Trey lowers his coffee slowly, his throat working as he swallows. His eyes stay locked on mine, a quiet storm swirling behind them.
“Really, yeah,” he says softly, setting his mug down with care. “Thanks, baby girl.”
I shrug, leaning into Logan’s chest, his arm curling instinctively around my shoulders. “No worries.”
There’s a pause. Not long. Barely a beat. But I feel it—the shift in the air.
Then Trey says, low and careful, “Hey, baby girl…”
“Yeah?”
“When’s my birthday?”
I blink at him. “What? You want me to order you a cake?”
He doesn’t answer—just stares.
I laugh lightly, nudging my foot against his under the table. “Pretty sure you’d eat it before the candles were lit, Cupid’s Angel.”
The boys gasp, a collective inhale like the moment right before a storm hits.
Trey’s stool screeches against the tile as he shoves it back and launches around the table. Logan barely has time to react before Trey’s pulling me straight out of his arms and into his own, spinning me in a dizzy, heart-lurching circle.
“Fuck, Mac!”
He stops, breath ragged as he sets me on my feet and cups my face. A single tear slides down his cheek, and I swear my heart twists in my chest.
“Trey?” I whisper, my hands clutching his wrists. “Wha—?”
“You remember,” he chokes out, voice cracking. “You remember me.”
His forehead presses to mine. “No one calls me that, only you.”
Logan doesn’t move at first.
None of them do.
It’s like time pauses—just for a second—as Trey holds me like I’m made of something holy, and the weight of what I just said settles on the room like morning mist.
“I…” I falter, my voice small against his chest. “I don’t know what I remember, not really. It’s all pieces. Bits of things that feel like dreams.” I glance up at him, then over Trey’s shoulder to where Logan is still watching us.
But there’s no jealousy. No resentment. Just… awe.
His mouth lifts in a soft, stunned smile.
“She called you Cupid’s Angel,” Logan says, like he can’t quite believe it.
“I didn’t even think about it,” I whisper. “It just came out.”
Trey lets out a shaky breath, brushing his thumbs under my eyes. “It used to drive me crazy when you called me that,” he mutters, laughing through the tears. “I fucking hated it.”
I laugh too, watery and raw. “I know.”
“Shit,” Chace says, clearing his throat and blinking fast. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”
“You are 100% crying,” Sam fires back, voice thick. “I can see it from here.”
“You guys,” I say, my heart squeezing so tight I don’t know what to do with it. “I don’t know how much is back. I don’t even know if it’ll ever all come back.”
