Secret Things Read online

  I’d never been on a set like Fractal End. It was more than just being a weird little show about monsters and fairytales. It was that Camden and Carissa bought into it.

  They bought into the story they were telling, even as outlandish as it was, and because they did, they dragged everyone else along in their wake.

  She told me, a few weeks after I got to set, when we’d all realized I wasn’t gonna be a one and done villain of the week, but I was gonna have a real story arc, and challenge the established cannon. She told me then, she was supposed to be the pretty face. That’s it. When she took the part, she knew, it was about Josef Grimm and his weird heritage, and she was just the pretty face whom he needed to rescue. She brought him a cold beer in his shitty apartment while he unwound. She was the filler character.

  Except neither of them ever accepted that. Cari was too good to be filler, and within two episodes, the writers and showrunners were adjusting, turning her into someone who could be Josef’s equal.

  Because Cam and Cari delivered a performance that demanded nothing less.

  It was intimidating, the first time I went on set and realized just how talented my co-stars were. It was easy to think they were a couple of kids, especially when Cari was in a mood to pull pranks. But there was a surprising depth to both of them that drew me in and made it impossible to resist them.

  And Victor hated it.

  He didn’t, at first.

  At first, he loved that I was so happy in my work. That I had Cam and Cari to keep me occupied when he was touring or in the studio in LA.

  But that was my first season. By the middle of my second, he was annoyed anytime I mentioned the show, and cold when I brought up Cam and Cari.

  “You with us, big guy?” Camden asks, nudging me, and I wonder if it’s worth it. If staying with the show, with them, is worth what I’m slowly losing.

  He’s smiling at me, now. Cari’s eyes too bright and knowing.

  And so I shove my issues with Vic aside, because that’s a helluva a lot easier than dealing with it, here, with my best friends watching me with care and concerned eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Cari, but it’s—“

  “No, KP, it’s fine. I mean, I opened myself up for this when we started Small Things.

  KP’s expression is twisted between relief Cari isn’t arguing and regret that she’s cutting Cari’s vacation short.

  The meeting has been routine until now, a quick rundown of our appearance at ComicCon, and when we’d be expected back on set. And then KP dumped the news on us, that Cari was needed back in Vancouver for an interview and photoshoot, and she was going.

  She was going and leaving me with Camden and fucking hell if that didn’t make me happy, but also terrified. I chew on my nail later that evening, while Vic and the band are dressing and fucking around. Cari lands next to me. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  She makes a face and rests her head on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to shake her off. That’s Camden’s spot.

  “You and Vic are having problems,” she murmurs and I go very still. “And you aren’t willing to talk to me about it. Fine. But don’t push Cam away, okay? He cares more than he says and he’s been worried about you.”

  I glance down at her the top of her head.

  I want to fuck your boyfriend. And mine is leaving me because of it.

  That’s the truth, and I really don’t think she’s ready for all of that, so I merely grunt and sit in silence with her as the band gets ready for the show.

  Chapter 3.

  From EndersHallow Editorials (Originally Posted by @BeyondGrimmPages):

  @BeyondGrimmPages: The thing that’s so great about Fractal Ends is that it’s not about Ends. It’s about Cariden and Victri, and it’s about Small Thing and Enders Home, and it’s about good people telling amazing stories about people, even when they’re buried in really crazy stories. It’s about the cast and crew who care about the show and the whole thing that cares about the fans.

  It’s kinda amazing. There isn’t a show like it on the air.

  -

  @SilentSisterFarley: It does help that Cari and Camden and Dimitri are really fucking hot.

  -

  @BeyondGrimmPages: Well, yeah, but we can’t be as fucking altruistic as they are, now can we?

  --

  Vic is panting, and I grin at Dimitri, nudging him with an elbow. “Your boy is really fucking into it tonight.”

  “When isn’t he?” Dimitri asks, his voice a touch off, and it makes me go still. Watching him, as the crowd screams and music kicks through the stadium. An intro riff tat rings eerie and sweet.

  Shit.

