Chapter 2
“Y ou’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed, glancing back down the street wondering if I’d catch a glimpse of Shep’s guilty face as he drove away, leaving me with Sebastian Jacobs smirking in my driveway.
“Nope,” he replied, pursing his pouty lips to obnoxiously pop the “p” sound. “Why the hell do you carpool when you’ve got a car like this in the driveway?”
I glared at him; eyebrows pulled down so tight over my eyes that I could already feel a headache brewing. Maybe that was just a side effect of being in his presence for the first time in five years – instant headache.
“Are you really not going to say anything to me?” He asked, leaning back against my car and crossing his tattooed arms. I refused to let my gaze catch on the hypnotic swirls of ink, was not going to indulge the idea of trailing my calloused fingertips over them.
He hadn’t had any tattoos when we’d last been in each other’s company, but he’d been a completely different person then.
Twenty-two-year-old Sebastian was a truly heady mix of confidence and insecurity.
He’d known he was a good singer and a good frontman, he knew his band were good.
He believed they’d go all the way but back then, it had just been young, reckless, idealistic hope.
I’d been awed by him but in the back of my mind, I’d had my doubts that Burning Bright would be accepted by the rock scene.
It turns out, acceptance had been at the bottom of the list of what Sebastian wanted.
He hadn’t cared if the ageing rockers he’d grown up playing to accepted him.
He was too pretty, too delicate looking, too bisexual and too open about it to be welcomed with open arms by those gatekeepers.
But by the time we’d ended up on that tour together, those assholes had aged out.
It was a brave new world, and Sebastian belonged there.
That hadn’t stopped him pulling away the first time he’d kissed me, his incandescent blue eyes big as dinner plates.
Didn’t stop him chewing nervously on his full bottom lip the first time I’d wrapped my arms around his slender waist and pulled him in, promising him it was okay, it was all going to be okay.
He’d murmured “are you sure about this?” at least a half dozen times the first time we’d hooked up, quick and dirty on a rather questionable bedspread in the nearest Motel 6.
This Sebastian, tattooed and gorgeous and fighting a smile after seeing me for the first time in 5 years? He wasn’t the same guy. I was sure of it.
“What the fuck do you want me to say, Sebastian?” I demanded, trying and failing to keep my voice light, casual. It came out more like a bark than a question. He didn’t recoil, but something hardened in his eyes, in the slope of his shoulders.
“I want you to say that you’ll come on tour with me,” he replied, glancing down at his boots. Only Sebastian fucking Jacobs would be wearing massive combat boots in the middle of a Californian heatwave.
I should’ve known that was why he’d shown up at my door.
Why else would the frontman of the world’s biggest band just randomly appear at my house, clear across the country from where he lived?
Maybe for a second – a tiny split second – I’d wondered if he’d come back to tell me we’d made a terrible mistake, all those years ago.
I’d thought about it, more than I cared to admit.
Seeing him there, in the newly inked flesh? Well, maybe I’d missed him more than I’d cared to admit too.
“No,” I sighed, shaking my head in the hopes that my long hair would fall over my face, hiding my stricken expression from his shrewd gaze.
I went to walk past him on shaking legs.
It wasn’t far, just a few feet, then I’d be up the stairs and through my front door and home, and he’d be behind me – always behind me.
That was where he belonged, where he’d stay.
I couldn’t look at him as he was now, remembering who he was then and not sure which version I wanted or hated more.
He caught me, his delicate fingers tightening around my arm with surprising strength.
I let him stop me, didn’t have it in me to fight him.
I was tired, like I hadn’t slept in five years and now all those sleepless nights had caught up with me, had been waiting in my driveway for me to get home from work.
“Why not?”
He sounded sincere, like he really didn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to go on tour with him. I imagined, in his shiny new life as an international rock star, that there were few people who would refuse him anything. That was why he’d chosen me, back then, I was sure of it.
He’d always been gorgeous, could’ve had his pick of people working on the tour.
But he chose me – because I’d seemed like the most impossible choice.
I was quieter then, angrier too, and not the type to have a fling.
Sebastian knew that, had known it the second we’d met and chose me anyway, because he knew I’d make him work for it.
