Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEBASTIAN
“Fiona, be reasonable. You can’t just go off to some remote cabin in the woods by yourself.”
We’re back at my place by mid-morning, and I’m standing in the doorway to Marcus’s room while Fi tosses clothes into a bag. I think she’s freaking out. She masks it well, but I’ve been watching the way she clenches her fists until her knuckles whiten.
Fi glares at me, then storms into the bathroom.
I hear her rummaging through her toiletries while she says, “Sebastian, you can’t just drop everything and come with me.
We hardly know each other, and you have a life here.
” She steps out of the bathroom carrying a small silver bag, her brow furrowing in frustration while she fights to zip it closed.
I step forward and stretch out my hand with a questioning look.
Her eyes narrow, but she hands it to me, and I pull a makeup brush free from the zipper teeth, then ease the bag closed.
Our hands graze when I pass it back to her, and I almost jerk away.
I’m not used to being so affected by someone else’s proximity, but that casual skim of her skin feels like an honest-to-God electric current.
“Thank you,” Fi says quietly.
She turns, tosses the small bag into the larger one, then hefts it onto her shoulder and walks past me. I follow her into the kitchen where she drops the bag with a thud, pulls out one of the island chairs, sits, and places her face in her hands with a muffled groan.
I walk to the chair across from her, sitting back down at my open laptop.
My eyes feel dry, and I rub them wearily.
I had to be at the pub way too early this morning for a delivery, and my brain has felt foggy ever since, despite the very strong fourth cup of coffee currently sitting next to my computer.
“Fiona.”
She looks up, and I take a sip from my mug and wince when the liquid hits my tongue, barely lukewarm. My mouth twists in disgust, and Fi giggles, her green eyes watching me.
“I’m coming with you.” I nod at my screen. “I’m done with the schedule for the next four weeks, and already spoke with Marcus and Gabriella about taking the time off.”
She scoffs. “You’re opening a new pub location, Seb—”
“And I can take my work with me.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “There’s no internet there, Seb.”
“I don’t need the internet to work on the new menu. If anything, the time away from this chaos will help me focus. You said yourself you wanted to be my taste tester, right?” I smirk. “I believe your exact words were ‘I love putting things in my mouth.’”
She blushes, and, shit, that color is so sexy lighting up her pale skin.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Seb.” Fi’s voice is low with the weight of her words.
She’s so stubborn.
I lean forward and place my hand over hers.
She swallows and looks down to where we’re connected.
“I know you don’t, but…I heard everything you told Officer Theo back there.
You lost your mom, your job, and your girlfriend, and then you spent months isolated from everyone.
” Fi’s eyes shimmer in the ambient light, and she blinks rapidly and looks away.
I reach out with my other hand and grip her chin gently, turning her face toward me.
“You don’t have to be alone this time. I don’t want to be your hero. I just want to be your friend.”
She sits back, pulling her hand from beneath mine, and takes a shaky breath. “Okay,” she says. “You can come with me, but just until they have eyes on Dennis.”
I nod. “That’s fair.” I stand, grab my coffee cup, and place it in the microwave before turning back to Fiona. “Let me send a couple more emails and pack a bag. Do we need to bring some food?”
Fi shakes her head. “No, there’s a grocery store on the way. We can just stop there.” She taps the counter between us. “I also have a couple errands too before we go.”
“Okay, well, we can leave this afternoon then.”
The microwave beeps, and I grab my coffee, taking a long pull of the bitter liquid. It’s going to be a long day.
I jerk awake, a shout on my lips as the room comes into focus. I’m drenched in sweat, but I can’t seem to recall the nightmare this time—just the grotesque feel of it. I shudder and sit up, looking around groggily.
I’m on the couch in my living room, my laptop closed on the coffee table next to me. I was just going to take a twenty-minute power nap, but clearly I slept a little longer than that.
I squint at the window. The sun is starting to set.
I frown, pulling out my phone to check the time, and a stab of panic shoots through me. It’s almost four.
“Fi?” My voice is still rough with sleep, and I push a mess of damp hair out of my eyes. “Fi?” I say again.
She doesn’t answer.
I stand and look around the apartment. Her bag is gone.
“Shit.” I pick up my phone, then pull up her number. It goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter. “I swear to God, if that girl left on her own…”
I send her a text and stare at the screen while I pace. I call the pub while I wait, and Gabriella picks up. “Good afternoon, Brothers’ Beer and Bourbon.”
“Gabriella, is Fiona there?”
“Oh, hey, boss. I haven’t seen her since one when she stopped by for a bite. I think she was going to run an errand and then she said…”
“She said what, Gabriella?” I growl, my fingers gripping the phone tighter.
