Chapter 35
TAYLOR
Now that Sebastian’s campaign had wrapped, he was taking some time to figure out his next move. The obvious answer was for him to head back to D.C. There was always another candidate who needed someone with his skill set.
Of course, I hadn’t said anything, but what was even more surprising was that neither had he, which either meant he was being considerate of my feelings or he was dreading the conversation as much as I was.
So when this roadie put the team in New York the week after the election, inviting him to tag along had been a no-brainer.
Somehow, he’d managed to score last-minute tickets to a Broadway show, though he had been somewhat cagey about who he now owed a favor to.
Truth be told, I was more of an action-adventure movie guy. Give me car chases and explosions, and I was a happy man.
Looking around, I didn’t expect much of that here.
Though honestly, it wasn’t even about the show for me. Being able to go on an actual date with the man I loved was a dream come true. Twenty-one-year-old Taylor never would have imagined a night like this.
“Remind me again what this is about?” I asked, flipping through the pages of the yellow booklet I’d been handed when we walked in.
“It’s a love story set in 1930s Berlin as the Nazis come to power,” Sebastian explained as we crept forward in line at the bar to order twenty-dollar pre-mixed cocktails.
“How romantic,” I deadpanned.
He chuckled. “Definitely not a romance, but I think you'll love it. The Emcee is one of the best characters ever created.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I murmured as my eye snagged on an unexpectedly familiar face.
“Sebastian.” I tugged on the arm of his sweater.
“Hmm?” He made a noncommittal sound, his gaze fixed on the toned dancer undulating atop a nearby platform as sitar music floated through the air.
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Am I going crazy, or is that your dad?”
His gaze snapped back to me. “What? Where?”
I tipped my head subtly toward the corner, where a silver-haired man in a charcoal suit loomed beside a rail-thin woman whose auburn hair was twisted into a tight bun.
Sebastian’s dad had called him twice since Wyatt’s announcement, but he’d sent each call directly to voicemail. Later, Sebastian told me his messages were exactly as he had predicted—surprise followed by anger, topped off with baseless accusations.
“Please tell me that’s not how you got these tickets.”
“Of course not. I haven’t spoken to either of my parents in months.” He shook his head, his brows pinched. He didn't look angry so much as supremely confused. “What are they doing at like, the most unapologetically queer show in the history of the world?”
Across the room, Mr. Carruthers’s head turned, and I saw the moment he registered his son’s presence.
His eyes widened, and for a brief second, he went deathly still.
Then he leaned down and said something in his wife’s ear.
Her head shot toward us, and then, suddenly, they were moving in our direction.
“I don’t know, but it looks like we’re about to find out,” I murmured, pressing my hand to the small of Sebastian's back before thinking better of it. I dropped my hand back down to my side, my fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm against my thigh.
The fact that he hadn’t spoken to his parents meant they were still in the dark about his sexuality. Well, as much as they could be given the gossip about the nature of their son’s relationship with Senator Hastings.
I couldn't let my touch be the thing that confirmed everything they’d heard.
“You want me to stay?” I asked out the side of my mouth, my voice dropped low.
Sebastian took my hand, squeezed it once, then let go. “Please?”
“Of course.”
Less than two seconds later, his parents were in front of us.
“Sebastian,” his father intoned, barely sparing me a glance.
“Dad.”
He pressed his shoulders back and stood straight—putting him slightly taller than his father—his chin lifted slightly in the air, his amber eyes cold. He turned his attention to his mom, whose matching eyes were locked on me, her burgundy lips turned down.
It was an exact mirror of the face Sebastian made when he was piecing something together, and seeing that same expression on her face now had me wondering if she recognized me and was trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with her son.
She sniffed and turned to him. “Sebastian.”
“Hello, Mom.”
“You haven’t returned your father’s calls,” she said by way of greeting.
Sebastian lifted his hand to study his cuticles, his posture relaxed. Indifferent. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” his father barked, before dropping his voice low, as if only just now remembering where he was. “We could have helped you.”
Unfortunately, I thought he probably meant a large donation to the kind of people who could bury any reference to the Carruthers heir under an avalanche of stories presenting an entirely different narrative.
Perhaps a carefully selected, party-approved woman who would be photographed leaving Sebastian’s condo in the early hours of the morning.
Something that screamed, “Our son is definitely not queer!”
“Helped me,” Sebastian drawled. “You mean you would have found me a wife to disprove the allegations?”
“A wife?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. That was way worse than anything I’d been imagining.
“It wouldn’t be the first time they’d trotted out someone like a prized mare for my inspection. You remember the hydrangeas?” He lifted his eyebrow.
Remembered it? I’d never forget him recounting that story, or the face of the woman in the photo who’d been clinging to him like he was some expensive toy she’d bought and paid for.
“And you are?” his dad asked, his tone annoyed.
Sebastian set his hand high on my upper back. “You remember Taylor Morrison.”
“Should I?” The older man's lip curled in obvious distaste.
Recognition crossed his mom’s face first. “Your senior year roommate.” Her eyes landed on me again, and I could see the moment the pieces clicked into place. “The one who played hockey. I seem to recall something about an injury, though.”
“Didn’t stop him from getting drafted.” Sebastian's mouth stretched into a wide smile, not the cold, bored sneer he’d been wearing since his parents had appeared. The real one. The lopsided, goofy one that I loved. “He plays defense for the Maine Marauders.”
I noticed that he didn’t bother to add that we were the second-worst team in our division and the fourth-worst in the league.
His mom’s gaze sharpened, as if she were seeing me for the first time and reassessing whether I could be useful. “Is that so?”
