Page 12 of The Chance

If I can help him find peace in the crazy by watching the same movie on repeat, then why the fuck not?

To me, it’s no different than scheduling a reservation and ensuring the safety of the establishment or holding back masses of fans from clawing at his face.

It’s my job to keep him safe, even if it’s from himself.

Which makes right now no different.

The band might be on a break for the foreseeable future, but that doesn’t mean that Mac is no longer in need of someone to keep the unwanted hands off him.

Especially when it’s the hands of his own demons.

Normally, I only take up about a foot’s worth of space on his bed, on top of the covers. Sleeping when he does so that I know when he’s awake and so he can’t sneak off without me or sleepwalk into the hotel hallways naked.

Except there’s something clinging to him these last few weeks that makes it harder to not call out the dullness I see leaching into his vibrant eyes. The ever-present black cloud hanging above his head that follows him around and dims his sunny disposition.

It makes it impossible not to keep him in my sight.

Wondering what the hell is on his mind.

It’s none of my business if he decides not to share it.

I wish he just fuckin’ would, though.

I’m aware there’s shit I won’t be able to protect him from.

Hoping it doesn’t mean I lose the only friend I have.

But being stationary for the first time in half a decade seems to be part of his problem and not being able to do a damn thing about that is rubbing me all wrong.

What if he needs something different? More?

“Stop thinking so fuckin’ loud,” Mac grumbles, stifling a yawn into my skin and stretching against me like a cat. “Wait—”

He jolts upright with the heel of his palm jamming into my sternum, practically peeling himself away like a wax strip that stings every inch of skin he was touching.

“Ow.”

Mac looks down at me, his cheek reddened from where it’s been pressed against me for the last however many hours, and a wild vulnerability shining in his eyes.

“So, I wasn’t dreaming,” he says more to himself than me, but the room is too silent not to hear the whispered sleep-thick words.

He’s even harder to ignore when his gaze darts down my body, half naked and spread out, to where his leg is still hooked around mine.

“Ohhh no,” he grumbles and twists away, taking his warmth along with him.

“You were sleeping for once. It’s fine.”

Except it doesn’t appear to be fine when he jumps from the couch without bothering to put the footrest down and practically vaults himself away, nearly tipping the whole thing in the process.

“I amsosorry—”

“Mac,” I half snap and snag his wrist when he goes to dart past me. It takes him a long moment to look down at me, those eyes of his latching on mine with a level of nervous energy that makes my stomach twist. “You slept. It’s really okay.”

He huffs out a breath, then graces me with the smallest hint of a nod in what I think is understanding.

I finally release his wrist when recognition of tingling registers in my palm, right where his pulse hammered, and he darts away from me almost as fast as he dove from the couch without a second glance.

Waking up next to a man would probably offend most guys, and if it were anyone else, I probably would start questioning things myself.

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