65. Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Five
Jordan
Sixteen … Seventeen …
The gym might be closed for the night, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in it.
Eighteen … Nineteen …
Clinking of weight resting on metal with each rep keeps me counting them over the sound of the music pumping through the speakers.
It’s become like a sort of meditation that helps bring me down.
Twenty.
And after damn near running into Peach earlier, I hightailed it right back here for just that kind of peace. Lemon claims I’m hiding, but I disagree.
Avoiding, maybe.
Letting the bar drop back on the shoulder press with a thud, I lean forward and let the song wash over me as Dave Grohl rasps about having a confession.
Is he giving his best to someone else?
“Here.”
I don’t get a chance to react before a towel is thrown in my face.
“Thanks,” I mutter and wipe the sweat from my brow.
But when I look up, it’s not the tiny wingman on the other side of the toss like I expected.
Everything in me locks up. Breath leaving audibly.
When I swallow, it clicks.
“A gym?” Mac asks, brow raised. “How very Tyro of you.”
It takes what feels like minutes of staring at the drummer for my body to thaw and my muscles to move.
I’m up off the seat, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Mac. Mac. Mac.
He holds up a hand, but I don’t stop until that palm is touching my damp chest.
He’s here.
“Who’s the little guy?”
The corner of my lip tips up. “Little guy?”
“Yeah.” His lips thin. “The tiny man.”
I snort. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
He schools his features, but even after all this time, he can’t hide the sharpness in his eyes.
I lick my lips. “He’s a friend,” I answer honestly because the last thing I want is for him being here to go sideways. I like that he’s here, even if it’s just a fleeting thing.
We could be friends.
Right?
Something twists in my gut.
“Look, as much as I love seeing you … why are you here?” I ask, unable to hide the thickness from my words. It comes out almost standoffish, even though that’s the last thing I’m going for, but I don’t have it in me to fight all over again. I’d rather have it out on the table at the beginning instead of finding out later, like last time I saw him.
Mac nods, his features softening briefly before sliding behind a guarded mask. The same one I’ve seen him wear in every goddamn photo for years. Toted around in front of those he didn’t like.
The one he uses on people he doesn’t know.
I know it’s to protect himself.
But that he feels he has to use that shit with me hurts more than I’d like to acknowledge.
“I … don’t know,” he admits and after a beat, some of that armor slips. “Y’know, I had this whole conversation planned out if I ever saw you again and now …”
If I ever saw you again.
If. Not when.
That hits like a train to my torso.
He’s shaking his head, his thumbs fiddling a beat along his thighs. It matches the new one filtering through the speakers.
Trapt.
I bite my lip and step closer.
“Vida.” His breath hitches. “I’m glad you found me.”
He blinks rapidly and meets my gaze. “I’m sorry I tol—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head and brush the back of my hand over his cheek. His lashes fall closed over his freckle-specked skin and he shudders. “I don’t need an apology.”
“What do you need?” he whispers to my chest.
You. I need you.
“You’re here and that’s enough,” I say instead, though I mean it just as much.
It’s then that he dives forward, crashing into my chest and wrapping his arms around me so hard that it’s difficult to breathe.
I welcome it as my arms find their home snaking around his rib cage and his shoulders, my palm to the back of his neck.
His head is on my shoulder and his grip is tight enough to squeeze my swelling heart. It might be bruised and neglected, the muscle beating in my chest, but right now … it feels whole as it beats alongside his.
“Tell me what you need, Mac,” I mutter in his hair.
He trembles against me, and I hold him tighter.
“This,” he answers.
I hum, though it’s thick.
And even though there are a million and one questions rolling through my mind at his appearance, I pull back just enough to look into his eyes and ask, “Did you eat?”