Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
FIONA
It’s been a couple weeks, and I have to admit that living with Sebastian isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, though the guy is still one of the hottest people I’ve ever met in real life.
I was hoping that I’d discover some disgusting habit that would push Seb into the friend zone, but no such luck.
Honestly, it’s ridiculous.
No normal person should look that good.
Of course, he’s also my best friend’s brother, and that places him squarely in the “hoes before bros” category, so I have no plans to open that door despite the lady blue balls I’ve had for months.
But I digress.
Since I got here, I’ve tried my best to stay off the radar, avoiding social media.
I even convinced Seb to pay me cash under the table for now.
So far, I haven’t heard anything from Dennis, so I think my plan is working.
But I also blocked his number, so I’m not sure he’d be able to contact me anyway.
I only have about a month and a half left before his legal claim elapses.
The city is starting to feel a little less scary.
I grew up in smaller towns, so adjusting to the chaos of Vancouver has been a little rough.
At first, my brain was constantly overwhelmed with the cacophony of car horns and engines, train whistles, the bing-bong of crosswalks, and the crowds of pushy, chattering people.
But I’ve slowly learned to manage my anxiety by taking quiet moments at home and at work, where I’ve been taking on hostess duties at the pub.
Sebastian also lets me use his office to do administrative tasks when I start feeling antsy, and I’m a little touched that he seems to notice my discomfort despite my efforts to hide it.
I’m taking one such moment now, sitting cross-legged on the rolling chair pulled up to Sebastian’s desk when I hear a knock.
“Come in.”
I frown in confusion when no one enters, and I stand, walking over to peer into the hallway. I hear the knock again and realize it’s coming from the restaurant’s back door. I scan the space, but no one else is around, so I walk to the door and pull it open cautiously.
There’s a rush of cold air and then my eyes meet a stunning pair of familiar hazel eyes.
“Brantley?”
“Fiona…” The way my name falls from his lips sounds like he’s taking a much-needed breath, and he lurches forward, hugging me against him. The weight of his body crashing into mine sends us stumbling into the hallway.
My face is pressed to his chest, and his heart pounds wildly in my ears. He smells like vodka and leather, and I take a deep breath as his body heat mingles with mine. He lets out a strangled sob, and my heart fractures at the sound like he’s carving his way back into it.
I don’t know how long we stand like that, clinging to each other, but I pull back when it becomes too hard to swallow around the emotional lump in my throat.
I grab his hand, twisting our fingers together, and pull him into Sebastian’s office. After I close the door, I turn and stare at the man I thought I’d never see again.
He looks like shit.
His dark blond hair is shaggy and falls over his eyebrows, the longer strands getting caught in his eyelashes as he blinks back tears.
His sharp jaw is lined with stubble, and a pink scar runs the length of his neck just below his Adam’s apple—evidence of the horrific hockey injury that ended his career. My fingers itch to touch it.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, meeting his red-rimmed eyes.
“I—” He looks away like he’s ashamed. “I wanted to talk to Bastian. I had no idea that you were here.” He flops down into the office chair, slumping miserably.
“Sebastian?” I frown. “Are you guys friends?”
“No,” he says, his hands rubbing his jeans nervously. The shirt beneath his jacket is wrinkled and stained. “I wanted Charlie’s number. I thought maybe I could get a job at the theater or something?”
The way he makes the statement into a question makes me doubt his actual intentions.
“You look like hell, Michaels,” I scold gently, walking forward to finger the soft material of his shirt. He still won’t meet my gaze. “You smell like alcohol. Are you drunk?”
He finally looks at me. “Not yet,” he says with a small smile, and for a moment I can see the old Brantley. I sigh.
“You burned bridges, babe.”
“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I just thought that maybe Lincoln would have forgiven me by now.”
I bark a laugh of disbelief. “You dumped me, Brantley. Despite everything we’d been through, you basically told me I was nothing to you but a good fuck.
” He flinches. “I haven’t forgiven you, and my friends sure as hell haven’t either.
” My voice rises in pitch. “Have you met Lincoln Evans, Brantley? The guy resented Charlie for like three years for no conceivable reason. You? He has a reason.”
Brantley drops his face to his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, and I watch quietly while he tries to compose himself. Finally, he takes a shuddering breath and looks up. “So, you’re working here, huh?”
“For now.” I grimace, not sure if I trust him. My heart aches just looking at him, but at the same time, I want to sink into his lap and touch every inch of his skin.
I thought I’d gotten over Brantley Michaels. Maybe I was wrong.
The office door swings open, and we jump.
