“Sorry. Forget what I said. Too much wine.” Adrik rubbed his head, feigning a headache.
Adrik’s thoughts scattered. Hans saw right through his attempted diversion. As much as he hated his father right now, he didn’t like Hans or anyone talking shit about how his father raised him to be a warrior. The level of disrespect was astounding! The air thickened with a bitter taste; a lump formed in his throat and tears welled in his eyes.
Adrik pushed back from the table, the chair’s screech slicing through the quiet and somehow matching the hollow ache in his chest. He didn’t bother hiding the slump in his shoulders as he headed for the men’s room. Every step felt heavy, like his body was keeping time with a grief he couldn’t outrun.
The restroom was empty—thank God. For a second, the silence felt like mercy.
Then the dam cracked.
He drove his fist into the cold tile wall; the impact was sharp enough to sting all the way up his arm. Pain bloomed across his knuckles, warm and wet, but it barely registered over the mess in his head. Sergei’s absence hit him all over again, brutal and familiar. And the worst part—the part that twisted the knife—was knowing there were things he still couldn’t say to Hans. Things Sergei would’ve understood without a word.
Hans wasn’t Sergei. He wasn’t supposed to be. But that didn’t stop the guilt from clawing at him.
Tears blurred his vision, hot and unwelcome. He tried to blink them back, but they kept coming, slipping down his face as he leaned his forehead against the tile.
The door slammed open behind him. Adrik flinched, dropping his gaze, ashamed of the state he was in.
Then Hans was there—of course he was—turning him gently by the shoulders. Their eyes met, and something in Adrik just… gave way. Hans pulled him in without hesitation, arms wrapping around him like he wasn’t afraid of the broken pieces.
Adrik let himself fold into the embrace, breathing in the steadiness he couldn’t find on his own.
It wasn’t until later, when the storm inside him had quieted, that Hans noticed the blood on his hand. He didn’t scold, didn’t lecture—just guided Adrik to sit on the counter and cleaned the torn knuckles with a tenderness that made Adrik’s throat tighten all over again.
Hans didn’t replace Sergei. He never could.
But at that moment, he was exactly what Adrik needed. “I’m sorry.” He used his hand to wipe Adrik’s tears away. “It’s not you. I’m just dealing with something I can’t talk about.”
“Understood. Do you want to leave?”
“No, I’m okay now. Sometimes, I talk shit when I drink.”
They returned to the table and kept the conversation light. Adrik paid the bill, and they walked three blocks to the nightclub.
Hans ran rings around him in the knowledge department. He had so much to learn from him. Learning from his lover was humiliating.
Chapter Fourteen
Hans
Hans hadn’t expected thenight to start with a punch to the gut, but that’s exactly what walking into the club was like.
The moment he and Adrik stepped through the doors, the bass hit him first—deep, chest-thudding, the kind of beat that made the floor vibrate. Colored lights swept across the crowd in dizzying arcs. Men packed the dance floor, bodies slick with sweat, shirts half-open or not worn at all. Tight jeans, leather harnesses, mesh tops—Rostock’s finest, dressed like they were auditioning for a calendar shoot.
Hans’ breath hitched, the air thickening, as shadows of his past clawed at him, pulling him back into the abyss.
Of all the places… why here?
He didn’t blame Adrik—how could he? The man did not know this was the same club Hans and Dirk used to haunt every night. Even so, the air was too familiar, too heavy.
Adrik, oblivious to the storm brewing in Hans’ chest, grinned and nudged him toward an empty booth. “Sit. I’ll get us drinks.”
Before Hans could protest, Adrik flagged down a server and rattled off their order in German. The server nodded, impressed. Hans couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.
“Show-off,” he muttered under his breath.
When the drinks arrived, Adrik slid one over and leaned back. “You wanna dance?”
Hans hesitated. The music, the lights, the crowd—it all pressed in on him. But Adrik was looking at him with that hopeful spark, and Hans couldn’t say no.