The back of my neck prickled. I knew enough about Sebastian’s parents to know that being useful to them wasn’t something I wanted. “Uh, yes.”
The overhead lights dimmed and brightened twice in quick succession as a bell chimed overhead—our signal that it was time to enter the theater.
The crowd around us began to shuffle toward the entrance. “We should head in,” Sebastian said to me, already pivoting away.
“Hold on.” His father reached out and captured his arm. “I want a real conversation with you.”
Sebastian waved his playbill, gesturing to the moving crowd. “Can’t. Curtain’s about to go up.”
“Stop being deliberately obtuse,” his mother cut in, her voice sharp.
“Me? Never,” he replied with exaggerated innocence.
“Just give me one hour.” He looked at me, then back at his son. “There are things we need to discuss. Important things.”
Sebastian let out a loud breath through his nose, dropping his playbill to his side. “Okay, fine. I’m going to Taylor’s game tomorrow in Brooklyn, but I can come to your hotel beforehand.”
“Tonight would be better,” he said, his tone indicating this wasn’t a request.
Sebastian looked to me for approval.
I nodded, silently letting him know that I supported whatever decision he made.
I’d planned to surprise him after the show with a detour to a speakeasy Bell had told me about, but figured we could do that anytime we were in Manhattan. Sebastian’s conversation with his parents—regardless of what they might want to say—was a long time coming.
“Fine. Yes.”
“We’re staying at—”
The lobby lights flickered again, the final warning to take our seats. The lobby was nearly empty now, save for our small group and a few other stragglers.
“I know where you’re staying,” he said, cutting his mother off and moving toward the doors into the theater.
I followed, stopping briefly at the threshold to look back.
His parents stood exactly where we’d left them, only now they were turned toward one another, his father’s jaw set and his mother gesticulating wildly. Whatever she was saying, neither of them looked happy.
I turned back around and stepped into the dark.
Sebastian turned his coat collar up against the wind as we stepped out onto the wet street. “Well?”
“The Emcee was great,” I told him, pulling my beanie out of my pocket and pushing it down onto my head.
His mouth curved.“You just think he’s hot.”
I blew into my hands to keep them warm and fell into step beside him. “Well, duh. But also, he was pretty great.”
“And very hot,” Sebastian smirked.
“Yes, and very hot.”
It was nice being able to play like this, to tease one another, given what was waiting for Sebastian at the end of the cab ride uptown.
I didn’t know how he wasn’t freaking out. I was freaking out on his behalf.
I’d had a hard time getting into the show, my mind focused instead on the exchange beforehand. Admittedly, I didn’t know Sebastian’s parents, but I knew how he felt about them—how small they made him feel when he was with them—and I wasn’t sure he was in the best frame of mind for this visit.
Sebastian had tried to pretend Wyatt’s announcement and the subsequent invasion of his privacy hadn’t rattled him, and he’d mostly done a good job of it, but I knew him.
I knew what it cost him to smile through Zoom calls with potential clients who hinted they were interested in working with him because of his ties to Wyatt.
Sebastian was a pro, so he handled it as well as could be expected.
But that was professional Sebastian. The mask. The persona. Sebastian, the man, was much softer than he let on, and at long last, he would be asked to explain the true nature of his relationship with Senator Wyatt Hastings.
He’d said he was done hiding, and for the most part, that was true.
In every other aspect of his life, Sebastian had made good on that promise.
But these were his parents—notorious homophobes, supporters of far-right politicians, and people who had never once made him feel safe enough to be himself.
When push came to shove, would he stand up to them or would he deny who he was?
I wanted to think he would, but part of me wasn’t entirely sure. Coming out to people who actively abhorred everything about who you were was daunting as hell. And doing it right after you’d just been blindsided by a man you thought you could trust with that part of yourself?
No, I wasn’t sure at all.
I slowed my pace and stepped off to the side to let some people pass by, pulling Sebastian with me. “Hey, so … about your parents. Are you sure—”
“Come with me, please?” he blurted, cutting off what I’d been about to ask.
“Are you sure you want me there?”
He laughed humorlessly. “I don’t want me there, but yeah. I kind of need you to be there with me. I can’t …” He stopped, blew out a breath, then started again. “I’ve never had someone in my corner for something like this. I don’t know how to do this alone.”
“Then you won’t,” I said, pulling him into me.
His arms came around me immediately. “Thank you,” he murmured against my ear before pulling back and stepping away. He ran his hands down his face, tugging at his cheeks before dropping them to hang limply at his sides. “God, why am I so fucking nervous?”
I took hold of his hands, folding them between mine and rubbing warmth back into them. “Because you’re about to do a really scary thing.”
“I’m thirty-two years old. I shouldn’t be scared of confronting my parents.”
“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but your parents are fucking scary. If you weren’t afraid of them, I’d wonder what’s wrong with you.”
Sebastian’s lips tilted to the side. “You just called me sweetheart.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Of course I have.”
He shook his head, his smile growing wider. “You haven’t.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. “Is that … is it okay? It just came out, and I don’t want—” I realized I was babbling, and clamped my mouth shut.
But then a horrifying idea took root. “Wait, Wyatt didn’t call you that, did he?”
Sebastian’s smile didn’t waver as he shook his head. “God, no.”
“Okay, good.” I exhaled. “So it’s okay?”
He stepped into my space, backing me up against a brick wall, and kissed me, right there on 45th Street. “I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He straightened my beanie, tugging it down over my ears, then stepped back and held out his hand. “Let’s go get this over with.”