7. Seven

Aside from the occasional run-in, Church and I mostly avoided each other for three whole days. He always seemed to be lurking around the next corner, or just out of sight, keeping an eye on me. Whenever I caught him watching me, I'd blow him a kiss or try to get him to flex for me, anything to make him blush, which he did easily before sliding back out of sight.

When I wasn't deliberately trying to embarrass my bodyguard, I spent most of my time up in the loft, alternating between restless sleep and agitated pacing. I'd been through detox enough times to know the random surge of frustration was because of that, but it didn't make it any easier. My body was in active rebellion. My stomach churned, my head ached, and I had no fucking idea what to do with my hands half the time. It was like I was all limbs and none of them worked properly. I tried to play my guitar, but nothing felt right.

In the end, I always wound up in the same place: on my back, staring at the ceiling, with my phone pressed to my ear and Jake on the other end.

"Are they feeding you well?" he asked. "I can't imagine they've got a lot of good burgers out there. "

"I haven't had a burger since I left." I said, kicking out my feet. "But I don't mind. Trust me, Church can cook. Last night, he made these sausages…From scratch, Jake. From. Scratch. Who does that? This guy is like a beefy Martha Stewart. But sexy."

Jake snickered. "Sounds like heaven to me."

I sighed and rolled over onto my stomach, staring at the ladder coming up to the loft. "More like hell. I'm going stir crazy here."

"I know, man, but it's for the best. Just a couple more weeks, and you'll be in the clear. For good this time, right?"

I closed my eyes and tipped my head to the side, wishing I could say yes. The truth was, even as close as I'd come to losing everything, I couldn't shake the craving. I knew that if someone put a bottle or a pill in front of me, I'd swallow both in an instant. I was through the worst of the withdrawals, so I couldn't even use that as an excuse. It wasn't the booze or the drugs I was craving anymore, but the familiar punishment. I knew I'd let everyone down, and that I'd just do it again. The drugs and the drink took the edge off that sting, like numbing a toothache. If I could just have one more, I wouldn't have to think about how disappointed Jake would be when he realized I was still jonesing for another drink, another hit, another escape.

So, with a tight voice, I told him what he wanted to hear, what everyone wanted to hear. "Yeah, for good this time."

It worked like a charm. The worry in Jake's voice lifted, and he sounded much happier as he said, "Glad to hear it. Now, tell me more about this Church guy."

Relieved to turn the conversation away from me, I told Jake about how Church had come back from one of his perimeter walks with a basket full of wild blackberries that he turned into blackberry scones. I wasn't sure what a scone was except for delicious. I was going to get so spoiled by his cooking, they might have to roll me back to the airport .

"And the tea," I continued, sitting up. "The guy drinks it like clockwork at seven, eleven, and three thirty."

"Well, he's British, right? What did you expect?" Jake said with a chuckle. "My cousin married a guy from Liverpool and man, they love their tea."

"It's more like a religion with him," I scoffed.

"You could always join him."

"Don't think I haven't considered it, but…" I sighed and flopped back down.

"But?" Jake prompted. Too insightful for his own good, Jake.

"But," I continued, "I don't know. I kind of told him I needed space. He's been avoiding me ever since."

"Have you tried apologizing?"

I rolled my eyes. That was such a Jake answer. Of course that'd be the first thing he'd suggest, like it was that easy. "Why should I apologize? He was crowding me! I did need space."

"Yeah, but you didn't need to hurt his feelings. Maybe he's the sensitive type."

My eyes shifted over to the ladder again, a smile touching my lips. God, that was adorable. My big, beefy bodyguard was a big old softie.

"Anyway," Jake continued, oblivious, "they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And if he's into tea…You know what I'm saying?"

"Are you saying I should bang my bodyguard, Jake?"

He snorted. "Why not? Remi and Orlando probably would've if Orlando hadn't been let go. Why do you think Sam fired him without even talking to us?"

My mood soured at the mention of Sam. I was not looking forward to seeing him again once I was done with my stay in Ohio. That was the one good thing about being away. I didn't have to deal with Sam's constant badgering about everything we did wrong. "That was a dick move."

"That's because Sam's a dick," Jake said.

"You know he wouldn't have cared if Orlando was a girl."

Jake huffed in silent agreement. "But speak of the devil, he'll be here any minute. Supposed to be some kind of meeting about the tour. I'll take notes and forward them to you."

My throat tightened. "I wish I was there with you guys."

"I know," Jake said quietly, "but what you're doing is work too, Dante. Take the time to work on yourself so you can be at your best for the tour, okay? I gotta go. Take care, man."

"Yeah. Take care." I hung up and stared at the call timer on the screen, already missing the sound of my best friend's voice.

Hell, I was even starting to miss Remi. My head must've been really mixed up.

I pulled up Instagram, scrolling through all the photos posted by my bandmates.

