83. Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Three
Jordan
After a gauntlet of testing and hours of waiting, Mac and I finally make our way into a private waiting room for the final analysis of his results.
It seems like overkill, but to the benefit of the staff here, they have argued at every turn that lifting Mac’s restrictions so soon is unprecedented.
Because, of course, my drummer would not only challenge the norm, but also have enough sway to get the medical professionals in agreement.
As long as the tests all come back crystal clear.
He blames it on experience.
I blame it on his persistence.
Just like the rest of us say rodeo and Mac is just Mac, saying shit like ro-day-o .
His ass no sooner settles into a seat that the silence is broken up by people entering the room.
Except none of them are wearing scrubs or white coats and instead are several members of his family.
Rex and the twins. Marie. Then Aria and her sister.
They got my texts.
I smile to myself as he greets them.
What I don’t expect is the house of a bodyguard, followed by the head of orange hair, to file in behind them.
“I want this kind of treatment,” Peach remarks with smiling snark as he wraps Mac up and points at me. “You convince them to check him out early?”
I grin and stand to hug him. “That was all him. He’d still be in bed if it were up to me.”
Peach’s knowing smirk curls his lips as he slaps my shoulder.
“Then he’s coming to my appointment after this.”
Tipping my head, I couldn’t stop the grin from widening on my face, even if I wanted to try.
Ian greets me next with a lift of his chin and a bump to my fist. “You good?”
I nod, the lightest I’ve felt in a long time.
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Thanks for coming to support him.”
The man shrugs. “Not here for just him, kid.”
That burning takes over the backs of my eyes. “Right. Yeah, uh, thank you.”
Snickering, Ian steps aside and I’m smacked with the narrowed sight of Mac’s twin accompanied by a second set of brown eyes in near slits.
“Broby!” Mac cackles and jumps on his back, momentarily stealing the second man’s attention.
“Rex,” I state and offer a hand that my drummer’s brother glares at.
“Jordan,” he greets with a deep timbre and grips my palm.
I give it back just as hard.
It’s a contrast to the last time I saw the man, Peach laid out on a hospital bed between us, and I welcome it. This is the Rex Thompson I know. The overprotective brother. The loyal friend. Brave confidant to the man that I love.
I hope I never have to see another version again.
Mac comes back to my side when his brother relents to glaring at me from a distance and I smile.
The room continues to fill with each and every one of Mac’s, and mine, extended family to the point that it’s basically standing room only.
Anna and Leo. Lugh. Fin with Cedar and Jonathon.
There’s an idle chatter that eases me, an aura of love circling around the space that’s intoxicating enough to have me leaning into Mac close enough to whisper.
“Think they can tell I’m yours?”
He chuckles, the hint of a flush tinting his cheeks, and leans back enough to meet my gaze.
But then I lift my hand, palm up, fingers spread in offering.
His eyes go wide and glassy.
“You sure?” he mouths, and I nod.
“Of you? I’m always sure, Vida.”
The smile that stretches his face wide is somehow still soft as he threads his fingers between mine and tucks our hands at his side.
“Hey, fuckbuckets!” There’s just as many grumbles about his choice of language as there are chuckles as the room turns their attention on him. He’s vibrating when he spares me a final glance, one last attempt to back out, before opening his mouth and telling our combined family; “Jordan and I are so gonna fuck after this, so don’t invite us over.”
“ Vida ,” I snap with wide eyes and an immediate flush.
The smirk plastered on his face is devilish. “You knew what you were signing up for, baby. Now kiss me.”
It doesn’t matter that the room has exploded with laughter and claps, chatter and congratulations.
Possibly even a wolf whistle or two.
Because my drummer is fisting my shirt and hauling me close enough to slant his lips over mine and kiss me like his life depends on it.
It’s the indecent kind. The passionate kind.
The everlasting kind.
And when my hand finds the back of his neck and holds him close, there is nothing else but us. No space left between our chests. No distance separating our hearts.
Just me and him.
Mac. Mac. Mac.
“Oh, my.”
A clearing of a throat draws us back, but only as far as resting our forehead together.
“I’m looking for a Mac Thompson?”
“Present,” Mac answers the doctor I can see in my peripheral and lifts a hand. “Tell me my brain’s okay so I can keep kissing my man?”
The doctor covers a chuckle with a clearing of her throat as she comes up to our side, clipboard in her hands.
“I absolutely have to advise you to keep taking it easy—”
“And?” Mac interrupts and I nudge his head with mine.
“And all of the tests came back good. You’re in the clear.”
The relief that washes over his features cleanses me and this time, I’m the one hauling him back to me for another searing kiss.
He’s glassy eyed and breathless when I pull back. “Let’s go christen my apartment, yeah?”
The nod is immediate, the goodbyes are short, the drive even better when we pull out like a goddamn motorcade with Mac behind the wheel of my old Impala.
“I look damn sexy driving your car, Tyro.”
He does .
“You better not put a scratch on her.”