32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jordan
There’s something about what’s supposed to be a twelve-hour flight turning into a seventeen-hour endeavor that’s got me more on edge than I’ve ever been.
My leg bounces.
I check the time. Again .
The show started over two hours ago, and if the traffic is any indication, they’re finishing up. Which is enough of a bummer, but also means that Mac may not be at the venue I’ve been trying to get to by the time I get in there.
My stomach clenches.
He needed me and I wasn’t there.
It’s like ants have crawled beneath my skin and are busy making my veins their new home, the center of my chest their hub.
I was so, so wrong.
The cab driver accepts the cash I throw up front when he pulls over, the door open before he can even come to a complete stop.
Maybe it wasn’t me after all.
I’m sprinting through the foyer, against the wave of people trying to leave despite the bass that fills the air, with an old-fashioned paper ticket in hand.
My chest pumps as I push through more people, rounding the floor of the stadium and squeezing in between bodies until the front of the stage comes into view.
When I finally look up, I zero in on Mac behind his set. Powerful strokes making the heaviest of beats. Sweat darkening his shirt and wetting the ends of his wild curls.
I take a breath.
He’s okay. He’s safe.
The curve of his throat when he tips his head back and lets loose a screaming growl that’s so intense, it makes the veins beneath his skin protrude. The ropes of muscle stand out. The force of it cracking his vocals.
It’s like the sound crawled out of the rawest part of him. Somewhere deep and dark and fervent enough to stop time.
Freeze the Earth on its axis.
Suspend me above all that I know and all that I am.
It’s like seeing the demon inside him face to face, the anxiety that hides behind the mask, and it’s … fucking—
Hot?
Something in me cracks wide open at the same time the play button is pressed, and suddenly I’m being swallowed up by the mass of people around me when the view on the screens next to the stage switches to another person coming out.
I’m breathless when the guy waves. The mob goes insane in slow motion around me.
My stomach drops when he turns his smile on Mac, the vulnerability gone from my drummer and replaced with a mask of confidence, who flashes a snarky one in return.
The world around me speeds up when my drummer stands from his set.
I don’t belong here.
Roars past when the stranger leans in, presses a kiss to the Mac’s cheek, and takes the drumsticks from his hands.
And Mac lets him.
He never lets anyone but the road crew touch his drums, and yet—
Mac let him.
And now the stranger is sitting where my drummer is supposed to be, smacking out sounds that don’t feel right, and I’m just …
Sinking.
Stepping backward.
Holy shit, what am I doing?
Turning away from the smile that laces my dreams.
He never needed me .
And running like my life depends on it.