  I know this song. Dimitri gives me this kind of panicked look, and Cari crowds closer. “Are you singing, Dee?”

  He makes a face at us, and Victor sweeps an arm toward where we’re standing. Instinctively, I tug Cari deeper into the shadows and I watch as Dimitri takes a deep breath.

  A smile appears.

  And he bounds out on stage, waving like a maniac, snatching the mic from Victor and charming the crowd.

  “You fuckers miss me?” he yells, and somewhere in Vancouver, I can hear KP choking. Cari is laughing, though, because it’s so Dimitri.

  “I sure as fuck missed you, baby,” Victor purrs into is mic, and they’re kissing, the crowd going crazy as Victor lazily holds Dimitri close and tongue fucks him.

  And it makes me angry. Almost absurdly so. I don’t get to be angry that Vic is acting like a boyfriend. I like Vic for fucks sake.

  When he pulls away, I see Dimitri stumble, a little, and I clench my hands on Cari’s waist. Because holding her keeps me still, and not darting out on stage to support Dimitri. Dimitri doesn’t need my support.

  “Wanna give ‘em a real show, Vic?” Dee breathes, and the other man grins.

  And then…

  They fucking sing.

  I get drunk.

  No. Wrong word. I get fucking wasted. Because when you’re standing with your girlfriend—your very hot, very smart, very way-the-fuck-out-of-your-league, girlfriend, and you get a boner for the man who’s singing on stage with his goddamn boyfriend, getting drunk is about the only thing that makes sense.

  By the time the concert ends, and Dimitri stumbles off the stage shaking with energy, his cheeks flushed, I’m three beers and half a bottle of vodka in. He takes one look at me, and huffs a little. “C’mon, then. Let’s pour your ass into the bus before we give PR something to really bitch about.”

  I smirk at him and finish my fourth beer. “Sure your adoring fans don’t need you?” I ask, waving my fingers toward the vendor tables where Vic and the band are being herded to sign shit and be pawed at by the concert goers. For a second, Dimitri looks a little surprised, like, oh yes. That’s right. I should be there.

  But then he grins and says, “Cari leaves in the morning. I’d rather we get drunk instead.”

  I tug Cari closer, an arm wrapped around her neck, tucking her close. It’s comfortable to have her there, grounding me. “Sounds good.”

  My head is still pounding the next morning when I pull up to the curb and Cari crawls out. Her security, arranged by the studio, detaches himself from the baggage claims and makes his way to her as I climb out and circle the rental. “You sure you don't need me to come with you?”

  “I'm sure you need to stay with Dimitri,” she says, grinning at me. Her eyes are a little too sharp. “You and him are both off, Cam. Fix this before you get back to set.”

  She stares at me, intently, and I nod. “Good. Now kiss me and say goodbye. I've got a plane to catch.”

  She tugs me close and hugs me hard.

  “Love you,” I whisper in her ear and she flashes me a quick smile as she pulls away, and pulls her rolling suitcase behind her.

  “Y’all be good. I’ll see you at home in a week.” She hugs Dimitri and grins at us again, before she heads into the airport, security trailing behind her.

&n
bsp; Leaving me with Dimitri. I give him a disgruntled stare. “You look way too fucking chipper for a man who I know is hungover.”

  “I don’t believe in hangovers,” Dimitri grins, his eyes bright and utterly amused with me. Bastard. He doesn’t. We’ve spent too many nights drunk, and he is never anything but disgustingly happy in the morning. It’s gross. And wrong.

  He actually likes mornings. It’s messed up.

  “We meeting the band at the venue?” I ask, easing my way out into traffic, and Dimitri hums under his breath.

  I glance at him, and I’m a little startled to see a slightly desolate expression on his face. I’m not used to seeing Dimitri looking sad. “Hey, man,” I say, softly, reaching out and nudging his knee. “What is it?”

  “I don’t really want to be trapped on a bus for the next six hours listening to the same ten songs on repeat,” he says, shrugging and I blink at him.

  “Okay.”

  Dimitri’s head snaps around, and his eyes widen a little. “Okay?”

