Chapter 40 #2
Dmitri stays rigid through the whole meal, shoulders locked like he’s still braced for the next blow.
When he finally suggests a swim in the pool out back, it lands less like hospitality and more like a plea for air, like he needs an escape from his parents even though we’ve barely arrived.
I glance through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the afternoon sun shattering across the water, and a ridiculous thought hits me hard enough to choke out a laugh.
The sound feels alien in my throat, and Dmitri’s head snaps toward me, curious.
“Do you remember what swimsuits we have handy?” I ask.
His cheeks lift into the biggest, most genuine smile I’ve seen since the club. It's bright and unguarded—the kind that makes me greedy for more.
I manage a small, real one back, just for him. “There is zero chance of me wearing that in front of your dad.”
He chuckles, scrubbing a palm over his face while that grin keeps getting wider. “I’m sure I have enough here for everyone. Come on, we’ll check my room.” He shoots Tai and Theo an apologetic glance. “Anything I have will be too big for the two of you.”
Tai waves it off like it’s nothing. “Totally okay with rocking my pink speedo.”
Theo looks more pained, but after a beat he sighs. “Yeah, fine, I’ll wear my hairy legs and just fucking deal with it.”
Anatoly stares at the lot of us like we’ve collectively lost our minds.
Dmitri takes my hand, fingers slotting between mine, and steers us toward the stairwell. Anatoly’s eyes flick to the hold immediately, and I carry the heat of his disapproval up every step. Dmitri doesn’t let go. His grip stays firm as we climb, possessive in that quiet way.
His old bedroom hits different the second we cross the threshold.
The rest of the house is bright and controlled with polished woods and tasteful tones.
This space is shadowed and lived-in. The wall behind the huge bed is black, with a lighter gray on the others.
There are instruments everywhere—old cases covered in faded stickers, a drum set still dented from teenage fury, and a keyboard collecting dust against the far wall.
“There used to be band posters everywhere,” he says as he watches me take it in like he’s handing me a piece of himself he’s kept hidden. “But when I moved out, they took them down. I’m honestly surprised they never painted the walls greige or boxed up the rest of my stuff.”
My fingertips skim the desk, brushing over the bases of trophies and medals on the shelf overhead. Mostly music awards, but a couple make me pause. “Debate team captain, huh?”
He steps into my side vision. “You know I can argue with a wall.”
I nod with mock gravity. “You are a master debater.”
He throws his head back in a laugh, and in that instant the room feels safe. Normal. No weight of stares, no careful words, just us laughing like the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.
I turn and smile at him, and the second our eyes lock the air between us shifts.
“Eric,” he groans, and then I’m pinned hard against the desk.
His lips crash into mine, and his hands are rough against my face and hair.
Fingers dig in until the pressure borders pain, and his body presses forward until the edge of the desk bites into the backs of my thighs.
Something is off.
There's too much desperation in the way he kisses, too much edge.
“Hey,” I manage around the assault of his mouth, voice muffled. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
He pulls back just enough, eyes glazed, pupils blown, and tongue sweeping over his lips like he’s trying to taste the moment back into focus. “Am I not allowed to kiss you now?” he demands, sharp with defensiveness that snaps up like a shield.
“Of course you are, but this feels like…” I trail off, the words dissolving before I can shape them.
He takes another step back, putting space between us that feels wider than the room. “Feels like what?”
“Punishment,” I whisper, and he flinches hard, body jerking like I struck him. “Am I what’s wrong? I know I’ve been…”
Awful.
Despicable.
A dumpster fire of a partner.
The labels burn in my throat, too sharp to speak. “I know I’ve been hard to handle,” I manage instead, voice small.
I want to cross the gap, press against him until the tension breaks, but he’s shut down—jaw working, arms crossed tight over his chest like armor. He chews the inside of his cheek for a long beat, then exhales slow and deep, letting his arms fall loose at his sides.
“No, it’s not you… I mean, it is you…”
“No less confusing,” I say, forcing a weak smile that doesn’t reach anywhere real.
Dmitri shakes his head once. “I haven’t been here in years. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but they’ve never… I’ve never been what they wanted. The last time I was here…” His gaze drifts sideways, away from mine, like the memory is something he can’t face head-on.
“What happened?”
His chest lifts in a heavy breath, then another, before he pulls his eyes back to me. The smile he offers is devastating, and full of something he's refusing to share with me.
“It’s not important,” he mumbles.
“It is if—”
He turns his back to me, dismissing me in a way he's never done before, then walks toward the closet like the distance will fix whatever is fraying inside him. “The guys are waiting for us. Let me see what I have.”
“Dmitri—”
“Eric, stop!” The snap cracks through the quiet, loud and insistent enough to shut me up. “You can shut down and wall me out whenever you damn well please, but god forbid I need a minute, right?”
I step back, my eyes stinging with tears as I drop them to the ground. “Yeah, okay. Alright.”
“Fuck, I'm sorry,” he rasps as he rushes over and wraps me in his arms. “I'm sorry. I love you, and I didn't mean to yell. Just… cut me a little slack, okay? I know I'm being weird. It'll pass.”
“Are we okay?” I can’t help but ask.
He swallows roughly, then guides my lips to his for a soft kiss. “We will be.”