Chapter 23
Eric
A very surprised Uber driver pulls up to the tour bus, eyeing our chaotic party with wary curiosity.
According to the app, his name is Mark, and he turns out to be a crusty, grumpy man in his fifties who stares as the five of us stampede down the stairs.
His eyes catch on my Falling Absent shirt, then flick to Theo’s eyeliner.
“You guys a band or somethin'?” he asks, voice gravelly as we pile into his van like a clown car.
“Or something,” Tai replies smoothly as he buckles in.
“We need to stop for clothing first,” Theo directs from the seat right behind Mark, who shrugs and puts the vehicle in drive. “And we’ll make it worth your while to park and wait.”
This thaws some of the frost off Mark, though he’s still glancing between us, probably debating whether we’re famous enough for photos or autographs… or just a bunch of weirdos he’ll tell his buddies about later.
I climb into the back bench seat, then Dmitri drops beside me and sneaks his hand into mine. He weaves our fingers together as he leans closer. “I'm not sure if you’ve noticed,” he whispers in my ear, “but I'm pretty sure the guys have figured out there's something going on between us.”
“You think?” I ask dryly.
He chuckles at my flat expression, running his hand over his hair nervously. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. Please don’t be angry with me.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, fluttering tiny kisses over my knuckles that are momentarily distracting.
“Angry?” I ask when his words register. “Why would I be angry?”
Dmitri glances ahead, but no one is paying attention to us. They’re all distracted, chatting loudly and watching videos at full volume, while Mark looks annoyed by the noise.
A soft, affectionate smile tugs at Dmitri's lips as he leans over to press a quick kiss behind my ear. “Because I told you this would move at your pace, but I have no chill around you. You didn’t want anyone to know…”
“Hey, now, hold up,” I interrupt, waiting for his eyes to connect with mine before I continue. “What do you mean, I don't want anyone to know?”
Dmitri licks his lips and glances down at our joined hands, thumb brushing my knuckles in a slow, absent circle. “That was the deal, wasn't it?” he asks quietly. “I told you I'd give you time to figure everything out, and keeping this a secret is part of the package.”
Panic and guilt gnaw at my gut. I shake my head. “I'm not trying to hide you.”
His voice holds no anger or accusation as he gently says, “No shade, babe, but yeah, you are.”
He’s right.
I was already afraid of this. My past with Chelsea scared me silent for years, the memory of her thrown ring and her words still stinging. Then the incident at the fair only made it worse—the sneer, the slur, the way I froze.
The band is growing in popularity, and I'm not just some guy anymore.
My fear of public judgment has become deafening now that I'm becoming a recognizable face.
Celebrities are the public's plaything to comment on and judge, and while I'm not famous enough yet to make headlines, this is bigger than me and a tight circle of friends and family.
This is me versus the world.
Instead of being brave and facing that judgment head-on, I've carried on like nothing has changed. I’ve kept Dmitri hidden away.
Hell, I've basically dragged him into the closet with me, and the guilt of it sits heavy in my chest. My mind spins as I realize just how much I’m asking of him, and how selfish it is to demand he keep our relationship secret because I can’t face the potential criticism.
Because I am a coward, and don’t want to answer the questions about my sexuality.
He'll reach his limit with the cloak-and-dagger charade eventually, despite his protests otherwise. How many weeks or months until he grows tired of being treated like a concubine—hidden away and only pulled out when it suits my convenience?
The image of him walking away, of watching him leave because I couldn’t be brave enough to claim him publicly, flashes before my eyes as I realize it's a likely reality if things don't change. The selfishness will reach a breaking point, and he deserves better than to be someone’s dirty little secret.
“Eric,” he whispers, eyes brimming with concern as I glance at him. “Your thoughts are getting really loud over there. What’s—”
“Do you guys care that I’m gay? Or bi? Or… fuck, something?” The words tumble out louder than I intend, hanging in the van like smoke. My brain catches up, and I freeze, heart slamming against my ribs, palms suddenly clammy against my thighs.
Dimitri's jaw hangs open, flustered and goddamned adorable. “You’ll catch flies, baby,” I say shakily, trying to hide behind bravado as I push his mouth closed with two fingers. The surprise in his eyes morphs to concern, and I wait for the verdict with my breath stuck in my throat.
Tai turns, eyes steady as always. “Of course not,” he says, with quiet conviction that cuts through the tension like a lifeline.
“What he said,” Dante agrees, emphatic and immediate.
