49. Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jordan
The space between Mac and me hurts.
He doesn’t trust me .
The thought runs through my head like it’s a marathon, circling and circling, with no end in sight.
It’s another layer to the shitstorm that has my hands shaking and my stomach in a permanent knot.
Which has made being at his Ma’s house, surrounded by not only his band but all of security, such a hard place to pretend at.
To act like I’m not waiting for every glance of his to land on mine from across the room, or each pass of his to stop by me.
But why would he when he’s spent so long without me?
Having sex with him once won’t change that.
God, I just want to fucking touch him. Hold him. Tell him this isn’t just a—
I shake my head.
Just a phase? Was I really about to say that to myself?
The thing about phases is that you never really know it’s not permanent until one day you wake up and realize you’re still listening to the same type of angsty music, or wearing all black, even decades later.
I tip off my hat—its worn out nature an icon of my exact thought pattern with its faded black tint and the missing Trapt logo from the front—and run a hand through my hair.
I’m infatuated with the drummer of a band not too different than the very one that made me love rock music.
I mean, what teenager didn’t envy all the musicians of every band they listened to?
A tingling sensation runs down my neck and I blink myself back to the room.
Except it’s full of people that are already busy entertaining each other.
“I’m gonna do a walk,” I say to no one in particular and spin back to the door.
The boards underfoot creak the moment I step out it, the scent of fresh outdoors filling my lungs with each step that leads me around the back of the house.
Toby’s on the patio with Ma, their heads scrunched together.
“Ma, I need a favor, and you can’t say no.” I hear him say as I pass and shake my head.
“If that’s how you’re asking, then the answer should probably be no ,” the woman answers and I snort to myself and keep walking.
Before I realize it, I’m standing in a clearing with only one tree breaking up the grass, staring at the bottom of a treehouse built into its sturdy trunk, a ladder leading up into the belly of it beckoning me.
It’s already open, a glow illuminating the inside as I climb up.
The first thing to hit me is the haze of smoke, then the scent of burning weed as I breach the floor and vault myself up to sit with my legs dangling through the opening.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Hey to you, too, Vida.”
Mac snorts and blows a plume of smoke through his nose. “I’m smoking. Get out.”
I shake my head. “When did you even come out here?”
“You were too zoned out to see me walk right past you.”
My jaw grits.
Shit .
“Has it hit you yet?” he asks me from his perch on a beanbag and sucks in another hit from the joint pinched between his lips. It makes the cherry flare bright orange under the twinkle lights that cast shadows on his face.
“Where’s the black eye from?”
“Dare,” he answers easily, too easily, and I stiffen.
“What?” I snap out with a heat I can’t explain taking over my chest.
“Got too close while he was wailing on his set. Your turn. ”
He takes another hit, and my jaw remains clenched at the prospect of Mac being anywhere near the other person, especially close enough to get hit. The very same person that stepped out on the stage that night I flew thousands of miles just to see Mac with my own two eyes and shattered the reality I thought I knew. The one I’ve ignored the existence of, if only in hopes that he’s not real. Not close to my drummer. Just a pawn in the game of promo and reputation.
“That sounds like bullshit,” I force out.
“And that sounds like deflection. Has. It. Hit. You.”
Growling, I push to my feet and stomp closer to his beanbag. “We’re not talking about me.” I snatch the joint right from between his lips and snuff it out on the sole of my boot. “Why did he hit you?”
Mac huffs and pulls out a fresh joint.
“Like I said, got too close during practice.”
“Bullshit. I’ve never seen you share your set.”
He flicks a flame to a lighter and burns the end of the joint. “You haven’t seen me do shit for months, Jordan.”
I flinch, a red-hot feeling burning my chest wide open.
Actually … make that green.
“Did you sleep with him?” It tumbles out of my stiff jaw before I can stop it, my heart racing too fast.
He rocks back, his brows flying up behind the bandana I fucking tied on his head and pinches his smoke between his fingers.
“Did I?” His smoke-holding hand goes to his chest, and he lets loose a laugh that’s bordering on hysterical. “Did I .” He pushes to his feet and plants a hand right between my stiff pecs. “Did I? No, the only thing I did was fuck a straight man with a God. Damn. Complex .”
My stomach twists violently and I growl. “This isn’t about me .”
Mac nods and works his jaw. Takes his time pulling in a puff of smoke that flows through his nose, before his hard as fuck sight lands back on mine.
“Then tell me what you wanted three days for.”
My tongue sticks to my teeth.
“Tell me what your nightmare was about. Better yet—” He pulls in a puff and points two fingers in my face, “—tell me why the fuck you couldn’t come to Europe with me.”
Me … not us .
Insides burning, hands itching, I flex my fingers and will them to stick to my sides despite how badly I want to just grab him. Kiss him. Show him why none of that matters now.
Show myself why none of that matters.
But I don’t touch him. I don’t reach for him until he’s scoffing and brushing past me.
“Vida.”
“Do you regret it?” he asks the wall, a tick to his jaw and a redness to his eyes that has nothing to do with the weed.
“I don’t have regrets,” I lie and swallow hard.
I didn’t … until you.
“I’m glad you don’t.”
A piece of my heart chips off and shatters at his feet when he jerks from my grasp, his comment hanging so fucking heavy in the air that it grows and grows with each second that I don’t stop his retreat.
Stop him, something warns me. Stop him before it’s too late.
But my tongue is too thick for words, my brain too foggy to clarify how to stop him, my heart begging for him to just give me a moment, when he pauses at the ladder’s opening.
“Would you take it back?”
I shake my head at his back. “No.”
He scoffs and puts the joint between his lips, dipping to get the latter under his feet.
“Mac,” I rush out and he pauses halfway through the opening, though he still won’t look at me. “I …” My hands shake and my chest feels like it might explode. “I wouldn’t take any of it back.”
“Why?”
“Because … I …”
“ Jordan .”
“ Because I like you. ”