  I nod. “Okay. Where do you wanna go?”

  “Cam, we don’t have to do this. You came here to hang out with Silence.”

  “I came here to hang out with you, dumbass. Don’t make it more than it is. Tell me where you wanna go.”

  A smile gleams in his eyes, and I grin at him, because that’s my Dimitri.

  “Let’s go to an arcade,” he says, his voice decisive and I nod, amiable.

  “Find one.”

  Dimitri does this thing that makes me grin, almost every time I see it happen. He mumbles to himself, a stream of consciousness that forgets the world around him.

  He doesn’t do it all the time. When it’s me, or Cari, sometimes when Jeb, our bodyguard at home, is there.

  “Oh! There’s mini-golf at this one!” he says, almost bouncing in his seat.

  “Dimitri, I’m not playing mini-golf with you,” I say, giving him a are-you-fucking-with-me look.

  “You love golf.”

  “I like golf. Real golf,” I counter. “Dodging sticky kids and windmills is not real golf, man.”

  He gives me a pleading sort of look, the kind that Cari perfected the first week we spent on set, and I groan. “You’re a dick,” I mutter.

  He laughs, and props his feet on the dashboard.

  “We look like idiots,” I bitch, watching Dimitri juggle his tiny putter and neon pink ball.

  “There’s no one here, Camden,” he says, a little exasperated. We’ve been playing for the better part of thirty minutes, and I’ve lost two balls to the damn water already, something that earned a wide smirk from Dimitri before he too promptly lost a ball. Sticking our hands in that slimy dyed water is fucking disgusting.

  “Someone is always here,” I grumble, but line up my ball. It’s a downhill slope, with a clown’s mouth that leads to a wraparound balloon before the ball dumps out, hops a small hill and rolls into the hole.

  If I do it right.

  I tap the ball and it rolls down the green, almost climbing the embankment to the clown’s waiting mouth.

  Almost.

  “Fuck!” I snap and at my side, Dimitri snickers. “Shut up,” I snarl, giving him a half smile to ease the sting.

  I tap the ball a little harder and give a little shout when the ball sails up the embankment and into the clown’s waiting mouth. It rolls away and down, giving a satisfying little thunk as it drops into the hole. I smirk at Dimitri. “Ok. Two. Shots or questions.”

  That was his idea. Dimitri can’t just let a game be a game. There has to be stakes.

  “One each,” he says, grinning, and marks the shot down on the top of our scorecard.

  “Question?”

  His head tips a little, and his gaze goes serious. “Why did you get drunk last night?”

  “We all got drunk,” I answer promptly. His gaze flashes disappointment, and he huffs a sigh. “You promised not to dodge.”

  I did. I just…

  “Sometimes, it’s easier when I’m drunk.”

  “What’s easier?”

  “Everything?” I say, laughing. “Whatever the hell I’m running from right that second. Take your pick, man.”

  “Last night. You were fine before I went on stage.”

  I want to lie. I want him to quit fucking pushing on this because I don’t want to tell him the truth.

  Dimitri watches me, and I know he can see it. All of my hesitation and the urge to dodge. We’ve spent too many hours at press conferences and in front of fans doing just that for him to not see my tells.

  So he pulls back. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says, looking away. “I’m out of line.”

  “I got jealous.”

  His eyes snap back to mine, and I force the sentence down. I watched you kiss Vic and I wanted to be the one kissing you.

  Swallow hard and say, “I want what y’all have, you know? That kind of trust and love and support.”

  Something flickers in his eyes, and he smiles at me, but it’s tight and almost pained.

  “I’m sorry,” Dimitri says, eyeing the clown. He’s nervous now. And it rips at something in me. “I shouldn’t--”

  “Hey,” I say, and I reach for him. Grab his shoulder and turn him to me. “Dude, you’re fine. You asked a question. I’m the one with baggage. Okay?” I squeeze his shoulder a little and his gaze, too bright, flicks up to mine. He nods once, and I smile. “C’mon. I’m hungry. And I think there’s a bottle of Jack waiting for us on the bus.”