Theo spins around, dramatic as ever. “Y’all know I’ve been out since before I grew my first pube, so… absolute no from me. No judgment. Never, ever, any judgment.”
Silence fills the van as I absorb the words I didn’t know I needed, and it loosens the knot in my chest.
Mark booms from the driver’s seat, gruff and annoyed. “For what it’s worth, I don’t care either.”
My face splits as I try to hold it in, but a loud, very unsexy snort escapes. Soon we’re all in hysterics, with shoulders shaking and laughter bouncing off the windows… except Mark, who still looks disgruntled with his eyes fixed on the road.
I release a heavy exhale that puffs my cheeks out. “Thanks, guys. Can we maybe keep it between us for now?”
After a unanimous chorus of agreement from the others, fatigue hits me like a ton of bricks. My body slumps against Dmitri, who wraps his arm around me and presses his lips to my temple.
“I'm so proud of you,” he whispers. “I hope you didn’t feel obligated to do that for me.”
“Conceited, much?” I tease, but there's no bite in it, just quiet affection.
I feel him smile against my skin. “I meant what I said, Eric. All on your time.”
I lift my face to his. The browns in his eyes shine the color of maple syrup in the sunlight, warm and just as sweet.
It's unfair how gorgeous he is—thick black hair falling over his forehead, square jaw dusted with rough stubble that scratches my cheek, and strong hands with those long, thick fingers and sexy veins.
But when he smiles, when it lights up his entire face… that’s when he’s truly breathtaking.
All teeth and lips and pure, unfiltered joy.
“C’mere,” I whisper.
He turns serious, dropping his mouth to mine. The kiss is gentle, fleeting, but it's like he can read my mind and knows exactly how much I need it. For the first time, I let myself enjoy the brush of his lips without worrying someone will see.
I kiss him without the burden of judgment.
And in that moment, I am free.
“I cannot believe that I agreed to this,” I groan as we pile back into Mark's van, the doors slamming in quick succession.
Tai had the diabolical idea for a 'Secret Swimwear' game. It’s like Secret Santa, except instead of heartfelt gifts, we went on a scavenger hunt for the most ridiculous, flamboyant swimsuits we could find. Our chosen victim has to wear them, and no one’s spilling whose name they drew.
Mark drove us to a local specialty sporting goods store packed with tourist-trap insanity. The racks were overflowing with tacky, borderline-inappropriate monstrosities, and one or two screamed 'public indecency charges.' These guys are brutal, and not a single one of us is getting out unscathed.
Dmitri catches me trying to steal a glimpse into his shopping bag, and his eyes narrow as he jerks it away with a loud crinkle of plastic.
“Oh, come on,” I pout, leaning closer. “At least tell me whose name you drew.”
He bends forward, kissing me until my lips curl into a helpless smile. I peer at him through my lashes, fluttering them dramatically as his lips twitch in a fight to hide his amusement.
“Please?” I try again, voice dropping to a whine.
His nose nuzzles against mine, then his lips trail along the curve of my ear. Goosebumps erupt over my arms and neck as his breath skirts hot across my skin, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“Nope,” he whispers, popping the P to mock me, and he's grinning broadly as he pulls back. “You’ll have to wait your turn like everyone else, Peaches.”
“Peaches?” Tai turns and raises his brow at me. “What kind of nickname is that?”
“The none of your business type that will get you murdered in your sleep for repeating,” I respond.
Dmitri smiles even bigger, undeterred.
“And you, mister,”—I jab him in his pec with enough force to make him wince—“are forbidden from calling me that.”
“Forbidden, huh?” He rubs the sore spot on his chest while he looks down at it, then sweeps his gaze up. “What are you going to do about it? Punish me?”
Tai grumbles something about personal boundaries and turns to face forward, leaving Dmitri and me to chuckle in private.
Thirty minutes later, we reach the boat tour office and say goodbye to Mark, whom we all have some weird kinship with now.
Unreciprocated, of course.
I’m sure he doesn’t feel the same.
We crowd into the small room and the lady behind the register hands paperwork to everyone.
Once it's filled out, she ushers us onto a boat, where we sit through a whirlwind of introductions and safety instructions.
After a final thumbs up from us and the captain, the engine hums to life beneath our feet.
The boat rocks gently as we pull away from the dock, sun glinting off the water in sharp flashes.
Tai is practically vibrating with excitement as he bounces in his seat. “Alright,” he says once he deems we're far enough from shore, “let’s start with our fearless leader. Who got Dante’s name?”