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The anxiety I hadn’t even noticed clinging to Matt lifted, his shoulders shifting as if he were lighter. I glanced at Ben, my stomach dipping as it occurred to me just how much Matt relied on him. And it made me think maybe the AirPods weren’t the only buffer Matt had for his misophonia. Perhaps Ben was one too.
How lucky am I to be part of them? To be someone they consider family.
The second Ben’s foot stepped up on the small porch, the front door to the townhouse swung wide, Max on the other side, holding it open.
“I’ve seen pregnant turtles move faster than you two,” he grumped. Glancing at me, he said, “Not you. Take all the time you need.”
“Wes!” Ben bellowed into the house. “You better get your man. He’s hitting on my fiancée.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Max snapped, slamming the door.
Prism’s shoulders hiked up toward his ears, and he reached into his pocket for his phone. After a couple taps, he sent the screen dark and shoved it back into his pocket.
He must be turning on music. Feeling me watching him, our eyes connected, and I smiled.
Wes appeared, in his hand a paper cup with a black lid that had become very familiar to me in the past few days. “Figured you could use this.”
“Trauma latte,” I mused, reaching for the coffee.
“With caramel.” Wes agreed.
“She needs it after dealing with Kruger,” Max grumbled, appearing to grab Wes by the back of the neck and pull him around for a deep kiss.
Wes didn’t act startled, just made a soft noise and leaned into Max as he scratched his fingers into the curls on his head. Max let out a low rumble, and I saw the flash of tongue before he lifted his head slowly, hand still fisted in Wes’s hair.
“I don’t need to hit on your woman. I’ve already got who I want,” Max said, lips slick from the kiss.
Wes’s cheeks flamed, but he made no move to untangle himself from Max’s grasp. I found myself glancing over at Ben, more specifically his mouth, and remembering the way he kissed me earlier this afternoon.
Had that only been a few hours ago? God, it felt so much longer.
“Bring that girl over here,” Jamie called from the large gray sectional on the other side of the room. “We gotta inspect her.”
“The only thing you’re going to inspect is my fist in your face,” Ben muttered.
“I already ate, bro,” Jamie told him.
Ben’s stomach growled angrily.
“You must be starving,” I said, thinking how he and Matt never got any dinner.
“We brought takeout home for you guys,” Lars said, standing from the end of the couch. “I’ll get it. Win, help me.”
“I forgive you for being better looking than me!” Ben hollered after them on their way to the kitchen and sat me on the sofa in a place everyone had made for me. The second I was seated, Rush and Ryan pushed the coffee table close, Rory put a pillow on the hard surface, and Madison helped position my cast on the cushion.
Landry passed a blanket over, and Ben spread it out over my lap. “You good, baby girl?” he asked, smoothing the hair back from my face.
It seemed strange to have so many people fussing over me. Surreal that so many cared.
“Jess,” Ben called, reminding me he’d asked a question.
Pulling the trauma latte into my chest, I practically hugged it. “Yes, thank you.” Glancing at everyone lounging around, I told them, “I’m sorry to make you worry. Thank you for coming.”
“We would have come to the hospital but didn’t want to make the situation more overwhelming,” Ryan explained. Sitting forward on the cushions, he rested his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”
“But first,” Rory said, laying a hand on Ryan’s arm. “Are you okay? Is there anything we can get you? Do you want to change clothes or anything?”
Ryan made a gruff sound. His blue eyes dropping to my cheek, he asked, “Do you want some ice for that shiner?”