  Dimitri’s face falls, briefly. His smile is there, so damn quick I almost miss it. Except this is Dimitri, and I am me. So I squeeze his shoulder again, before I let him go.

  It’s pretty obvious that Dimitri doesn’t want to go back to the band. And I want to know why.

  That’s the only reason I drive us to a liquor store and look up movie times while I wait for him to emerge. It sure as fuck isn’t because I want to spend more time with the dude.

  I practically live with him. Spending time with him has never been much of a problem.

  ‘Cam?” Dimitri asks, a little confused, when I pull into a movie theatre three blocks from the liquor store.

  “Look. You don’t want to go to the bus. And I get it. I get wanting a little bit of space and shit. So let’s go see this shitty movie and get drunk, and we’ll go back later. Okay?”

  “I don’t not want to go back!” he protests, and I arch an eyebrow.

  Dimitri huffs a little, and sulks in the passenger seat. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m sure. Very complicated. Now are you gonna get your ass out of the car or am I driving us home?”

  “You’re an ass,” he says, grumpy, and I nod, waiting as he drags himself out of the car, and trails me into the theatre. He stands too close, and I get it.

  It’s busy and we aren’t exactly unrecognizable.

  “Popcorn?” I murmur and he nods once.

  “And nachos,” he adds.

  I hum in agreement, and he detaches himself from my side to move to the line for popcorn, twitchy and nervous over there by himself.

  And people are noticing him. A group of girls are checking him out, and there is a mom with two kids behind him in line. Both the mother and her toddler daughter seemed entranced as Dimitri bounces from one foot to the other, all nervous energy, bottled up and trying to escape.

  I can’t really blame any of the girls who are staring at him though.

  I am too. He’s wearing jeans today, tight in the right places, worn and soft, and a band t-shirt that’s a few years old that fits him comfortably, and brings out his summer tan.

  He’s scruffy from being on the bus and being on hiatus, and he glances over at me, unerring, and I fall in love with him all over again.

  I always do this.

  I get caught up watching him and he catches me and it yanks my breath right out of me.

  “Sir?”

  I blink at the girl offering me tickets and flush. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  �
��Enjoy the movie, sir” she answers, and I nod, scooting away from the counter and striding over to where Dimitri is.

  “Large popcorn, extra butter. A large nachos with jalapenos. Junior mints and a bag of gummies.” He glances at me, “And a large coke?”

  I nod and the guy behind the counter rings it up.

  “We’ve seen this,” Dimitri says to me, giving me an assessing look. We have.

  We watched it a few months back, when Cari got a copy. It’s her first film since we started working on Fractal Ends, and it was good.

  Well.

  She was good. The movie sucked, and was redeemed only because Cari, my gorgeous friend was fucking brilliant in it.

  “We don’t have to pay attention,” I shrug, and Dimitri’s gaze narrows a little. I wave the bottle of Jack lazily at him and a grin quirks up his lips.

  I wait, until he’s three sips in and halfway through the nachos and all the tension has slipped away, and he’s my Dimitri, and not the wind-up toy that he trots out for press and concerts and anything but us.

  I remember the first time I met Dimitri. When I was convinced I’d hate the new co-star, convinced we didn’t need it. We had a good thing going, and we had actually been renewed for a third season, against all odds. They wanted to introduce a new villain, someone who had ties to Cari’s Anne. It wasn’t even that I had a problem with the character. I had a problem with someone coming onto the set, slipping in where Cari and I were comfortable. We had spent three years together, we knew each other in a way I hadn’t ever known another person—she was my best friend, and my partner.

  We even lived together, and it wasn’t because the studio wanted the promotion of having Cariden for the fans. It was because I loved being around her and couldn’t imagine not living with her.

  It was lonely in an apartment in Vancouver, by myself.

  Then Dimitri waltzed onto set, and shook shit up. Within a few days, he’d won over Cari, and a few after that, the crew was wrapped around his finger, and he was still smiling at me from across the set, kinda amused, kinda distant. Like he’d figured out that I didn’t like him, and it amused the hell outta him.