I was a blond haired, brown eyed boy from Utah, built like the kids who used to kick the shit out of him if they thought his gaze had lingered just a second too long in the locker room.
I wasn’t the type of guy who hooked up with someone like Sebastian Jacobs – or at least, no one thought I was.
That was probably why we’d gotten away with it.
The sight and sound of him playing dumb made me furious.
I didn’t believe for a second that he’d forgotten what’d happened the last time we’d seen each other.
I couldn’t forget it, no matter how hard I’d tried.
It splashed across my eyelids every time I tried to sleep, heartbreak playing on an endless loop.
So if he hadn’t forgotten, he’d just brushed it off, moved past it.
I wasn’t sure which was more unforgiveable.
“You fucking know why,” I growled, yanking my arm out of his grip.
He let me go (wasn’t that the problem back then, that he let me go?) but I could feel his eyes fixed on my back as I stomped up to the front door.
Sweat prickled between my shoulder blades, my spine almost bowing under the weight of his gaze.
I fumbled with my keys but was able to get the door open. I put my guitar case down, slung my backpack down my arm and dropped it by the shoe rack. I felt rooted to the spot, unsure if I should slam the door or go back out there and make him leave.
I spun on my heel. He was still standing there, hands hanging limply by his sides. His eyebrows inched up towards his hairline when he realized I wasn’t going to slam the door in his face.
“Are you coming in or what?” I said, pushing my hands through my hair. “I’m not having this conversation in my driveway, Sebastian.”
“Alright,” he replied, dipping his head in a courteous little nod like he was doing me a favor. Yeah, this was gonna end in tears – preferably his, the insufferable bastard.
I stepped away, turning my back on him to scope out the living room. No sign of Abbey and Sara. I pulled my phone from my pocket and sure enough, there was a text from Abbey on my home screen – she’d taken Sara for ice cream after dinner.
I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. I loved coming home to them both, it was genuinely one of the highlights of my day, but having an audience for what I was sure was going to be a ludicrous, painful conversation with Sebastian was not high on my list of shit to get done.
“I think they went out,” Sebastian said as he shut the front door behind him. “Your wife and kid.”
I ignored him as I headed to the fridge. I needed a beer. He trailed behind me, quiet on his feet despite those ridiculous boots. I wondered if he was surreptitiously looking around while my back was turned, trying to put together a picture of my life. He’d obviously jumped to a few conclusions.
“You stalking me?” I asked him as I pulled the fridge open, reaching in to grab a couple of beers. I shut the door, pulled the magnetic bottle opener off the front and turned to the breakfast counter.
He was standing behind one of the high stools, watching me. His eyes tripped down to my hands, noticed I had two beers. With a small smile, he stepped forward, hooking one of the stools with the toe of his boot so he could pull it out and take a seat.
I popped the beers open and put one down in front of him. He reached for it with a grateful nod, but didn’t take a sip. I watched, waited, as he started to peel the label.
“No, I’m not stalking you,” he replied, looking up at me through long, coal dark lashes. “I was just coming up the street when they came out the driveway. Your wife didn’t recognize me.”
“Funny, she usually has a finely tuned bullshit detector,” I replied, taking a long swig from my bottle to cover up my vicious smile. He grinned down at his fingers before looking up at me, one eyebrow cocked.
“Yeah? What’s she doing with you then?”
I put my beer down on the counter and pressed my hands against the surface, spreading my fingers wide.
“She’s not with me. You see a wedding ring, dipshit?”
He uncurled his hand from around the misting beer bottle, laying his hands down on the counter as well.
Sebastian leaned in, cool tips of his elegant, pale fingers brushing against mine.
I was speechless, enraptured at the sight of him sliding his fingers alongside mine, his skin soft where our hands brushed against each other.
“Not everyone wears wedding rings, these days,” he murmured, lashes fluttering as he stared down at our almost entwined hands. “It’s a bit outdated, I guess.”
“So’s marriage,” I replied, failing to raise my voice above a whisper.
It felt like something was happening, some moment forming in the silence between us, a spark catching in the scant space between our reaching hands. He looked up at me, the sunlight streaming in from the back patio doors making his eyes look electric blue as he caught my gaze, held it.