Sam and my lawyers had cautioned me against posting on social media. It was practically torture to be able to scroll through my socials and see what everyone else was up to, but not be able to post anything myself. Of course, Sam had hired some media mogul to post for me while I was away, but the posts were all reposts or bullshit inspirational shit.

I flopped down on my bed to scroll through the replies to the latest pre-scheduled Instagram post. It was an old photo of me and my bandmates claiming we were working on something new that I couldn't wait to share with my fans. I frowned at the replies. Most of them were the typical shit. People complaining about how our latest album deviated from our normal style, or people begging me to DM them, sign something, talk to them…Even a few marriage proposals. The usual stuff. Still, a few stuck out.

Zombeaster776

Bruh, post something new.

AAanimMAL

FAKE

Starry_snailz_

Did they really just Photoshop him into this?

YuzGais

Nah, he in rehab again.

FreddieFuxx5

Or they aren't letting him post after he came out as bi.

RockGod420

Rehab is for quitters. Stay cool, @DanteDelucaOfficial

Ella.string.bean

#SaveDante! #biisbeautiful

People were starting to notice that I wasn't interacting with them or posting the same content I usually did.

My fans meant the world to me. I wanted so badly to post something to let them know I was okay and that I hadn't abandoned them, but Sam would be pissed if I did. I was supposed to stay off the grid and not give any hints whatsoever about where I was.

Maybe if I was careful with my selfie…How could anyone know where I was based on the interior of the loft? I could take my picture against the blank wall, post that I was taking some well-deserved time off before the big tour. Then nobody would worry about me.

If Church found out, he'd rip me a new one. He was taking the whole bodyguard thing way too seriously.

At least he'd talk to me . I walked over to the railing that overlooked the rest of the cabin.

It took a few minutes to get the angle and the lighting right so that I didn't look like I'd gone feral, but I managed to snap a decent picture. Deciding what to say was a little more difficult since I had to be careful about how much information I gave away. The last thing I wanted was the press knocking on our door. I wound up just saying something quick about being on vacation, working on a new song, and how much I was looking forward to seeing everyone on the tour next month.

Throw on a few of my usual hashtags and post . The replies started flooding in right away, and so did the relief. The tension in my chest released. For the first time since I'd gotten off the phone with Jake, I felt like I could breathe.

I tossed the phone onto my mattress and trotted down the stairs to see if I could catch Church before he snuck off to eat dinner on the porch this time.

I found him at the stove, stirring chunks of chicken into a heavenly smelling reddish-orange sauce.

I leaned against the doorway. "What are you cooking?"

"Tika masala," he mumbled without looking up.

"Oh, good! I can't remember the last time I had Indian food that wasn't take out. Probably never."

His response was another inattentive grunt.

I frowned. Over the last few days, I'd learned that Church wasn't fond of conversation. He was the most introverted introvert I'd ever met, but even introverts had interests that could pull them out of their shells. I knew he liked cooking. I just had to find the right conversation starter.

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall near him, but he didn't acknowledge me. "Is it difficult to make?"

"Not really."

God, what was it going to take to get him to talk to me? Maybe I had the wrong line of questioning. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

"London."

"Is that where you're from?"

Church finally looked up from stirring the pot, a frown fixed on his face. "Did your staff not give you some sort of dossier when they hired me?"

"Maybe," I said with a shrug. "But I don't read the papers they give me. They're boring. You're not."

He huffed. "I assure you, I am not that fascinating."

"Try me?" I put my elbows on the counter, propping my head up and giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

Church looked over at me and arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Puppy dog eyes. They work on everyone."

"Not on me," he said and went back to stirring.

"Please?" I batted my lashes at him. "Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

The hint of a pink blush touched his cheeks, and I knew I had him.

He sighed and picked up a dish towel, cleaning his hands before turning to me. "What do you want to know about me?"

Everything , I thought, but I said, "Where at in London are you from?"

"That doesn't matter. "

"Of course it does! There's a huge difference between growing up in Beverly Hills and growing up on the south side of LA. Trust me on that."

I pushed up from the counter and slid behind him, dipping a finger in the sauce as I went. Church slapped my hand, but not before I brought my finger to my mouth for a taste. God damn, I should marry this man for his food alone.

His gaze lingered on my finger as I popped it out of my mouth and I couldn't help but smirk at the flash of hunger on his face. The man definitely wasn't looking hungry for tikka masala.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "I don't know anything about you, and you don't seem to know much about me, so let's do a trade. A question for a question."

Church frowned. "That's a drinking game."

"It doesn't have to be," I said with a shrug, although it was always more fun when everyone was a little tipsy. Since there was no alcohol in the house, we'd have to do without and hope that my charming personality could carry us through. "What do you say, old chap?"

"Don't call me that," Church replied in a serious tone to let me know he wasn't joking. "But…that seems fair. The chicken needs to simmer, anyway."

I practically skipped over to the kitchen table, where I yanked out a chair, spun it around, and sat on it backwards. "Okay, I'll start. Where in London is home?"

