Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dean
All The Small Things
Boston feels different now. Maybe it’s because we aren’t a secret anymore.
Maybe it’s the way the city hums like it’s always in a hurry to become history, or the way the air tastes like salt and old stone even when you’re blocks from the water.
Maybe it’s because the crowd tonight isn’t just loud; they’re sharp.
Like they came to be fed. We give it to them.
The lights melt into heat. The stage shakes under my boots.
The first chord hits and thirty-thousand people become one body, one roar, one pulse.
I lose myself in it the way I always do, hands moving on muscle memory, brain going quiet, the world narrowing down to sound and timing and the stretch of a note held just long enough to hurt.
Except it doesn’t go fully quiet anymore. Not since her.
I catch her at stage right before the second chorus even lands. Sadie low by the monitors, camera up, hair pulled back, face lit by her screen. She’s focused, mouth set in concentration, the kind of calm that makes everything around her feel less chaotic without even trying.
She doesn’t look like she’s bracing for impact anymore.
Neither do I.
That should scare the shit out of me.
It doesn’t.
It feels… clean.
When the set ends, the band clears the stage in a blur of sweat and adrenaline.
Mikey is grinning like a menace, tossing a stick into the air and catching it like he’s fourteen and invincible.
Hayden’s face is calm, but his eyes are bright.
He likes to pretends the crowd doesn’t affect him, but it does.
Luc walks off last like he owns the night and doesn’t have to prove it.
Backstage hits us like a wall. The temperature changes. The noise changes. People move with purpose; the crew calling cues, someone shoving water bottles into hands, cases rolling, radios barking.
I take a breath and the air tastes like metal and fog machine and the tail end of my own adrenaline. Then I feel it. That pressure in my chest that has nothing to do with the show. I scan the corridor without thinking and find her.
Sadie’s already moving, weaving between techs and cables like she’s part of the infrastructure. She’s got her camera in one hand, her bag slung over her shoulder, posture straight. No hesitation. No apology for taking up space.
She looks up at the same second I do. Our eyes catch. There’s a spark, but it’s not dangerous anymore. It’s recognition.
She gives me the smallest nod, like a check-in. Like she’s asking without words: You good? I nod back. And I realize something so simple it almost knocks me off my feet. I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff anymore. I feel like I’m standing on solid ground.
The green room is chaos in the way it always is.
There are people laughing too loud, someone doing shots like it’s still college, somebody yelling that the catering ran out of the good chips.
It used to work on me. The noise. The distraction.
The easy version of being untouchable. Tonight, it feels thin. Like costume jewelry.
Cherry is at the folding table with her clipboard and her death stare, already barking about load-out, travel times, and the nightmare that is Boston traffic.
“Ross.” She points the pen at me like she might stab me with it. “Don’t disappear. I need you for a quick sponsor photo.”
I grunt. “I’m right here.”
Mikey slings an arm around my shoulders, sweaty and annoying. “You hear that, guys? Dean’s right here.”
Hayden lifts his coffee like a toast. “Miracles.”
Luc snorts. “Don’t jinx it.”
Mikey leans in closer, voice dropping like he’s about to confess a crime. “You look like you caught yourself some feelings and don’t hate yourself for it.”
I elbow him hard enough to make him cough. “Shut up.”
He wheezes. “That’s not a denial.”
“Go flirt with a stagehand,” I grunt out.
“I already did. She told me no.” Mikey’s grin turns feral. “I need to flirt harder.”
Hayden shakes his head. “Your therapist deserves a raise.”
Cherry’s eyes flick up from her clipboard. “Your therapist deserves a medal.”
The banter is normal. Loud. Familiar. The kind of thing we’ve always done to keep the pressure from crushing us.
But underneath it, there’s a shift. It’s subtle, but I can feel it in the way Luc’s gaze lingers on me for half a second longer than usual.
In the way Hayden’s eyes narrow like he’s noticing the world moved one inch and he wants to know why.
Mikey just straight-up watches me like I’m a reality show.
