Chapter 28
Dante
After a shower to wash away our fun, we move Theo’s guitars into my guest bedroom and hang his clothes in that same room’s closet, since mine is already bursting at the seams. The last thing he grabs from the car is a stack of packages that Brenda had been holding for him.
“Dmitri and I got together today. Monica emailed us a few options to consider,” I say as we settle onto the couch.
He opens the first package and pulls out a pink t-shirt that he holds up with a grin, showing me the words I Can’t Even Think Straight on the front. When his brain catches up to the conversation, he tosses it on the floor and grabs the next package.
“What sort of options?”
“She pitched the idea of doing some interviews with some local radio shows and news stations where she has contacts. There are some bigger podcasters, too, and she thinks that we can boost our numbers with the publicity.”
He glances up from the bubble envelope he’s tearing apart. “You seem hesitant.”
I shrug, eyes drifting to his hands and watching as his fingers work. “I’m not exactly great with people.”
He pauses, bright blue eyes finding mine as he sets the package aside and climbs into my lap. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true,” I say gently. “If we do this, I would need to rely heavily on Eric and Dmitri, and possibly you, to handle most of the speaking.”
He perks up at the prospect. “You mean I’d get to be on television? Let the world see me in all my glory? Sign me up, buttercup!”
Theo pops a kiss on my lips before he shimmies back to the couch cushion. The next package is a tube of liquid eyeliner that he sets carefully on the coffee table before moving to the next box.
“What about Tai? You didn’t mention his part in these interviews.”
“Dmitri and I figured he’d just need to sit and look cool.”
“Damn, he’s so good at that,” he mutters, scowling at the thought.
“Are you open to shouldering part of the responsibility? I thought you’d be excited to, but I don’t want to pressure you.”
Something white and lacy falls from a bubble envelope. His eyes flare as he tosses it behind him, and an innocent smile crosses his face. “Whatever you need me to do, Dante. That sounds right up my alley.”
“What, uh… what did you just unwrap?”
“Nothing,” he says dismissively as he grabs the last box.
“Right,” I drawl. “Anyway, her other proposal is more serious, and one we need to take significant time to think about.”
He sets the box beside him and offers me his full attention. “That sounds serious.”
“Not bad serious, just something a lot bigger than a few interviews. Monica wants us to consider the possibility of doing an international tour.” His eyes light up while his foot starts tapping against the floor like a tail wagging, and I rush to finish my sentence before I lose him.
“But Dmitri and I agreed we need to set some goals before we give it any thought.”
The tapping stops and he forces his shoulders back down, exhaling through his nose in a long, slow breath. “Okay, okay, I’ll look at this logically.”
“Will you?” I ask skeptically.
His foot taps a few more times before he catches it. “Well, I’ll try. Okay. Tours. We haven’t even done a nationwide one yet, just regional. And as exciting as it sounds, it’s also a massive jump.”
I nod, fighting a grin as his restless energy simmers just beneath the surface. “According to Monica, that’d be part of the plan. We’d hit a bunch of the big U.S. cities first, then hop over and do Europe and maybe some Asia dates.”
“Sounds expensive as hell,” he says, eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah, it would be. That’s why Dmitri and I figured it needs to stay on the back burner for now. We’d need the numbers to actually support it—tour revenue, merch, streaming spikes—before we even think about pulling the trigger.”
He’s quiet, his fingers fidgeting and his jaw working overtime as he chews on his nails. The excitement has faded into something quieter.
“Hey,” I whisper, guiding his hands away from his mouth. “What’s happening inside that brain of yours?”
“I was just… thinking.”
“About?”
He leans back on the couch. “The last tour was really stressful for everyone, and this”—he wags his finger between us—“is still new.”
“It was, and it is,” I agree. “Last time was stressful because Eric wasn’t in the right mental place, but he’s good now. He and Dmitri are secure in their relationship and he’s comfortable with his sexuality. The fans have obviously proven their support.”
“Yeah,” he agrees absentmindedly.
“Are you worried about something specifically?” I ask, waiting for him to meet my eyes. “Something about us, maybe?”
“I just don’t want us to go through what they did.”
“We won’t,” I promise. “We aren’t the headliners, and honestly, sunshine, the entire world knows your preferences.”