He sighed. "Holland Park."

My eyebrows shot up. "Holland Park? I've been there. Nice neighborhood. Your parents must've been loaded."

"Affluent enough to get me into the best schools. Conservative politics was good for their bank account, but less so for their son."

"How so?" I asked.

Church shook his head. "You asked your question. Now it's my turn. What about you? Boone said you were a Cinderella story. I presume that means you don't have such a comfortable background?"

"That's putting it mildly." I snorted and tipped my chair back. "I grew up in the projects, poor as shit. Where I'm from, poverty's not just a symptom. It's the cause too. Shit's generational."

"Well, I promise you, the grass is not greener on the other side." He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

"Brothers or sisters?" I asked.

He shook his head. "My parents could barely stand to be in the same house together half the time, let alone the same bed. You?"

"Five brothers," I said with a nod. "Mom raised us all by herself after dad walked out, but she did all right. She was always working though, so we ran amok around the neighborhood. It's a wonder we didn't get recruited."

He tipped his head to one side. "Recruited?"

"Into a gang. It's how a lot of people out there survive. We were lucky. Had a lot of good people watching out for us growing up."

"Is that how you joined your band?"

I laughed. "You think After Atom would be auditioning some broke kid from the projects? Hell no. Man, you don't want to hear half the shit I had to do just to get on their radar. Nah, I made my first dollars as a musician busking on the street. Some guy recorded me and the video went semi-viral. Someone else hooked me up with the audition and the next thing I know, I'm here." I spread my arms wide. "In the space of a few years, I went from flat ass broke and near homeless to being one of the most recognizable figures in the industry. At least, that's the story they want me to tell. It wasn't quite that easy, you know?"

"No, I don't," he said quietly .

I shrugged and folded my hands on the tabletop. "All I'm saying is it wasn't a joyride. Just getting into the band wasn't enough. I had to front a lot of money at first to buy equipment, new clothes, get a ride…I racked up a shit ton of debt to get started. I paid it all off as soon as I made it, but I was privileged, man. People were willing to invest in me. Not every kid has that. That's why I've got to keep being successful, keep making music. For the other Dante Delucas sitting at home. One day, I'll get the chance to help them."

"Not if you OD," Church pointed out.

I rolled my eyes. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything."

"Yes, you did." I shrugged. "It's okay. I get it. I'm a screw up. The news says I'm a drunk and a junkie, but I'm not a bad person. I just got carried away. I spent most of my childhood wondering if I was going to be able to eat over the weekends and then suddenly I'm eating filet and lobster with movie stars. I just did what they were doing, except I dialed it to eleven because I thought I had to. I just..."

I just didn't know how to cope . I couldn't say it, though. It felt weird airing all my dirty laundry to a guy I barely knew, especially someone who thought I was an addict rocker party boy.

I shook my head. "My turn. You got anyone special waiting for you back home?"

He sighed and stared down at his hands before shaking his head. "No."

"And if you did, they'd be a…" I leaned forward to try to prompt him to answer. "Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Not you," he answered dryly.

I grinned. "Come on. What's wrong with me? "

"Aside from your cocky attitude, your terrible music, and your complete disregard for your own safety?" He shrugged and stood up. "Nothing at all."

I took a minute to compute what he'd said while he went back to check on the chicken. "So you're saying my having a dick isn't the problem here?"

"Are you cleverly trying to pry about my sexuality?"

"Aw, that's sweet. You think I'm clever!" I flashed him a big smile while he blushed. "I think you're great, too. A little stuffy, but whew, that accent. The girls must be lining up to get with you."

He sighed and started plating the food. "Not so much."

Something in my chest pinched. I leaned back in my chair. "Believe it or not, I know the feeling. A lot of people think they want to date a famous rockstar until the paparazzi's taking pictures through your bedroom window."

Church huffed and placed the steaming plate in front of me. "If your previous bodyguard was doing his job, that wouldn't have happened."

"No one can keep those animals away."

"I can."

He said it with such confidence I almost believed him. Maybe he could. He was big and intimidating, more so than any of my previous bodyguards, even if it was only for show. Church could be grumpy, but I didn't get mean vibes from him. Lurking somewhere under that scary guard dog exterior was a golden retriever puppy just begging to be brought to heel.

The pink blush spread further down Church's thick neck. He turned his head and cleared his throat before standing. "I should do another perimeter check. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yeah. Why don't we ever eat dinner together? "

"I assumed you wanted your privacy," he said.

I kicked his chair back out. "Sit down. Stay a while. I don't bite. Much."

"But the perimeter—"

"Isn't going anywhere. Sit."

He hesitated, but eventually I won. I always won. Church prepared himself a plate and sat stiffly at the table.

I smiled and lifted a forkful of what would probably be the finest curry I'd ever tasted. "Cheers."

Church relaxed slightly and did the same. "Cheers," he said, and we had dinner together for the first time.