Chapter 2
Two
Sebastian
As soon as I get into my apartment, I turn up the heat. There’s a chill in my bones that is far deeper than what I should be feeling in early February in the mild climate of southern California.
Once the hot air is blasting from every hidden vent in the place, I fall onto my sofa, phone in hand.
A quick push of several buttons, and I’ve made another donation to SAPSE—Sexual Abuse Prevention of San Esteban.
It’s not redemption. It’s not penance. I can’t even call it fucking altruism, because I do it for me, not for anyone else.
I haven’t spoken to Trina since last night, and I dread the moment when she might call again. Last night, she’d assured me that of course she wasn’t threatening me. But the phone call has lived in my head ever since.
She is keeping a big fucking secret, no denying it. And she wants something from me—ever since I quit recording and performing, she’s been begging me to come back.
Trina might not be demanding anything quite yet, but she’s running out of patience, and I have to give her something . What, though? A new song? A new tour? My palms get sweaty at the very idea of going on tour again. Alcohol offered everywhere. Drugs, too, although those were never my vice.
Maybe I could give Trina a song, though. Record a single. Release it into the world. Trina could keep pulling in her percentage of my income, and I could donate all proceeds to SAPSE.
And I could pray that my name coming up again doesn’t dredge up bad memories for the poor woman I hurt.
What would Ella want me to do? I wish I could ask her, but no. I can’t bear the thought of her turning away from me in disgust, disappointment, anger.
So the solution is to give Trina what she wants. Can I bear to do it? My penthouse is littered with notebooks which are filled with lyrics and notations. There’s a guitar in every room so I can pick one up and play at a moment’s notice. If the muse strikes, I’m ready.
I toss my phone on the sofa and pick up a notebook. I find a pencil and start writing.
Ashes weigh me down
The wreckage of my heart
Dystopian carnage
The fire won’t burn out
Lungs doused in kerosene
I can’t breathe without you here
Not through smoke
Not through fire
Not til the ash is clear
I’m choking on the fear
Can’t breathe without
Can’t breathe without
Can’t breathe without you here
Even though I just kissed her a few hours ago, I miss Ella.
I have to fix this, because my relationship with Ella is in jeopardy with this Trina thing hanging over my head. Yeah, I’ll give Trina this song. It’ll be just enough to get her off my back.
I text Trina. I’m working on new lyrics .
She calls me immediately. I have to pick up. Fuck.
“Bastian!” she says, all happy and excited. “Just got your text.”
I just sent it, so I say, “Yeah. I can’t really talk. I want to hash out some chords—”
“Sure, sure, I don’t want to interrupt your work. I only wanted to say how proud I am. You still have it in you.”
“Yeah.”
You still have it in you . Is the thing I still have in me a disease? Am I a predator? I feel like I’m going to hurl.
“We’re good, right?” she asked. “I know our last talk got a little heavy.”
“Yeah. We’re good.” Lies.
I hang up and stare at the notebook in front of me.
I’m fixing this, right?
The worst part is that it’s already affecting Ella. I could see the confusion in her expression last night, but I didn’t know how to explain what’s going on in my head. I still don’t know how to explain. Shit.
How do I tell the woman I’m falling in love with that I’m the worst kind of monster?
Ella
I lean forward, peering into my apartment. I shouldn’t go in. I should call the police immediately.
I back up until my shoulders hit the wall on the other side of the hallway, then tug my phone from my purse.
Someone opens the door next to me. A teenager pokes his head out. “Are you calling the cops?” he asks.
I nod and gesture at my door.
“It’s going to take them forever to come, you know,” he says. “We’re in Bellefleur, after all.”
He’s not wrong. And I have to get to work—it’s a rare day off for Kevin, and he depends on the rest of us to pull our weight. If I wait around for the police, it’s going to make me late, and that’s not good for anyone.
“Whoever did this could still be in there,” I whisper.
“Nah, I heard a bunch of stomping around an hour or two ago. I looked out and your door was down. Haven’t heard a peep since.”
“And you didn’t think to call the police?” I ask.
He points to himself. “You think they’re going to believe someone like me? I’d end up under arrest. Or worse. No, thank you.”
He has a good point, but I want to cry. I’m going to miss my shift at the pub, but even if I did go to work, all my shit is in my apartment and I just, what, leave the door kicked in like this? What if someone steals my vibrator?
A sharp burst of hysterical laughter leaves my mouth.
