Page 34 of My Defiant Mate
"Dad!" Toby protests, mortified.
I laugh, surprised by how easily it comes. "It's okay," I murmur to Toby, then look back toward the phone to answer his father. "My intentions are simple. I'm going to spend the rest of my life making him happy."
There's a moment of silence, then Ton grunts in approval. "Good answer."
"Are you coming home with Toby for Thanksgiving?" Hana asks eagerly. "I need to know what you like to eat. Do you have any allergies? Any favorite dishes?"
I blink, caught off guard by the question. I haven't spent a holiday with anyone since I was sixteen. "I... yes, I'd love to come. And I'll eat anything. No allergies."
"Wonderful!" Hana sounds genuinely delighted. "Oh, I can't wait to meet you properly. Toby, you must send pictures!"
They keep talking, asking about classes and his new dorm and a million normal things, like Toby didn't just drop a bomb about being mated for life to some guy they've never met. They just... accept it. Accept me.
By the time they hang up, the tension has bled out of Toby's shoulders. He looks ten pounds lighter, like he's breathing full breaths for the first time, and suddenly the whole room feels brighter.
"That went well," I say, pulling him against my side.
He laughs, burying his face in my neck. "That was the understatement of the century. My mom wants to know what you like for dinner."
"I heard," I chuckle, running my hand up and down his back. "Your parents... they're real. Like, actual parents who give a shit. It's... nice."
"They'll like you too," he says, with such certainty that I almost believe him. "My mom's already planning the wedding, I can tell."
"Wedding?" I pull back, raising an eyebrow. "Moving a little fast there, aren't you, Song-Gi?"
He flushes, stammering, "I didn't mean—I was just—"
I kiss him to shut him up, swallowing his protests. When I pull back, his eyes are glazed, his lips parted. "I'm kidding," I murmur against his mouth. "I like the idea."
His eyes widen. "You do?"
"Not right now," I clarify. "But someday. Yeah."
He stares at me like I've just handed him the moon. "Who are you, and what have you done with Jionni Alarie?"
I laugh, falling back onto the bed and pulling him with me. "I'm still me. Just... a better version. The version that exists because of you."
He settles against my chest, his ear over my heart. "I like this version."
"Good," I say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Because he's not going anywhere."
***
That feeling of rightness, ofhome, sticks with me all the way to the gig that night. The bar is packed, the air thick with spilled beer and sweat and that electric feeling before a show—all bass vibrations in your chest and the sticky floor catching at your shoes. My band, The Noise Complaints, is on in ten minutes. I'm backstage, if you can call the grimy storage room behind the stage "backstage." I'm tuning my guitar, fingers moving on autopilot.
Through the haze of smoke and the blinding stage lights, my eyes keep finding Toby—like there's some invisible thread pulling me back to him no matter how wild the crowd gets. I spot him immediately, sitting up straight at his table while everyone around him is slouched or swaying, his beer perfectly centered on its coaster while everyone else's drinks are leaving rings on the tables. He's wearing one of my hoodies, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Seeing him in my hoodie hits me with a possessive thrill I wasn't expecting.
"Earth to Jionni," Marcus, our drummer, waves a hand in front of my face. "You in there, man?"
I tear my eyes away from Toby. "Yeah, sorry. What's up?"
"I asked if you want to switch the order. Play the new song last instead of 'Chaos Theory.'"
I consider it for a moment, then nod. "Yeah. Let's do that."
The new song is special. It's the most personal thing I've ever written. I want it to be the last thing I play tonight.
We take the stage to scattered applause. The lights are hot and bright, but I know exactly where Toby is sitting. I can feel him like a magnetic pull.
