Page 16 of The Trust (As Above)

Jordan

Occasionally, my boyfriend sleepwalks.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s done anything besides just get out of bed and climb back in on the other side, even if I’m already occupying the space.

His arcade opening is giving him anxiety, but I know it’ll be perfect.

So, when I feel the jamming of something in my arm pit, I just move over. Let him slide back in my spot and fling an arm over my hips.

Except, something hard slams up into my ribs and I hiss.

Cracking my tired eyes open, I look down to find Mac’s head wedged between my side and the mattress like he’s attempting to burrow beneath me.

“What the hell, Vida,” I whisper, and thread my fingers into his hair.

I scratch at his scalp until he finally stills, finally stops shoving into me, and slumps along my side.

His unshaven jaw pricks my skin, surely leaving marks, and I smile at the thought.

There’s been a time or two I’ve worn his bitemark—toted around a pretty dark hickey that his brother razzed me about because it was on my bicep of all places—like a badge of honor and a part of me hopes that he’ll leave beard burn behind.

Even if it means that the wrong person sees.

I wish I’d done more than broke that fucker’s nose .

Slipping my arms around Mac, I hold him close.

I didn’t tell him the whole truth, the exact words that’d been said once his back was turned yesterday, but he knew.

And that made me so fucking sad.

Angry .

That my drummer, my Vida, had dealt with enough shit like that to know without being told what had happened in a place where he was supposed to be safe.

I know I won’t always be able to protect him.

But in the places we call home?

The everyday places that are supposed to be safe for him, for us , to exist?

They’d better kill me dead if they think they can get away with it.

“Baby,” Mac half whimpers, half moans into my ribs. His breath tickles my skin, raising goosebumps, and I curl a light fist in his hair.

“Right here, Vida.”

“My arm’s asleep ,” he moans and flops over, his head smashing into my bicep.

“Okay, chaos, lemme see.”

He flops it across my sternum with a hiss I can’t help but chuckle at.

“Not funny.”

I dig my fingertips into the meat of his muscles, circling them to help bring back the blood flow.

“It is because you were laying directly on it, willingly.”

His huff morphs into a contented sigh, and I let the ease of it soothe me. The familiarity of it settle me.

“You know what else is asleep?” he rasps out with a sleep-deep voice that makes my stomach clench.

“Hm?”

“My cock.”

The laugh that bubbles up bursts out of me when he raises his hips into the air and shakes his junk back and forth. It slides behind the thin shorts, half-filled and begging for my attention.

I tap his arm that’s still across my midsection, but instead of giving me access to him, he turns into my side and wraps himself around me.

The shorts I asked him to wear in case he wandered out into the halls at night suddenly piss me off. The barrier too much.

I want to feel his skin on mine, his muscles curling around me, his heat and his love.

I need it .

“Are you going to fall back to sleep?” I ask as I curl the fingers of my free hand around his waistband.

He snorts but shakes his head against my pec.

I jostle him around as I push the shorts down his legs and sigh when he kicks them free, and I can feel his skin on mine. The hair on his legs tickles me. The thickness of his cock resting on my hip.

His chest, all inked and hard muscles, lays half over mine as he tucks his head until his ear rests right over my heart.

Shoving a hand and my nose into his hair, I inhale deep enough that his head shifts and his cheek bunches up.

He’s my sweet campfire, forever burning, lighting the way and keeping me warm in the process.

“ Te amo, mi Vida. ”

His hum reverberates through my pec and settles in around the organ pumping just below the surface.

“Love you, too, Tyro,” he mumbles, his body sinking deeper into mine.

When his breathing evens out, I want to curse myself for taking his shorts, but I can’t.

Because I can feel him from my knees to my nose and I’ll never not want that.

Fuck, I’m so damn gone for this man that I’d follow his naked ass right out into traffic if he asked me to. If he needed me to, whether I was dressed or not.

