#lam

The air at The Garden thrummed with excitement. Your own heart beat loudly against the backstage pass that dangled from a lanyard around your neck. 

“This is insane.” Nora’s eyes were wide as she took in the stadium. The show was sold out; hordes of fans wearing matching Death’s Echo t-shirts flashed their tickets as they hurried to their seats. 

Ben was just as awestruck, nearly colliding with another concertgoer carrying a beer in each hand. He swiped at where a few droplets of beer landed on his forearm. 

Eddie had mailed the tickets and backstage passes along with a very explicit note detailing how he wanted to spend his free time in New York. 

Rented a suite…penthouse…California King bed…kiss you all over…worship you like I’ve been dreaming about…

Your whole body heated up at the thought of it. That letter was currently tucked away at the bottom of your underwear drawer, far away from prying eyes. 

One of the ushers, a short woman in a fitted pantsuit and the skinniest stilettos you’d ever seen, led the three of you backstage. 

Led you to Eddie. 

He sat on an amp, fingers idly plucking at the strings of an electric guitar. Staring straight ahead at nothing, his mind somewhere far away from Madison Square Garden, he mouthed the words to a song you didn’t know. 

“Hey.”

Eddie blinked, taking an extra beat to focus on his surroundings. He managed a small smile when he saw you standing there. 

“Heiress. You made it.” He stood up, wiping one hand on his black jeans. His gaze flicked over to your friends, flanking either side of you. “Nora. Boris.”

Ben sighed. “It’s Ben,” he lamented. 

You offered Ben a sympathetic look before placing your hands in Eddie’s. His palms, slick with sweat, held you like a lifeline. 

“You okay, Eds?”

Eddie nodded reflexively, but his deep brown eyes told a different story. 

You gently tugged Eddie to the other side of the green room, leaving Nora and Ben to peruse the bar and talk to the rest of the band. 

A spring in the back of an old chair dug into you when you sat down. “Talk to me.”

“S’nothing,” Eddie mumbled, twisting a silver ring around his middle finger as he sat in the chair across from you. “Just pre-show nerves.” But his inability to look at you gave away his fear.

You weaved your fingers with his. “No more secrets,” you reminded him. “I’m not gonna run away.”

Eddie drove his free hand through his wild curls. They’d been styled to look effortless, but you could smell the hairspray from a mile away. 

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

You froze, your breath halting in your lungs. 

Eddie took one look at the way you’d gone still and immediately clocked his mistake. “No, no. Not you, Heiress. I still wanna do this. Us,” he clarified. You felt your body relax with each word. 

“I meant…I don’t wanna do this tour anymore. Not with them,” he glanced over at his bandmates, “and not with these bullshit songs that have no fucking meaning behind them.”

“I thought you wrote your own songs.” He’d kept those papers, the ones you’d accidentally almost turned in for a final assignment. 

Eddie shook his head. “They don’t use ‘em.”

Your heart sank at the notion of his words remaining unheard, just ink on a page without anyone to witness their beauty. 

“We’re out there singing about ‘fuck the establishment’ and ‘fuck the system,’ and then this morning, they started fuckin’ laughing at this homeless guy asking for change.” Eddie shot his bandmates a glare, though it went wholly unnoticed. “And then they go buy shit they don’t need. They don’t even care.”

He took a shaky breath, his eyes holding equal parts disappointment and rage. “I can’t go out there and play along with whatever fake anarchist bullshit they’re gonna spout off tonight.”

“Then don’t.”

Eddie blinked in surprise at your suggestion. 

“That’s your expert therapist advice?” He balked. “Jesus, Heiress. You’ve gotten rusty in these last few weeks.”

You gave him a little shove. “I’m serious. Stop going along with it. Fuck them, fuck the record company…” you wiped where his eyeliner had smudged under his waterline, “and fuck anyone who forces you to conform to their stupid expectations.”

Eddie’s face lit up at that. “You’re perfect.” Cradling his face in your palms, he stared at you with complete reverence. 

If you could have bottled the comfort of his thumbs gently dragging against your cheeks, you would’ve been the happiest woman in the world. For a few untainted seconds, you let his warm touch lull you into a sense of ease. 

“No matter what happens tonight,” you said, your voice soft yet steady, “I’m here, and I’m yours.”

Eddie brought his lips to yours in a searing kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs. It was as though you were the only two people in the room, lost in each other’s taste, until a wolf-whistle pierced the air. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie grumbled. His glare locked on Ben, who guiltily lowered his index finger and thumb from his mouth. 

Eddie scrambled to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. “What the hell is your problem, man?”

Ben put his hands up in surrender. “I was joking, man,” he stammered, glancing at you and Nora for help.

“Well, it’s not funny,” Eddie snapped. “Just admit that you’re jealous.”

“Eddie—” you started. 

“Whatever issue you’ve got with me is one-sided, Eddie.” Ben cut in, rolling his eyes as he spoke. “I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend.”

Your eyes darted between the two men as they volleyed retorts back and forth. 

“And I’m supposed to believe you…why?”

“Because I’m more likely to flirt with your drummer,” Ben flung back. 