He snorts a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling as he grins. “And you?”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve never cared what the world thinks, Theo. There’s only one opinion that matters to me.”
He flashes me a sweet smile before he pitches forward to pop a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Of course,” I continue, “that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be challenging. Even without those sort of stressors, it would be the hardest thing we’ve ever done.”
He nods, considering my words with his finger on his chin. “This is true, but—and hear me out—I could also go shopping in Paris.”
“And there it is,” I tease. “It’s not something we’re going to need to decide anytime soon, but I wanted to talk to you about it before we discuss everything as a group at practice. Sounds like we can give Monica the green light for the interviews.”
“Sounds good,” he says, his attention divided between me and the next item he unpackages. His brows pinch as he holds up a clear airtight package with something black inside. He tears that open next, and a leather flogger with thick, braided tails tumbles into his lap.
Memories slam into me uninvited: rough hands shoving me down, the crack of a palm against flesh, and the tender bite of a bruise under my ribs from the boot I wasn’t fast enough to dodge.
I turn my head away so fast it makes me dizzy.
My pulse thunders in my ears and my throat is locked tight, muscles seizing like they’ve been wired shut.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Theo spin the flogger in his hand curiously. When he lifts his eyes to mine, the playful spark in them dies the second he sees my face. His brows knit, confusion shifting into alarm as he glances between me and the whip like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Theo, I can’t… I can’t do that. I-I’m sorry.
” I scramble off the couch before I can think.
My legs don’t cooperate and I stumble into the kitchen, catching myself on the counter with both palms. The impact jars my arms, but I don’t care.
I lean forward, head bowed, trying to force air past the vise in my chest.
Soft hands land on my back.
I jerk away so violently I almost knock over a glass. My heart is in my throat, hammering like it’s trying to escape. I spin, back pressed to the counter, eyes wide and wild for a split second before recognition crashes in.
Theo stands there, hands raised, expression cautious and gentle. “Dante, that’s not mine.”
“It’s… it’s okay if it is,” I rasp, hating how small my voice sounds. “I just… I can’t.” The admission burns. I hate that I can’t give him something he wants. Hate that Trent’s ghost is still in this room.
“Look at me and breathe.” His hands rise slowly, palms open, then settle gently on my cheeks as he guides my gaze to his. “Breathe with me.”
I focus on the rise and fall of his chest and the calm rhythm of his breathing. I try to match it—inhale on his rise, exhale on his fall.
“Does any part of you believe I would ever want to hurt you?” he asks quietly. “Can you picture me wanting to cause you physical pain?”
I shake my head, the motion small and jerky. “No,” I whisper. “Never.”
His thumbs brush my cheekbones, grounding me in the moment. “Then trust that. Whatever your head is trying to tell you right now, it’s lying. I’m here, and I’m not him.”
“I know you aren’t,” I insist, voice still thin.
“Can I hug you?” He waits for my nod before curling into my chest, resting his ear over my pounding heart.
This isn’t my broken past or the nightmares I fought so fucking hard to escape. This is my safe space… my home.
“I don’t yuck anyone’s yum… you know this about me,” he says softly, words muffled against my shirt.
“Love is love, kinks should be celebrated, and it doesn’t matter how weird it is if there’s mutual consent.
But that? Pain and impact play?” He shakes his head.
“Sure, I like you to make it burn a little… don’t say no to a spank on the tush every once in a while.
But I would never intentionally cause you any harm. ”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his hair.
“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” he says, voice gentle.
“No, there is. I shouldn’t have made assumptions, and I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”
“Right?” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, sarcasm soft but pointed. “How dare you have a negative reaction to abuse? Have actual human emotions to trauma? God, the nerve.” He lifts on his toes and kisses me. “What an asshole.”
I huff a strained laugh. “The worst.”
He chuckles and tries to step back, but my grip tightens, pulling him closer again. My mouth finds his, deeper this time. He groans quietly as I back him against the counter, hands roaming like I need to memorize every inch of him all over again.
When I finally loosen my hold, he opens his eyes. “Are you okay?” he whispers.
“I just…” I force another swallow as the lump in my throat finally dissolves. “Theo, I love you.”
“I could listen to you say that forever, and it would never get old.”
I kiss him again then rest my forehead against his. “I’m sorry I froze.”