The serenity of the dark, early morning feels so peaceful, so soothing as Mac’s soft snores fill the space with his energy, his life, his presence, and it’s almost impossible to remember a time when I thought he’d never be here.

A time when I was convinced that here is where I’d end up, alone and missing him, for the rest of my life.

But now … there’s enough mugs in the cabinet that they need stacked in order to let the door close. My underwear drawer, once only half full of plain black boxers, now bursts at the seams with different patterns that belong to Mac. Colorful and full of life.

And if I looked around, I’d probably find a pair of his shoes in the middle of the floor where he stepped out of them and made himself right at home.

I love that I never even had to ask him to move in. He just … showed up as himself and slowly brought pieces of himself back here like he was coming home.

I guess I did the same thing at his place all those years ago as his bodyguard. But to me, that was different. To me, it was like my subconscious was leaving a trail of crumbs right in front of him, hoping one day he’d pick them all up and I’d be whole again.

I’ve never felt more whole than I do right now.

A pattering of toe beans tapping along the hardwood sounds before the pillow shifts and a ball of fur lands next to my head. Cookie circles around the spot, then steps onto my chest and squeezes herself between Mac’s head and my chin.

I huff, but smile.

“Hey, Monster,” I murmur and run my fingers through her fur.

Her little arms stretch out and start flexing, toes curling in Mac’s hair.

My eyes burn and my chest feels like it might burst with how much love fills it.

A low hum has me blinking in the dark.

And when I glance over to see the light coming from the nightstand on my side, I detangle my fingers from Mac’s hair and reach for it.

It’s a stretch, but I finally get the device in hand before it cuts off and starts vibrating again.

I’m so deep in my feels, I don’t register the time until after I hit answer on Lemon’s name.

“What’s wrong?”

“Y-you … um …”

His swallow is so thick, I can hear it over the phone.

I go to slide out from underneath my man and our cat without disturbing them, but Cookie jumps away and Mac grumbles.

“Sorry,” I say to them and climb out of the bed.

“Jordan …” Lemon mumbles and the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

“I’m throwing clothes on now. Tell me where you are.”

The clearing of his throat feeds over the line before he whispers, “The gym.”

I stiffen. Look at Mac who’s staring at me with a wideness to his sleepy eyes I don’t like and swallow back my apprehension.

“I’m coming.”

Pocketing the phone, I shove my arms through a shirt and jam my feet into my sneakers as I all but run to the door.

“What’s going on?”

“Lock this behind me.”

I throw him a look, one that begs him to listen for once in his damn life, but he just throws one back that tells me he won’t.

Lemon …

With a curse, I grab Mac’s wrist, thankful he threw on shorts when I did, and pull him along with me.

My stomach rolls with nerves when we reach the main floor, and I don’t see the short wingman that’s helped me run this place since I bought it. The second-best friend I’ve ever had.

The one that helped me get Mac back .

“Lemon!” Mac calls before I get a chance to and starts tugging me toward the front.

His fingers are still entwined in mine when Lemon steps back inside, his nose red from the cold—or from crying, I’m not sure—and nearly breaks down when he sees us.

I rush forward, gathering him up in my free arm, Mac coming around his other side.

“You’re okay, Lem. You’re okay. Tell me what happened.”

He lets loose a shaking breath and bounces his watering gaze between Mac and me.

“Daddies, there’s a whole line.”

Part of me wants to smile at his nickname for us, but I’m confused. And worried. And nearly ready to start throwing fists at anyone else that might be outside for making Lemon react like this.

“What do you mean a line?” Mac asks, his fingers tightening in mine that he’s refusing to let go of— or is it me? —and he pets Lemon’s head with the other.

His eyes fill again.

“There’s a line of us outside. They wanna be part of the gym.”

I blink, my stomach twisting, and glance at Mac.

“I didn’t, I swear,” he answers automatically.

Licking my lips, I drop my sight back down to the soft smile on Lemon’s tear-tracked face. “Stay here with him.”

