--
So I’m not proud of what I’m doing. I’m just too happy to think about changing it.
I know I need to talk to Victor.
That this bubble of happy that Camden and I have been living in for the past month won’t last, because eventually the tour will end and Victor will land on my doorstep.
The thing is—I can avoid it.
So I do.
It’s not even intentional, not at first. It’s just…happening.
After the fight before I left the tour, we don’t talk much. Vic is giving me space, and there isn’t time for it, on a crowded bus and endless parade of venues and shows. Of course he could make the time, but he doesn’t and it doesn’t bother me.
That should—does—tell me something. The thing is, I know. I know that all of this, all of what we're going through and this thing I have growing with Camden--all of it adds up to the end of Victri.
And even though I know it's been a long time coming.
Even though I'm happy with Camden.
It hurts a little. There is something safe and familiar about being with Victor, even when it's awful. A history that's shared between us and screams at me when I consider ending it all.
Which is why a month has slipped by in a haze of laughter and amazing sex and Cari's huffy morning greetings tempered by a sweet smile.
That, at least is easy. Although Camden hasn't mentioned any of this to KP or his agent.
And maybe, that has something to do with why I haven't mentioned to my high school sweetheart that I'm planning on leaving him.
It doesn’t feel real.
I want it to be.
And when I wake up in Cam’s arms, or when he gives me a sleepy, unguarded smile on set. When my phone vibrates with a message that means nothing and everything.
It feels real, and I know that I need to talk to Vic.
But I’ve stayed silent.
It's early on a Tuesday, and we're half through filming the third episode of the season. Camden is nodding along to something Evans says while I wait patiently for Cari and I to be needed.
"Why do we have the same call times, if we aren't filming with him?" Cari asks, for maybe the twentieth time since we came back for season seven.
I shrug, more intent on watching Camden than soothing her not-morning person feels.
Camden is always gorgeous. It's why he was cast as Josef. He's a gorgeous face and a quick smile, all bashful, southern boy charm.
But then he works, and it's like he fucking shines.
He's gorgeous when he's sitting around with nothing to occupy him. But when he's working, deep in his craft, taking notes from our directors, his brow furrowed over his script, plush, red lips pursed in concentration--that's when he's at his best. It brings him to life in a way I only see when he's with me or Cari, and it brings a light to him that is impossible to resist. It's like he's animated, lit up from within by a joy that nothing else can touch or compare to and I want to chase that tiny smile. The one that's there even when he's tired and grumpy, because we might all get that way, but we love this, and him more than most.
"You're staring again, Dee," Cari murmurs from behind her coffee.
“I do that,” I agree, not looking away. “I'm told it's endearing.”
Cari snorts. “You gotta stop listening to the lies Cam tells you, sweetheart.”
I flash a grin at that and glance down at my phone as it vibrates.
Vic: You aren't in your trailer and they won't let me on set.
My stomach drops and I glare at the phone for a long moment.
“I need to go to my trailer,” I mutter, and Cari gives me a curious look.
“We've got about an hour before they need you, sir,” one of the PA’s offers, a pretty blonde trying to be helpful, and I nod. Slip out of my chair. I see Camden's attention flick to me for a heartbeat before it returns to Evan and then I'm slipping away. I jog across the lot to my trailer, and step in.
Vic is sitting in my recliner, looking for all the world like he belongs there.
Like he belongs here.
He gives me a grin and it's got shades if the rockstar the world loves. But under that, there is Vic. My Vic. The quiet outcast with eyeliner, cigarettes behind the school, and who lived up to every cliché imaginable and still managed to surprise me at every turn.
And he’s staring at me with these big, hopeful eyes and a tiny smirk that always makes my knees weak, and reminds me of years of history.
Fuck.
“Gonna stand there and stare all day, Dimitri?”
What are you doing here? That’s what I’m supposed to say. That’s the right response. Or maybe, Hey, babe. Missed you.
But I don’t say either of those things.
Instead, I say, “You didn’t call.”
Vic shrugs. He fucking shrugs. Like we aren’t going through something I’m not sure we’ll survive, like he didn’t just show up after almost complete silence for a month, like he didn’t just crash my goddamn set.
I frown and turn. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?”
“Do this,” I snap, jerking back around, furious. “I don’t have time to fuck around with all the things that are wrong with us right now. Or with the fact that you’ve got zero respect for me. I can’t do this.”
Vic stares at me, cool and blank. He’s slipped on the mask, and I don’t know when. I didn’t see the moment he stopped being my Vic and became this guy I don’t know.
The one the crowds fucking love but can’t touch because Vic Vanes is untouchable, and always has been. I inhale, a sharp little noise that jerks his attention up to me.
“I have to go,” I mutter, and turn.
And he doesn’t stop me.
Even when I hesitate on the step, waiting for him to stop me.
He doesn’t.
I meet Cam going back to set and he gives me a big, happy smile before grabbing my wrist and yanking me between two trailers, and shoving me against one. The bulk is solid and reassuring against my back, and he’s a warm comfort at my front, and for a moment, I forget. I lean into him, whisper his name and crane my head up for a kiss.
