Page 16 of Rock Bottom

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?”

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