Giving Mac’s fingers a squeeze, I step back from the two of them and Lemon immediately burrows into Mac’s chest.

My heart pinches to see it, the two of them, and when I meet Mac’s swirling greenish eyes, I have the craziest thought ever in a moment like this.

He’s gonna make a great dad.

Swallowing hard, I rush to the door and pull it open.

Just as Lemon said, there’s an entire line waiting outside. It’s long enough that I can’t tell where it ends, and though it’s shrouded in the darkness of the cold early morning, it’s the second most colorful group I’ve ever seen.

“ Oh, shit, it’s him ,” someone mutters, and several people turn their gazes on me. And then a few more. More until almost the entire block is looking at me.

A silence falls over the rainbow-speckled crowd, and I swallow thickly.

“Hi,” I manage to say to the closest person, half breathless and confused. “Can I help you guys?”

“Yeah! We’re all looking to sign up for your gym. This is yours, right?”

I mutter something affirmative, though my brow dips, and step back to start ushering people in.

Lemon and Mac both meet them as they file in, clipboards in their hands and start taking information.

My gym is near standing capacity when I finally see a face I recognize.

“Poe! Poe ,” I call out and squeeze my way through the throng of people. “What the hell is all this?”

He shrugs his slim shoulders, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“You haven’t seen the video?”

My brows meet and he pulls out his phone, the case a clash of color to his all-black attire and loads up a video.

“ Get the fuck outta my house ,” my voice filters through the speaker, kept low for the two of us and my stomach rolls. “ Maybe it’d come with your own queer-awakening like it did mine. ”

I swallow. Hard.

“How the fuck did this end up online?”

“ Everyone is welcome here, ” The voice on the phone says—my voice—and I meet Poe’s gaze. “ And I mean everyone. ”

I was so frustrated … so angry at Craig. Hurt even. That someone I’d let into my spaces had such vile thoughts and feelings toward someone that was different than him.

It clouded my judgement.

I had no clue I was being recorded.

But as I look around, some of the crowd watching me with smiles, some nodding when I make eye contact, I don’t have it in me to regret a single second.

“They’ve been looking for somewhere safe. Somewhere to belong .” I swing back around to Poe with a burning in my eyes. “They saw what they needed to come here.”

“You did this. You made people feel welcomed here,” says a voice I’d recognize in my sleep, and I turn to Mac.

“But I didn’t post that. I wouldn’t have.”

“Doesn’t matter, baby,” he says softly and cups the back of my neck, tugging until I fall into him and my forehead rests on his shoulder.

I don’t think. I don’t question. I just wrap my arms tightly around his waist and inhale his sweet, fiery scent.

“They saw what I see every day,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, and I shiver. “The trust you give every person that walks through that door means something.”

My heart thumps and my eyes water.

“Vida.”

His arm wraps around my shoulders lightly, the clipboard in his grip poking me with the corner, and his grip on my neck tightens.

“You’re an amazing person, Jordan. You deserve this.”

I nod and drag in a breath because while I’m working on agreeing with statements like that, I am also so fucking grateful for the chance to try and be worthy of it. Of him. Of this life, and this love that we share.

“I love you ,” he whispers vehemently, and I tip my head back.

When I look into his eyes, I see forever.

The rest of my life staring back at me.

“Audibly,” I whisper, and his eyes drop to my lips.

He doesn’t ask me if I’m sure. He doesn’t question where we are or what might be said. Whether there’s cameras or if we’d be in danger.

No.

My man leans in and slants his lips over mine in a room full of strangers.

When I deepen the kiss, he doesn’t hesitate to give it right back. Just like he told me he would.

It’s the loving kind of kiss. The sweet kind.

The dirty kind.

And when I pull back, a lot breathless and even more in love, I glance around out of habit.

Only to find not a single phone pointed at us.

No recording or flashing lights.

Just smiles. Watering eyes.

And a goddamn wolf whistle.