Camden’s kisses are still new and addictive. He presses closer to me, rumpling my wardrobe and nipping at my lower lip the way he knows I love. And then he’s kissing me in earnest, licking into my mouth and I groan into the kiss, coming alive. Hook one ankle around his leg and jerk him closer, shove my hand into his artfully tousled hair, and open for him.
He kisses me deep and languid and hungry and sweet. A thousand things in the press of lips and brush of teeth and the slow, fucking maddening, thrust of his tongue. I whimper into it and he pulls back a little to laugh at me.
“Where’d you go?” he murmurs, leaning his head against mine.
I want him kissing me again. He doesn’t do this often. We still haven’t told anyone but Cari about us, although I’m pretty sure Jeb has figured it out.
This—being all over me—isn’t like him. And I love it. I love that anyone could walk by and see us.
A part of me wishes someone would.
“Dee?” He asks, a little concern slipping into his tone and I blink. Right. Question.
He asked a question.
“Vic came to set.”
A puzzled look slips over his face and he pulls back to frown. “Why the hell would Victor be here?”
I blink.
“Because I am? Because I live here and the tour is over and he was planning on coming here when the tour was over, remember? I told you this.”
“You mentioned it last spring, before we all decided to go on fucking tour together, and sure as fuck before we started this.”
There’s that word again. Fucking nebulous and undefined.
“Yeah, well. Now it’s August and the tour is over.”
Camden stares at me, and his lips compress into a thin line.
“What?” I finally snap and he shakes his head.
“You asked me to stay, that first day,” he says. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t.”
I want to say something. Want to explain to him that I’m not leaving.
But I can’t. Because my boyfriend, the man I have over a decade of life shared with, is sitting in my trailer, and I’m going home to him tonight.
And Camden is walking away from me.
I don’t fight with Camden. Aside from the first few months when he was still nervous about having me on the show, we’ve always gotten along. It’s one of the things that makes Fractal Ends work, the on-and-off-screen chemistry we have.
So fighting with him, without him saying a word? That’s a special brand of hell.
We’re perfect in front of the cameras, when they’re rolling. Josef is pissed Farley has Annie, and Farley is the usual cool, untouched bastard, with the smirks and the long stares that Josef never notices. Annie is playing between us, sly and sweet and too fucking clever, manipulating us both into the corner she chooses, and it’s scenes like this that I love. Because Josef is furious and confused, hurt by his partner’s behavior and Annie is soaking it up, her vindictive, bitchy streak out in full force, punishing both characters without bothering to explain why.
And Farley just doesn’t care, because the real fascination lies in the power play between the other two.
So to have all that chemistry there, and alive, right in front of me. And then have it die, have the light in his eyes not even fade—it’s like a light switch. When Camden is channeling Josef, he’s fine. It’s only when he slips back into the natural role as himself that he goes still and blank.
And I get that it’s my fault.
Cari watches us, her eyes narrowed as she sips her coffee and a make-up girl touches up Camden’s makeup while the scene is reset.
She watches him deliver a solid performance and watches him go flat and blank again, when the cameras stop.
And then she turns her gaze, hard and angry now, on me. She's frowning, and I'm not sure if it's thoughtful or grumpy.
I know what it will be, soon enough.
That's the way the day goes. Camden is perfect for the cameras and furiously cold when they're off. I spend all of our breaks in my trailer and even I'll admit I'm hiding.
Vic left and he didn't bother to text me, so I'm left wondering where the hell he is and what he's gotten into.
Which, given our fight, should dominate my thoughts.
It doesn't. It's barely an afterthought, something I register when I enter my empty trailer and dismiss when I hear Camden and Cari talking outside my trailer. For a moment, I freeze, and I actually pray. I want him to come to me.
But he doesn’t.
I hear them pause, and hear the confusion in Cari’s voice as Cam nudges her along, but she doesn’t call him on it.
By the end of the day, Cari is furious, Cam has progressed to being short and bitchy even when we’re filming, and I’ve made two PAs and one of the make-up girls cry, which I know for a fact is a record on this set.
“All right, that’s it. Pack it up, people,” Evans calls and I heave a sigh of relief, and bolt. “Dimitri,” he snaps.
“I got it, Evans,” Cari says, and I can hear them talking. I just don’t stick around for it.
I’m not surprised when Cari gives a sharp rap and shoves into my trailer. She’s got this pissy look on her face that freezes me in my tracks.
Carissa looks like a sweetheart. Blue eyes and big blonde curls—she looks like innocence and the girl you fell in love with at your high school prom. And she’s completely ruthless about using that perception to manipulate people into getting exactly what she wants. I used to see this expression and wonder how to make her happy. How to wipe away that slightly displeased look. And now I see it and I’ve got an instinctive urge to take three steps back.
“What the hell happened?” She snaps, and I shrug.
“Vic got here,” I say.
She pulls up short, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “Why the fuck is--” She cuts off abruptly. “Dimitri, you told him, didn’t you?”
I shift. “I haven’t been sure how.”
“Cam thought you…” She breathes out then stops. Seems to get a grip on herself. She frowns at me. “You know why he’s mad.”
