Chapter 37
Dmitri
“Anyone checked the headlines yet?” Theo asks as we gather for breakfast.
“I just started reading,” Dante says over a bowl of oatmeal. “The reviews so far have been outstanding, but I’ve only read a couple of articles.”
Theo speaks from behind his phone. “I’m digging for stuff on your drumstick stunt right now. Can I just say? That was…” He presses his fingers to his lips in a chef's kiss. “Inspired. Absolute genius.”
We hunt through feeds for a few quiet minutes, the soft glow of screens illuminating everyone's concentration. I find the first one, then take a beat to read it twice to make sure there’s nothing vicious hiding in the comments that would make Eric flinch. When it seems harmless, I say, “Found one.”
Eric’s head jerks up, and my hand finds his under the table and squeezes. “‘The scream I scrumpt seeing Sticks hold Eric’s hand over that drumstick.’ There's a grainy photo attached, but you can't see much.”
“Here’s another,” Tai says, tilting his phone so we can see. “It's a short video clip with the caption, ‘Paying someone my entire life’s savings to read lips and tell me what Sticks said to Eric.’ The comments are mostly convinced it was ‘baby.’”
A low, amused hum escapes me as I shoot Eric a quick wink. He glares back hard enough to scorch the air between us in silent, unmistakable warning.
“Well, they’re wrong,” I say sweetly.
“What did you say?” Theo asks as he looks back and forth between us.
Eric cuts in quick. “He said, and I quote, ‘Nunya goddamned business, nosey asshole.’”
Theo’s brows lift before he rolls his eyes with expert precision. “Seems unlikely, but okay.”
The original post is getting more circulation, and shows up on several of our feeds. We spend another half hour digging through posts, but only come across one more about our stunt. This shot is clearer, the two of us holding my drum stick and smiling at each other.
Dante flashes the photo before reading aloud.
“‘Find someone who looks at you the way Eric looks at Dmitri.’ She’s added all kinds of hashtags that are varying levels of ridiculous.
” He snorts and glances back up with a smirk.
“She’s trying to mix your names together, but she only came up with #ericks. ”
A round of laughter rolls through the group, and Eric’s relief is written all over his face.
“To be fair, I guess there’s no great way to combine our names,” he says with a weak laugh.
“Steric? Demeric? Eritri?” His nose wrinkles more with every suggestion, looking goddamned adorable as he considers it.
“I dunno, that last one sounds like a good elf name,” I offer before my smile turns wolfish. “Think you’d be willing to wear a pair of pointed ears for me?”
“Do not ruin Lord of the Rings for me, dude,” Dante grumbles.
Eric's grin spreads as he leans in with a dramatic whisper. “You bring the ears, I’ll supply the wig.”
Dante’s string of curses only makes us all laugh harder.
Eric’s relief is almost giddy, a bright spark in his eyes that makes me want to chase more of it.
While the others slip into side conversations, I keep scrolling, hunting for another mention to feed the good feeling.
Just as I’m ready to admit defeat, one catches my eye.
It's a small account, and the post barely has any traction, but it's sweet enough to make him smile.
I nudge him gently, angling the phone so he can see.
He leans in, relaxed and still riding the high as I realize my mistake. My blood turns to ice as reality crashes in hard, knocking the breath out of me. Before I can swipe away, he catches the comment I would have given anything to hide.
“What did that say?” His voice comes out flat, every trace of lightness gone.
“Nothing.” My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I tug at the phone, frantic to pull it from his grip. “Eric—” The plea is quiet, desperate, but he yanks it away and turns his back to me, shoulders curling in to shut me out as he reads.
The post is innocent—a photo of us beaming over the drumstick, captioned “These two <3”—but the top comment…
Never again. Sick of this disgusting crap being shoved down our throats.
It lands heavy, and I watch the light drain from him in real time. The joy we’d just reclaimed is snuffed out by a single line of venom, and I'm desperate to get it back.
“Eric?” I slide my arms around his waist and feel him flinch. It's small but sharp, like my touch burns and he needs to get away from it. The ache of it lodges in my chest. “Don’t pay any attention to that douche. We've dealt with trolls before. You know they're everywhere.”
“I’m fine,” he whispers, passing the phone back without looking at me, but the words are hollow.
A dark, burning need to protect him surges through me, and I fantasize for a moment about tracking this coward down for daring to make Eric doubt his worth.
“Baby,” I try again.
“I said I’m fine!” The shout explodes out of him as he tears himself free, fury rolling in waves that pin me in place.
My eyes widen and my heart fractures as I watch him tremble with it. His eyes are unfocused—somewhere far away from me.
He swallows hard and blinks rapidly, then his face collapses. “Fuck, Dmitri, I’m sorry. Come here.”
His arms wrap around me, cocooning me close as he murmurs apologies against my neck, each one quieter, more broken.
We stand like that for an eternity, with our bodies pressed together.
Every sorry whispered into my ear is answered with my own soft litany: how incredible he is, how deeply I love him, how one stranger’s poison can’t touch what we are.
If I have to repeat this every day for the rest of my life, I will. When the cracks appear and the doubt creeps in, I’ll be here to fill them, even if it costs pieces of me to keep him whole.
