall, then turn to him.

He’s gorgeous—a towering muscular frame that was my safe haven for three months. Light stubble decorates his strong jawline. I used to run my fingertips through that stubble whenever we made out. I used to grip that firm neck whenever he’d scoop me up and carry me into his bedroom. Everything about him is familiar, except for the heavy anguish ingrained between his eyebrows. Selfishly, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who’s miserable.

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