And whether he admits it or not, he’s still our brother.Eddie was right.
Dexter leans back on the bench, hands falling away from the keys.For a moment, the room is too quiet.No one breathing but us, no sound except the low hum of equipment cooling down.
“You ever think we peaked too soon?”he asks suddenly, staring at the ceiling like the question might be written there.“Like the best thing we’ll ever do is already behind us?”
I should brush it off, laugh, tell him he’s being dramatic.But his voice isn’t joking this time.It’s worn thin at the edges, like he’s let something slip he didn’t mean to.
I swallow, shifting on my stool.“Maybe.Or maybe the best shit just looks different now.”
His mouth curves, but it doesn’t quite make it to a smile.“Different feels like a downgrade.”
“Different could feel like survival sometimes,” I counter, because I know he won’t say it himself.“Others, it could be the best thing that falls into your lap.You just have to enjoy what’s happening in the moment.”
Dex drums his fingers on his knees, restless, like he wants to escape his skin.“PR says if I keep my head down six more months, I’ll be golden.Clean image, new opportunities, fresh start.”He laughs under his breath, no humor in it.“Funny, isn’t it?I fuck up and they call it brand potential.”
“Dex ...”My throat works around the word, but I don’t know what to follow it with.Don’t self-destruct?Don’t vanish?Don’t leave me behind?None of it feels like something he’d listen to.
He glances at me then, and for the briefest second, all the bravado falls away.His eyes are bone-deep tired, a weariness no press release or shiny girlfriend could disguise.And it guts me, because I remember the first time I saw him smile, the real one, before the cameras and the lies.
He exhales slowly, like he’s been carrying something too long.Then the grin comes back, lazy and practiced.“Anyway, enough about my tragic rockstar saga.Play me something.Make me feel like music’s still worth it.”
I want to push.I want to drag the truth out of him and shake him until he admits what he needs.But this is Dex—we don’t force each other’s scars open.We sit with them.We wait.
So I nod, pull the guitar into my lap, and let the chords bleed into the silence.And even though he’s smiling, I can’t shake the thought: Dexter’s one wrong move away from falling apart.
And I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch him when he does.
ChapterThirty-Six
Barret
After the short session with Dexter, I head toward the main bedroom, hoping to find Eddie and Cleo there.But of course—surprise, surprise—they’re not.
I move down the hall and push open the door to the room Eddie and I have been sharing.
There they are.
Both in bed.
Cleo curled against him like she belongs there, her cheek pressed to his chest.Eddie’s arm holds her close, fingers splayed across her back as if he’d fight anyone who dared to pull her away.His other arm is bent up, resting above her, a cage and a comfort all at once.He’s awake, though—watching, waiting, his dark eyes catching mine in the dim light.
“You’re here and not in the main bedroom?”I arch a brow, my tone sharper than I intend.
His lips twitch, not quite a smile.“You got a problem with that?”
I drag a hand across the back of my neck, buying time.“Nope.Just wondering if you want me to stay.”
His gaze doesn’t waver.“Why?”
I nod toward Cleo.“Because I don’t have her consent to spend the night in her bed.”
Eddie lets out a low scoff.“You want me to wake her up to ask the obvious?”He shakes his head, disbelief threading through his voice.“She’s already admitted she loves us.She doesn’t want to be apart from us again.What else do you need?”
My jaw tightens.I step closer, lowering my voice.“We promised not to assume.”
His expression hardens.“You’re becoming a pain in my ass, Hetfield.”
A slow smirk spreads across my face, the tension snapping into something else entirely.“You want some pain in your ass ...I can make it pleasure, baby.Just say the word.”