Eddie’s brows furrowed. “But Todd’s a…oh.” His cheeks reddened in realization. He looked at the drummer, who was applying more gel to his mohawk. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t. He’s a total douchebag.”

“That’s my type,” Ben said wryly. 

A disembodied voice crackled over the PA system, reminding Death’s Echo that they had thirty minutes to showtime. Onstage, the opening act was warming up the crowd. 

“I gotta go warm up.” Eddie pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingled at his barest touch. 

As much as you hated to let him go, you knew you couldn’t keep him here. He had to be a rockstar alongside Todd the Douchebag Drummer and Fiona, the latter of whom was eyeing Eddie like he was a cut of filet mignon.  

Not that you could blame her. Still, an unfamiliar possessiveness filled your lungs and made each breath laborious. 

“I hate her,” Nora hissed in your ear. “I hope she shits herself tonight.”

You bit the inside of your cheek in a feeble attempt to stifle your laughter. It wasn’t quick enough, because Eddie caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“Tonight is for you,” he mouthed, his lips moving exaggeratedly to ensure you could read them. 

“I can’t wait,” you mouthed back. 

You weren’t sure what Eddie had meant when he told you that tonight was for you. You’d assumed he would give a kickass performance; a small, romantic part of you considered that he’d debut some sort of love song. 

But four songs in, when Eddie slung his guitar over his shoulder and stepped up to the mic, you knew that this was something bigger. 

“This is usually the time when I ask everyone to yell out what they wish they could destroy.” The audience cheered, but Eddie waved his hands to cut them off. 

“I’m gonna do something different tonight.” A buzz of confusion filled the arena. Even the other members of the band—Todd, Fiona, and the bassist whose name you couldn’t remember—exchanged nervous glances. 

Eddie squinted through the stage lights until he saw you standing in the wings. He gave you a quick nod, a silent I’ve got this, his fingers gripping the microphone even tighter. 

“It’s my turn.” His grin turned wicked as the crowd egged him on. “And I want to destroy the contract I signed to tour with this stupid fucking band.”

There was a collective gasp, one that included you and your friends. 

“And these posers might say they’re ‘against the system.’ That they’re 'anti-establishment.” Eddie hooked air quotes around the words and pitched his tone into something obnoxiously nasal. “But they are the fucking system. 

“See Todd?” He pointed to the scrawny drummer, who promptly ducked behind his drumset. “He says that poor people should ‘just get jobs.’ And Howie?” So that was the bassist’s name. “He likes to throw his trash on the ground because ‘the janitors will clean it up anyway.’”

Eddie made a sweeping gesture towards his ex-girlfriend and back-up guitarist. “But it’s the incomparable Fiona Weis who refuses to drive anywhere unless it's in a limo.”

From all the way in the wings, you could see Fiona’s body tense, her jaw steeling in place as Eddie exposed her. Nora and Ben both shook with laughter, but you were too engrossed in the scene to do anything but gawp.

The crowd was going wild, booing and flipping off the three offending band members. Eddie, however, wasn’t done.

“But I’m not innocent, either.” Eddie sighed directly into the microphone. “Because I just played along. Acted like they weren’t giant fucking assholes. I thought that maybe I could pretend hard enough to fit in. I guess…I guess that makes me a poser, too, huh?” He laughed dejectedly.

“So let me be clear: My name is Eddie Munson. I grew up in a trailer park in Hawkins, Indiana. My mom died and my dad walked out, and my uncle raised me. We lived paycheck to paycheck, but he gave me the best life he could.

“I probably got fifteen seconds before security drags me off this stage, but before I go, I just want to say this.” Eddie looked directly into the audience as he spoke. “If people ever glared at you when you used food stamps to pay for groceries, or if the mailman ever rolled his eyes when he delivered your welfare check, I fucking see you. And if you make fun of people because they wear hand-me-down clothes or eat ketchup sandwiches, you’re just a cog in this capitalist machine, and you can eat shi–fuck!”

Two beefy security guards hoisted Eddie up and carried him offstage. The microphone feedback shrieked as it hit the ground, but it was barely audible over the audience roaring their approval.

EDDIE! EDDIE! EDDIE!

The chanting still rang in your ears as Eddie tugged you down 34th Street. Your feet nearly flew off the sidewalk until he stopped you in front of an ornate building.

“What are we–”

“I told you.” Eddie nudged his nose against yours, kissing you right in the midst of all of the foot traffic. “I got us a penthouse suite for the night.”

Your eyebrows pinched together. How was he going to afford a penthouse suite? He’d just publicly quit his job, which meant the record company wouldn’t be footing the bill. 

The concierge stood behind a teak desk that probably cost more than your parents paid for the entire motel. His face was drawn, lines around his lips that signified a heavy smoker. Sure enough, the scent of tobacco overwhelmed you as you approached.

“Reservation for Munson.” Eddie slapped a platinum credit card down on the countertop with enough force to make the other man flinch. 

The concierge cleared his throat, taking note of Eddie’s smeared eyeliner, ripped jeans, and t-shirt with the sleeves methodically torn off. “Yes, Mr. Munson. Of course.” Even as he swiped the card, he never stopped looking at Eddie. 