I turn my head as Sebastian enters. He’s staring down at a handful of papers with a frown tugging on his lips.
His dark hair is spiked in different directions, and he’s wearing a white button-up shirt that’s open at the collar.
I can see the edge of a tattoo peeking from beneath the rolled cuff of one sleeve—it looks like words, and I really want to know what it says.
“Fi, have you seen the new hire paperwork for—” He stops when he looks up and his expression darkens.
“What the hell are you doing here, Stitch?” Sebastian growls, moving forward until he’s standing over Brantley, aggression rolling off him in waves.
I step back. Since I’ve known my best friend’s brother, he's been playful, sarcastic, and sometimes moody, but I’ve never seen him outright hostile.
Brantley leans away from him. “Hey, man, I just wanted to ask—”
“You don’t get to ask me any favors,” Sebastian snaps. “How did you get in here? Get the fuck out.”
“Whoa, Sebastian, I let him in,” I stammer. “I’m sorry, I—”
Sebastian glances at me, his eyes still blazing with anger, but his expression softens when he meets my gaze. “It’s not your fault, Fi. You didn’t know what a goddamn problem this asshole has been for the past six months.” Sebastian turns to look at Brantley disdainfully. “Are you drunk again?”
Brantley narrows his eyes, then stands, his chest inches from Sebastian’s as they face each other, toe to toe. “No, I’m not drunk. And I would hardly call giving your bar some business a problem.”
“Giving me business? Is that what you call all the property damage you caused? I should be suing you.”
Brantley scoffs. “You said you didn’t want my money, remember? Besides, a few broken glasses hardly counts as property damage.”
“A few broken glasses?”
“Okay, I guess it was some glasses, some liquor, and a chair. C’mon, Bastian—”
My mouth falls open. He caused the damage in the bar?
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Sebastian interrupts.
“Whatever. Seb, then.”
“I told you before, we’re not friends, Stitch.
You don’t get to give me cute nicknames.
” He shoves a finger into Brantley’s chest. “You think just because you’re buddy-buddy with my staff, you can just show up?
I told you to get your shit together. I’m done enabling you, which I’ve been doing for the past six months, by the way. ”
“What’s he talking about, Brantley?” I ask.
Brantley’s cheeks flush when his gaze darts to mine. “There may have been a few bathroom incidents…” Brantley starts. “And then, I guess I hit a guy with a pool cue. But he was asking for it, hitting on Brett like that.”
“Don’t act like you’re a hero.” Sebastian retorts. “Brett’s been a bartender for ten years. He can handle himself.”
“You trashed the bar and you hit a guy?” I ask, my tone sharp. “You were, like, the least-aggressive hockey player I’ve ever met. You used to get squeamish when we watched violent movies.”
Sebastian snickers, and Brantley glares at him.
“And what bathroom incidents?” I place my hands on my hips as I stare at him.
Who is this guy?
“He broke a sink fucking some girl in the women’s restroom,” Sebastian answers.
I don’t know why that information hits me right in the gut, but it makes me feel nauseous.
“I paid for that,” Brantley mumbles.
“He puked all over himself—and the stall—more than once,” Seb continues. “I had to pay our janitor overtime to clean up that crime scene—”
“Oh, come on,” Brantley interjects, but Sebastian is on a roll.
“—and Gabriella paid for his Uber home. And this was all before he instigated a goddamn bar fight over nothing.”
“It wasn’t over nothing!” Brantley roars.
Sebastian pushes Brantley, and I burst forward, wedging my small body between them before the altercation escalates, and press a firm hand to each of their chests. Their bodies are tight with tension against me, and for some reason, heat blooms between my legs.
“They were hockey players, okay?” Brantley yells. “New recruits. Snotty little upstarts acting like my injury was somehow my fault.”
Sebastian and Brantley stare each other down, the testosterone thick between them.
“Enough!” I command, and they freeze, looking down at me. I clear my throat.
They look a little bewildered as my hands fist their shirts before letting go. “Can you guys not fight like brainless frat idiots?”
Brantley steps back. “Excuse me for trying to fix my poor excuse for a life.” He storms out of the office like a child.
I roll my eyes at his dramatics and stare at Seb.
He does a double take when he catches my look. “What? The guy is a complete waste of space.”
I glance at the door. “He lost his entire career, Seb. You’re telling me you would be a ray of sunshine if something happened to the pub? Hockey was his pub.”
“Yeah, whatever. Go after him,” Sebastian mutters, waving his hand, though he doesn’t look happy about it.
I smile gratefully and chase after Brantley.