Chapter 51
Dmitri
Four Months Later
Our bus is loaded up and ready for the show. Gone are the days of spreading equipment out between a few of our vehicles. We hit a couple of lucky breaks after the tour, thanks in part to the drama surrounding Eric’s and my relationship and the national attention it received.
Social media had a field day with our Charlotte performance, and videos and pictures circulated for weeks. Someone even started a dedicated group just to collect pictures of signs from that night, so over time we got to read dozens of messages written for us on that vulnerable, magical night.
People can and will disappoint you, so there have still been traces of negativity, but the immense support far outweighs it.
An overwhelming number of gig requests have started hitting our inbox, and the pay has significantly increased. We’ve signed with an agent and are planning our next tour, this time venturing nationwide.
Our new album is weeks away from hitting shelves—the first we’re releasing under a label instead of independently—and our two singles are climbing the charts, especially here in our neck of the woods.
The first thing we bought was a bus. It's not golden and tacky, but sleek and black, with our logo painted boldly across the side.
It's big enough to stretch out in with plenty of storage to hold all our gear, but small enough to be manageable. It’s convenient, although thoughts of late nights and dark equipment rooms in the early days of our budding relationship always open the floodgates for nostalgia.
As does an occasional hard nip on the lips.
“Come on, slowpokes,” Dante yells from the driver’s seat, and I pull myself out of my head as I climb on and settle beside Eric. I throw my arm around him and tuck him into my side, and he looks up with a smile as I drop a kiss on his lips.
Life is fucking amazing.
He moved in with me the day the tour ended. The last piece of furniture settled into place at the same time I sent my resignation to my father, and that was that. Eric’s consulting work keeps us steady while Dante and I work on promoting the band.
Life is chaotic, but everything feels like it's right where it should be. Eric and I wake up together every morning and fall asleep wrapped in each other every night.
He is my life.
My lonely past, my blissful present.
And soon to be my future.
“Ready for tonight?” I ask.
He snuggles deeper into my neck. “Of course I am. Are you?”
What a question.
It’s hard to hide my nerves from Eric, but I do my best. “I was born ready, baby.”
He chuckles and rests against me as we drive.
The others are chatting up a storm, either to keep him occupied or to keep me from spiraling.
They’re all in on the plan, and I’m surprised Theo hasn’t burst at the seams trying to keep the secret.
His eyes gleam every time he looks at me, but his manic grin isn’t too far off from his normal excitement, so Eric doesn’t notice.
The sunset glows orange and purple on the horizon as we pull into the stadium, and my restless hands are thankful for a job. The usual teasing and banter passes back and forth as the stage crew comes outside to help us. We unload and set the stage, then wait in the wings.
“What’s going on with you?” Eric asks.
I steer him deeper into the shadows to keep him from looking too closely out into the crowd. “Maybe I still get jealous of all those pretty girls in the audience,” I tease.
He grins and tugs me down into a kiss, and I keep him distracted until the lights flare up and the roar hits like a wall.
Eric's hand weaves with mine as we step out onto the stage, but when we reach my kit, I don't let go.
He stumbles and hesitates as I guide him with me to the mic, heart hammering.
“D, what—”
“Charlotte,” I say, voice steady despite the nerves. “This city gave us our start. You accepted us and supported us, and welcomed us with open hearts. We can never thank you enough for everything you've given us, but tonight, I'm asking you for one more favor.”
The crowd stirs in restless preparation as I glance at Eric with his wide, confused eyes, and then at the front row. His mom and dad are there, standing, smiling, and holding a simple sign between them: We’re proud of you both.
Eric’s breath catches audibly through the mic.
I turn back to the audience and nod. Hundreds of signs lift at once—handwritten and painted, all glowing under the lights.
Will You Marry Me?
Will You Marry Him?
Marry Me, Eric!
Eric + Dmitri Forever – Say Yes!
I drop to one knee in front of Eric, pulling the small black box from my pocket. The ring inside catches the stage lights, two small stones that look like shooting stars against a dark tungsten band.
“Eric,” I say, voice cracking over the mic. “I spent six years missing you, and I won’t spend another second without you. Will you marry me?”
His eyes fill instantly, and for a heartbeat he’s frozen.
The chant starts low, then swells into a chorus of, “Say yes!”
“Are you serious right now?” Eric rasps before he launches himself at me, tackling me to the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter and tears. The crowd erupts, screams and whistles shaking the rafters.
“Yes,” he gasps against my mouth, kissing me hard and messy. Perfect. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I laugh into the kiss, arms wrapping around him as we roll once on the stage floor, the ring box still clutched in my hand.
The audience keeps cheering, signs waving like a rainbow sea.
His mom and dad are crying in the front row, clapping and beaming, while the band—our brothers—gathers behind us in a wall of endless support.
We finally pull apart, breathless, and I slide the ring onto his finger. He stares at it, then at me, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I love you,” he says, loud enough for the mic to catch, and the crowd loses its mind.
“I love you too.” We climb to our feet and I pull him down for one more kiss before grinning and shoving him gently. “Now get to work, fiancé. We’ve got a show to play.”