I don’t ask them what they’re thinking. Because I already know. They know. Maybe not the details. Not the exact moment or the exact words. But they’re not blind. They’ve been watching me orbit Sadie for weeks like I didn’t understand gravity.
Mikey nudges me again. “Where’s camera girl?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
Luc’s mouth twitches, and he glances past me toward the corridor. Like he already knows. Hayden’s voice is calm when he says, “She’s around.”
I nod like that’s the end of it. It isn’t.
Cherry snaps her clipboard shut. “Okay. Sponsor pic in five. Mikey, stop spilling tequila on my laminate. Luc…” Her eyes soften just a fraction. “You good?”
Luc’s hand flexes around his phone like he’s resisting the urge to check it. “Yeah.”
I feel that familiar flare in my chest again; anger that isn’t mine but still burns. The suits. The narrative. The way they want to brand a man’s happiness like it’s a liability.
Luc catches me looking at him and gives me the faintest shake of his head. Not a warning. A reminder. Don’t carry this for me. I exhale through my nose.
Then Mikey’s voice cuts in. “Hey, Dean.”
“What?”
He points with his chin toward the corridor. “She’s looking for you.”
My heart kicks once, and way harder than it should. I look. I can’t not look when it comes to her. Sadie stands at the edge of the green room like she’s deciding whether to enter. She’s not nervous. Not shy. Just aware. Like she doesn’t want to interrupt the band’s orbit.
Our eyes meet again. Something in my chest goes quiet. I push off the wall and walk to her without thinking too hard about it. She waits until I’m close enough that her voice doesn’t have to carry.
“You good?” she asks.
“Yep.”
Her mouth curves. “You were amazing tonight.”
I hold her gaze. “I know.”
She blinks, surprised by the confidence. Then she huffs a small laugh. “Okay, rockstar.”
I should make a joke. I should deflect. I should keep it light. Instead, I do the thing I’ve been teaching myself to do. I tell the truth. “You were right there,” I say. “The whole time.”
Her expression softens, but she doesn’t get mushy. She never does. “It’s my job.”
“No.” I shake my head once. “It’s… you.”
The words land between us like a chord that doesn’t resolve.
Her throat moves. “Dean…”
I don’t touch her yet. Not because I’m afraid. Because I want it to mean something. “Come here,” I demand quietly.
She follows me a few steps out into the quieter corridor, away from the noise. The air is cooler here. The hum of the venue distant. I turn toward her. For a moment, we just stand. Close. Breathing the same air.
Then her voice drops, careful. “How’s your head?”
I know what she’s asking. Not the show. The rest of it. The pressure. The fear. The part of me that used to splinter into sharp pieces when the world got too close. “It’s… quieter,” I admit.
She studies my face like she’s taking a photo without a camera. “Because of me?”
I almost laugh, but not because it’s funny. Because it’s true and terrifying and beautiful all at once. “Yeah,” I admit. “Because of you.”
She holds that. Doesn’t rush to fill the space with jokes or analysis. She just stands there, steady. I exhale and feel something in me loosen. Then Mikey’s voice carries from the green room, loud as hell, “If you two start making out in the hallway, I want royalties.”
Sadie’s eyes widen.
I groan. “Jesus Christ.”
She laughs, and it’s soft. “He’s relentless.”
“He’s feral.”
Her smile lingers as she shakes her head. Then she looks up at me again, and the humor fades into something quieter. “We’re okay?” she checks.
The question isn’t insecure. It’s intentional. Like she’s checking in because that’s what adults do when something matters. I nod once. “We’re okay.”
“And you’re not going to…” She hesitates, like she hates even putting the old pattern into words.
I step closer. Close enough that she can feel my heat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath catches. I lift my hand and brush my knuckles lightly along her cheek. Her eyes close for a second like it steadies her.
“I’m not asking you to promise me forever,” she explains softly.
“I know.”
“I’m just asking you to keep choosing me,” she continues. “In the small ways. The daily ways. The ways that actually count.”
My throat tightens. “That’s the only way I know how to do it,” I tell her. “So yeah. I can do that.”