I nod. Of course I know. I’m not an idiot, and I can’t even act like he doesn’t have a reason to be pissed.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But this isn’t a fucking two week fling I’m ending, Cari.”
“If you want Camden, you’ll do it anyway. He won’t be a fucking dirty secret.”
“He is a secret. We’re a secret. You can’t deny that.”
“He is way outside his comfort zone, Dimitri. And you’re not helping. You want him to take a risk, but you’ve got Vic tucked in your back pocket still.” She gives me a look that I’ve never seen from her before.
It’s disappointment. And anger. This kind of raw rage that reminds me I may be her best friend, but Camden has been like a brother to her for years before I met them, and he will always have her loyalty first and foremost.
“You screwed up,” she says. “He trusted him and you fucked him. This is your mess. Now fucking fix it.”
It's still early, by our standards, when I get back to the townhouse. The living room lights are on and I can hear music, pounding too loud, from the driveway as I slip out of Jeb’s car.
“I'll get myself to set tomorrow,” I tell him, distractedly, and catch his frown before I shut the door behind me and go face the music.
It's strange and surreal. That's the thing that stops me in the front door. The strangeness of it.
The familiarity.
The townhouse is alive with music and light and it smells amazing. Vic is cooking, one of his mom’s recipes if I'm not too far off. Zed barks at me once when I kick off my shoes and drop my bookbag--A ratty tattered thing that Vic has been trying to get me to replace for years--on the couch. I stroke Zed’s ears and her eyes droop closed, tiny, pink tongue lolling out in pleasure. Grinning at her, I steel my resolve and go to the kitchen.
Vic is standing at the island, chopping vegetables. He's wearing a pair of loose jeans that hang low enough to show the slight curve where his back dips into his ass. He's shirtless and there's a slight sheen of sweat on his shoulders and it's familiar and comforting and so fucking wrong.
Vic has been my partner my entire adult life. Home has always been filled with his music and his cooking and his books. It's always had his mess and his art, his TV shows. His beer and his cookbooks and his friends.
It took until I moved here for Fractal Ends to realize that even though we were together and partners, I'd gotten lost in him. Vic was--is--such a big person, with so much vision and passion for life. It's what I loved about him when I met him in high school. It's what I still love about him.
But I hated that somewhere along the way, who he was became more important than who I was. It wasn't intentional.
That's probably the hardest part. That he never did it on purpose. That if he knew how I felt, he'd be appalled and want to fix it.
But letting Vic make himself smaller to fit me into his world didn't fix anything. Certainly, not now, when I knew I could live in someone's world effortlessly.
I push aside the thoughts of Camden because it's too much right now, and it's not fair. Not to me or Camden or Vic.
This needs to be handled first.
“You checking out my ass, babe?” Vic says, tossing a grin over his shoulder and I blink out of thoughts. He reaches in the fridge and fishes out two beers. I make a face as he passes me the Sam Adams but take it, twisting it in my hands as he turns off the stove. Dumps the contents of pan seared pork chops and gravy over a bed of rice and tosses it into the oven. Then he wipes his hands and turns to me, taking a long drink while watching me.
I know Vic. I know his moods and how quickly they can turn and his love for the spotlight and how much of himself he puts into his music. I know how bitchy he is when things g
o wrong and how sweet he is with small children and the way he looks after three days without sleep.
And I know what intent and lust looks like because I've seen it in his eyes for ten years. So when he lowers that damn bottle, I'm not surprised that he lunges for me.
He hits me with his full body, shoving me against the wall and pressing harder. Demanding what's always been his.
For a heartbeat, as he presses against me and licks at my lips, as my hands find his hips instinctively, as he rubs against me.
I let him. Because it's easy and because it's familiar and because I don't even know how to do this. How to walk away.
But then his teeth nip and his hand curls around my cock and Camden flashes through my mind, the lazy way he licks into my mouth for a small eternity, until I’m whimpering and begging for more, and only then will he touch me.
He coaxes me to him in a way that Vic never attempted or even considered. And that. That’s what makes me push him back. Gently.
Vic goes, as soon as my fingers push pressure into his shoulders, and they slump slightly.
“Do we have to?” he whispers.
I lean down and kiss him, soft and chaste, and he leans into it, craning his head back for more. And I want to give it to him.
I don’t. It’s not fair, not to either of us.
“This isn’t working anymore.”
“We could try. I could come here. Cancel the European tour.”
I laugh and he paces away, all nervous energy. “We’ve never held each other back like that, Victor. And it wouldn’t fix anything. You’d be miserable and you’d hate me for it.”
“Couldn’t ever hate you, Dimitri,” he says, and he’s so serious, so damned earnest that it kinda breaks my heart.
“I know, Vic. I do,” I whisper, and he stares at me, tears shining in his big eyes. “But we’ve been headed here for a long time. We both know it.”
“I don’t want this,” he murmurs.
He’s lying. We both want this. Even if neither of us want it. I take his hand and draw him over to the couch, scooping Zed into my lap. She’s a furry, little security blanket that I don’t think I’ve ever needed before, not with him.
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