If it comes down to it, I’ll dismantle myself to keep him intact. Tear the world apart to protect him. I refuse to let them win.
Finally the apologies slow, then stop. When he eases back, he’s holding himself together again. He's shaky, but whole.
We have a few free hours before the auditorium calls, so we claim the couch, curling into each other like the rest of the world can wait.
I make myself his blanket—chest over chest, legs bracketing his, arms caging him in.
I cover every inch I can, shielding him from the venom still floating somewhere online and the hate that keeps finding ways to reach us.
“Am I not smothering you?” I ask.
“You sure are,” he mumbles, voice flattened under my weight.
Eric is thicker than me, but my height means I outweigh him just enough to press down like a living weighted blanket, pinning him against the cushions.
“Do I need to get up?”
His arms and legs lock around me in an instant. “No.” The quiet playfulness in the single word smooths some of the jagged edges in my chest, easing the barbs that lodged there when he flinched earlier.
Theo glances over at us, an amused smirk on his face. “You guys are disgusting. You know that, right?”
“You’ve mentioned it,” I say.
“A few times,” Eric adds.
“A day,” I continue, unable to stifle my chuckle at Theo's exasperation.
Dante wanders in, pointedly avoiding Theo’s side of the room. We haven’t pieced together what’s going on between those two, but Dante has been scarce the last few days, and his usual sharp edges are testier than normal. Honestly, that alone is impressive.
Theo’s playing it off like it doesn’t touch him, but the lighthearted spark that usually bounces off him is dimmed. It's like someone turned down the volume on his whole personality.
Dante drops onto the couch without ceremony, oblivious or uncaring of the tension thick enough to taste. He holds his phone out in front of him like a shield, eyes glued to the screen, and says in a flat, monotonous drawl, “Big news,” never once glancing up to acknowledge the rest of us.
“Hold the excitement,” Eric says dryly, voice muffled from beneath me. He's still pinned under my weight like I’m his personal barricade.
Dante finally makes eye contact long enough to glare before glancing back at his phone.
“Don’t be a smartass,” he snaps, and eyebrows around the room fly up at his testiness. “The band just got an invitation to a party after the show in Nashville.”
Tai’s eyes light up from his spot at the table, and Theo beams, contrasting with Eric and me, who both let out an audible groan.
There is a distinct split in the group when it comes to sociability.
Typically, Dante falls on our side of the spectrum, preferring to stay in and chill rather than get wild.
“Why is that big news?” Eric asks, reluctantly releasing me from his grip and letting his legs and arms fall back onto the cushions. “Half of Nashville would love to have us at their get-together just for bragging rights.”
Dante crosses his arms and shakes his head, waving his phone in Eric’s direction. “Because it’s at Club Midnight, which is very exclusive and invite only.”
Theo captures everyone’s attention with a dramatic gasp, hand flying to his chest. Eric just blinks at him, head tilted in mild curiosity as he waits for the explanation that’s clearly coming. Theo leaps to his feet, shaking his head at our collective ignorance like we’ve personally offended him.
“Honestly, do you not keep up with the times, Eric?” he demands.
“Uh… no?”
Theo scoffs as he starts pacing the narrow space. “Club Midnight is like, the nightclub. Super exclusive, invite only—”
“Already said that,” Dante mutters from his corner of the couch.
“—and no one even knows what it looks like inside unless you’ve been there, because no phones or cameras are allowed. Celebrities show up there on the regular.”
My brows furrow as I purse my lips, trying to untangle the logic. “How do you know there are celebrities if there are no pictures?”
“Valid point,” Eric agrees with a nod.
Theo rolls his eyes and gives Dante his attention. “So, are we going?”
Dante’s irritation is practically glowing as his hand tightens on his phone. He doesn’t look up, but his head flushes dark. “I’m not your daddy.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
Theo’s grin blooms wide and ecstatic as he leans closer. “Not…” He pauses deliberately, staring until the silence turns thick and awkward. Dante finally gives in, glancing up to meet his gaze. “...yet,” Theo finishes, the word dripping with triumphant satisfaction as his grin stretches even wider.
Dante looks one heartbeat from exploding—veins bulging at his neck, chin dropping to his chest in pure, speechless defeat.
Tai bolts upright, bouncing on the couch like he’s mainlined sugar and caffeine. “For the record, I’m one hundred percent down for this. We haven’t hit up a good party in ages.”
I press a soft kiss to Eric’s lips, feeling the last of his tension melt under my weight. “Sounds like we’re getting outvoted here.”
“Sounds like it,” he mumbles, voice dry but carrying a faint, reluctant spark of humor.
Dante finally pulls himself together, the flush receding from his face.
“There might be networking opportunities there, but at the very least, it’s a good chance to get out without worrying about unwanted pictures or media attention.
We’ll take an Uber or a Lyft and you guys can hang as long as you want to. ”
“Do we have to go?” Eric stage-whispers to me.
I chuckle and drop my head onto his chest. “I think we do,” I reluctantly agree.
“Well, shit. Guess I better get my party pants ready.”
I smirk. “I thought those were only for private time—”
“Oh my God, D!” he shouts, groaning as loud as he can while I only laugh.