She swallows, eyes shining just a little. Then she does something that matters even more than my words. She takes my hand.
Like it’s not a question.
Like it’s not a secret.
Like it’s simply fact.
I feel the weight of it—how simple and how loud it is at the same time. My body waits for the old panic to hit. It doesn’t. I squeeze her fingers. And then, still holding her hand, I turn and walk back toward the green room.
Sadie’s steps are steady beside mine. We enter together.
The room shifts. Not dramatically. Not like a record scratch.
But I see it. Mikey’s grin goes full wolf.
Hayden’s brows lift, subtle but real. Cherry’s eyes flick from our hands to my face, and for once she doesn’t look like she wants to murder me.
Luc looks at us, then looks at Sadie. And his expression softens in a way I don’t see often. Not approval. Understanding. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to. He just nods once. Like he’s telling me: Good. Don’t ruin this.
Mikey points at our hands like he’s spotting a rare bird. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Oh my God,” he repeats louder, because of course he does. “Dean Ross is HOLDING HANDS.”
Hayden takes a sip of coffee like he’s trying not to smile. “It’s kind of sweet.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Mikey’s eyes glitter. “Is this where we clap? Do we clap? I feel like we should clap.”
Cherry finally speaks, voice dry. “If you clap, I will fire you.”
Mikey spreads his arms. “Worth it.”
Sadie’s hand tightens in mine, a small squeeze. Like she’s grounding herself. Like she’s grounding me.
I look down at her for half a second. She looks up at me, calm. Unbothered. Strong. She doesn’t look like someone who’s waiting for me to pull away. She looks like someone who believes me. That hits me harder than the crowd did tonight.
Luc clears his throat and stands. “Sponsor photo,” he commands, like he’s giving everyone a task so they don’t turn this into a circus. Bless him.
Cherry points toward the door. “Move, idiots.”
The band shuffles into position. A promoter lines us up. Someone adjusts lighting. The world keeps doing its thing. But as we stand there, squeezed shoulder to shoulder, I feel Sadie beside me in the room like a quiet anchor.
Mikey leans in toward my ear, voice low enough that only I can hear. “I’m happy for you, man.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sincerity.
Then I mutter back, “Don’t make it weird.”
He grins. “It’s my calling.”
The flash goes off. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m trapped in an image. I feel like I’m standing inside something real.
Later, when the venue empties and the tour machine starts packing itself up, Sadie and I end up in the corridor again. Quiet. Away from eyes. Away from noise. She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad.”
I huff a laugh. “You say that now.”
She steps closer, tilting her head. “Was it bad for you?”
I think about it. The looks. The jokes. The fact that I held her hand in front of the band and nothing exploded. “No,” I admit. “It wasn’t bad.”
“And?” she prompts softly.
I swallow. This is the part where I would usually stay silent. Where I’d keep it inside, let it rot into fear, call it protection. But I’m tired of that. “I like you,” I say, blunt and honest. “I don’t mean I want you. I do. But that’s not what I mean.”
Her eyes widen slightly, breath catching.
“I like being around you,” I continue, words rough. “I like the way you see things. The way you don’t flinch. The way you calm the room without trying.”
Sadie’s mouth parts, but she doesn’t interrupt. I step closer, forehead nearly touching hers. “And I’m not doing the thing where I ruin something good because I’m scared it’ll hurt,” I continue. “I’ve done that. I’m done doing that.”
Her lashes flutter. She lifts her hand and cups my jaw the way she does when she’s anchoring me. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then don’t.”
I kiss her. Not frantic. Not hungry like a threat. Just… sure. When we pull apart, she rests her forehead against mine.
“This is nice,” she murmurs.
I breathe out, and the sound is something between a laugh and a confession. “Yeah.”
It is. And for the first time, the thought that settles in my chest doesn’t feel like panic. It feels like a decision.
Boston. Pittsburgh. Indy. Chicago. The road still stretches ahead of us. But the difference now is simple: I’m not running down it alone.