Instinctively, you wrapped your hand around Eddie’s exposed bicep. In your own syrupy customer service voice, you asked the concierge. “Is there a problem with my boyfriend’s card, sir?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, miss.” He handed the credit card back to Eddie, along with a set of room keys. “Elevator is down the hall and to your left.”

The second the elevator door slid shut, your lips were on Eddie’s. 

“You,” you said, already toying with his belt buckle, “were such a badass tonight.”

Eddie laughed against your mouth, the hum reverberating through your body. “All thanks to you.” His thumb brushed the underside of your jaw. “Every time I think about you, I just wanna…be better, y’know? Be a man you deserve.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you said, the soft reassurance speaking volumes.

Eddie’s pants were already unbuttoned, your dress zipper already tugged halfway down your back, when the elevator dinged and bumped to a stop. It was a race to the suite, Eddie swearing under his breath as he fumbled with the key.

The moment the lock clicked, his hands were all over you again.

“Thought you said we’d take it slow this time,” you teased.

“Well, that was before we were racing against the clock.” When you looked at him in confusion, he explained, “record company’s gonna realize they never confiscated my card sooner or later.”

“Worse comes to worst,” you paused to nibble at his lower lip, “we go back to the motel and continue there.”

Eddie scoffed and unzipped your dress the rest of the way. “Last time we did that, Phyllis made bed-squeaking noises when she saw me.”

“We should probably fix those bedsprings,” you acquiesced.

“We should probably have sex far away from Phyllis.”

Fair enough, you thought, but you didn’t have time to verbalize it before he was pressing you to the wall.

“Oh, Heiress.” Eddie hissed, grinding his hips against you. “Fuck, I–I want you. I need you. Y’know how many nights I laid awake in that tour bus, hard as a fuckin’ rock, just thinking about this?”

Slipping your hand into his boxers, you gently stroked his growing length. “I thought about you, too,” you confessed. “Thought about you kissing me–”

“Where?” Eddie cut in. “Where did you think about me kissing you? Here?” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Or here?” To your neck. “Or…here?” He pulled down your dress until it pooled on the carpet in a heap and kissed your bare breasts.

Your fingers might have left indents in the cream-colored wallpaper. A moan floated out of your throat as Eddie kissed down, down, down…

“Eddie!” You gasped, barely cognizant of him draping your leg over your shoulder. He kissed your clit, pulling back with a triumphant grin when you whined.

“Huh. Looks like it was there.” He smirked and kissed between your legs once again. His tongue brushed against you, torturously slow. 

This was his way of rushing things? At this rate, you’d be a puddle on the floor before you even got him naked.

Eddie mumbled something incoherent, practically making out with your pussy. He was on his knees for you, worshipping you like you were a deity standing before him. Like he wasn’t the actual rockstar who had just flipped off the music industry in front of a gigantic audience.

Your leg began shaking, desire taking a stronghold as you remembered his biceps flexing when he gripped the mic stand. For the first time in weeks, you came not just at the idea of him, but at the feel of him, too. 

“Mmm. There…y’go.” He groaned at your fingers tangling in his curls. “Gonna rip my hair out, honey.”

“S-Sorry.”

“Didn’t say I hated it.” His lips, shiny with your arousal, turned up in a smile. Or maybe he’d been smiling the whole time. Given his position, it was hard to tell. “Bed?”

You nodded, unable to form words. In record time you were on your back, Eddie completely stripped of his clothes. Only a guitar pick necklace dangled from a chain around his neck. 

He hovered over you, leaking cock in hand, but he didn’t move any further.

“You okay, Eds?” The sudden urge to cover yourself in the duvet rushed over you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just…” Eddie let go of himself and kissed you, his lips soft and tender. “I didn’t wanna say this now–like, with my dick out, but I…I love you, Heiress. And I don’t wanna waste another second with you not knowing.”

You propped yourself on your elbows and kissed him again, laughing when you felt his erection pressing into your thigh. No, this was definitely not the ideal place for a love confession: A hotel room that you could be evicted from at any moment while your boyfriend was hard and about to enter you. 

To you, there was no better time.

“I love you, too, Eddie.” Your chest rose and fell with each heaving breath you took. “I love you so much that it’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, huh?” He lowered himself, pushing into you with the utmost care. His eyes didn’t leave yours, watching to ensure that he brought only pleasure and comfort. “You wanna know something ridiculous?”

He didn’t wait for your answer before continuing. “All I could think about besides this,” he gestured to your body and the way he was seated inside you, “was that shelter idea. Using H-Harrington’s money to…to…”

“Later.” Your fingertips dug into the flesh of his ass, drawing him deeper and silently urging him to thrust. “Talk later, okay? Right now…let’s just focus on this.”

“This.” Eddie found a rhythm that made you both sing, a tempo that kept you in sync. “I…I can do this.”

Your bodies danced in unison, chests so close that you couldn’t tell his heartbeat from your own. I love yous punctuated each wanton moan, each gasp for air, each sweat-slicked movement.

He loved you. Eddie Munson loved you. No caveats, no asterisks, no ‘buts.’

Just you, Eddie, tonight, and the promise of an open future.