The teenager looks at me in concern. “You can wait in my place while the cops are on their way. My mom’s home, but she won’t mind.”
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’ll wait in the hall.”
“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, he goes back into his apartment.
I dial the non-emergency police number, explain the situation, and sit down in the hallway. Then I dial the pub.
“Bartleby’s,” a male voice answers.
Oh, great, it’s Nicholas-don’t-call-me-Nick.
“Hi, Nicholas,” I say. “It’s Ella. I’m in a jam, and I’m going to be late.”
“What the hell, Ella? You’re so flaky, I don’t know why Kevin lets you keep working here.”
Because when I’m there, I pull my weight, I want to say. But I say instead, “I’ll come in as soon as I can.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll see if Sara can come in. She’s reliable.”
He hangs up before I can respond. Probably for the best.
When two officers arrive, an hour and a half later, they look through my apartment, deem it safe enough for me to go inside, and ask me if anything is missing.
I see it right away—a blank section of wall in the living room.
The place where my keyboard belonged.
Sebastian
My phone buzzes repeatedly while I try to figure out a chord progression for the lyrics in front of me. I ignore it until I realize it might not be Trina. It could be someone I actually want to hear from—like Ella.
I drop my guitar and hurry to look at the screen, which reads Princess .
I hurry to answer. “Hey, princess.”
“Sebastian.” Her voice sounds odd.
“What’s going on? Are you at work?”
“No, I had to call in.”
“Seriously, what’s wrong? Are you sick? You sound upset, what happened?”
“Oh, just, someone broke into my apartment and stole some stuff. It’s not a huge deal, but I’m not sure what to do right now, Mrs. Dali isn’t home, and so I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee or something.”
I frown at my phone. Grab a coffee? My girl was just robbed. “Baby girl, you’re coming to my place. Let me take care of you, and we’ll find you a new apartment.”
Or she can move in with me. I wonder if she’d go for that. It’s early, though.
And besides, I can’t let her get too close to me. I hurt women. I don’t want to hurt Ella.
But for a few nights? She can definitely stay here, and then Kingston and I will get her set up somewhere safer. Preferably, his place.
“No, I’m not calling for a place to stay. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, princess,” I say. “I’m yours. Where are you now? I’m bringing you to my place and you’re staying here.”
She makes a growl of protest. “No, no way. It’ll only take a couple of days for my apartment manager to get the door fixed. I have a place I can crash until then.”
I growl right back. “Pack up your things, little girl. Kellan and I will be there to pick you up in twenty. Be ready.”
“Fine. I’ll see you soon,” she says.
Kingston
My eyes are bleary from reading and re-reading the clients-only newsletter that one of our teams drafted. It explains the reasoning for our brief shut-down on Friday, as well as offering some complimentary consultation to ensure nobody lost money during that shut-down.
Shut-down? More like shit-show. Thanks to my son.
Someone clears their throat, and I look up from the screen to see Sebastian standing in my office doorway.
“Time to go,” he says.
“Why?” I gesture at my desk. “I have a to-do list longer than my dick, and Joel’s leaving has set me back a person, and—”
“None of that shit matters,” Bash says. “Ella needs us.”
I stand up. “What happened?”
“Some asshole broke into her apartment. The door’s busted.”
“She can stay with me.”
He grins. “Already claimed her for my place.”
“Your shower isn’t as good as mine,” I say, frowning. How did he already claim her? I look at my phone, and the screen doesn’t show any notifications from Ella. “So she called you, but not me?”
He shrugs. “I guess so. You had very important work to do, after all.”
I don’t like the way he says that. He knows I just fired Joel, who, despite being a world-class asswipe, was actually doing a decent job.
Not a great job, but a decent one. So now, not only do I need to help reassure clients that our company isn’t being taken over by hackers, but I need to find someone to take over Joel’s duties.
I grab my things and join Sebastian, and we head downstairs to where his car is waiting. I glance at my blank phone again, wondering why Ella didn’t call me.
Fuck. I really need a business partner, or this place needs a new CEO so I can take more time off. Life goes too fast for it to all be spent working. I need to be available in case Ella needs me. Our relationship is new, but she’s more important than anything.
Bash’s driver takes us to the Bellefleur District. Pedestrians hurry along the sidewalk, bundled up against the chilly evening.
“There she is,” I say, nodding toward her building. She’s standing on the front step, wearing her tattered coat and holding a backpack.