She’s quiet for a minute before she answers, “Jesus, I do not want to be in the middle of this.”
“Fuck, just tell me, please.”
“She said she wanted to go see Brantley. That was a couple hours ago.”
“Thank you,” I grit out. Anger surges in my chest, and I’m fully aware that it’s an irrational response, but it’s burning me up anyway. I pull up my dad’s assistant, Andrew, in my contacts and hit Call.
“Mr. Conner. How can I help?”
“Hi, Andrew. I need an address for Brantley Michaels in Vancouver.”
“Of course, I’ll text it to you immediately.” I hang up and leave my condo. I don’t actually know if she went to his place, but it’s a start.
True to his word, Andrew texts me Michaels’s address before the elevator reaches the lobby. Sometimes having a wealthy, well-connected father has its advantages, even if said father is a complete tool.
I plug the address into my Maps app; Michaels is only a few minutes away. I step outside, pulling my coat closer and hunching over as the frigid wind gusts off the bay. I put my head down and jog along the sidewalk. By the time I arrive, my face is numb.
I stand in front of a drab two-story building that’s roughly the same shade of gray as the thick afternoon clouds.
Just as I approach, a woman leaves, holding one of the large glass doors open, so I walk into the lobby, pausing to decide whether to go right or left.
The carpet is scarlet with gaudy gold geometric patterns that remind me of an old movie theater, and the walls are lined with mirrors.
The numbers seem to start to the right, so I walk down the hall until I reach number twenty-five, Michaels’s apartment.
My hand pauses in mid-air just below the large brass numbers on the door, and I stare at my shaking fist, unwanted nerves tickling my stomach.
What if Fi’s in there, and I interrupt something? But also, why would I care? It’s not like it’s my best friend and my stepmother.
I shake my head. “Stupid childhood trauma,” I mutter, then hit the door a little too forcefully.
I hear the sound of footsteps and then Michaels’s muffled voice. “I put in the app to leave the food outside. No contact, man!”
The door swings open, and Michaels stands in front of me looking groggy and annoyed. His hair sticks up crazily, and he’s shirtless, his abs looking a bit too toned. He’s wearing low-slung gray sweats, the top of his boxers peeking over the waistband.
I push past him, smacking his stomach as I pass. My gaze catches on the silvery-reddish scar across his throat. “Put on some clothes, idiot. Is she here?”
He stares at me in shock. “Bastian? What’re you doing here? Who’re you talking about?” He rubs his stomach with a hurt expression. “Also, ouch.”
I roll my eyes. “Fiona. Who else would I be talking about?”
Michaels’s eyebrows lower in confusion. “Why would Fi be here? I mean, I saw her earlier, but she’s not here. What’s going on?”
I look around Michaels’s apartment. Clothing is strewn all around the dimly lit living room, and the coffee table is littered with empty beer cans, some Tim Horton’s take out, and chip bags—all ketchup-flavored chips from the look of it.
“You don’t deserve those abs,” I mutter to myself.
“What?” He asks.
“What?” I parrot.
“Are you checking me out?”
“No,” I scoff. “Just not the diet I was expecting from an athlete.”
His gaze darkens. “I’m not an athlete.”
An episode of Swamp People is playing on the TV. I wrinkle my nose and nudge aside a pair of discarded shorts so that I can perch on the couch. At least it doesn’t seem to smell.
“When was the last time you cleaned this place, Stitch?”
“I’m so sorry,” Michaels snarks. “I didn’t realize I’d be having company.” He picks up a random shirt from the back of a chair, sniffs it, and pulls it over his head. “Now, what’s going on with Fi?”
I start to explain, but then realize that I have no idea how much Fi actually told him. “She was supposed to meet me a while ago, and she didn’t show up,” I lie. “Gabriella mentioned she came to see you. I just thought...”
“That she came here?” Michaels finishes quietly. I nod. “She didn’t.” He runs a hand through his unruly blond hair. “We met for coffee after she had lunch at the pub.”
“Fuck,” I growl, trying to hide the rising panic.
Where the fuck is she?
“Did you try texting her?”
I look at him, deadpan. “Of course I did. I’m not stupid. She left me on read.”
He pulls his lip between his teeth. “You don’t think she’s in trouble, do you?”
I shake my head, hoping that I exude the confidence I don’t feel. “I’m sure she just forgot.”
Michaels nods absently and wanders into his kitchen, opens the fridge, and pulls out a beer.
I raise an eyebrow.
“What? I’m not allowed to drink now?” He throws his hands wide, sloshing liquid onto his sweats. “Jeez, a guy makes one mistake.”
I feel my rage building as I stare at his stupid face, dark circles, the week’s worth of stubble, his greasy hair.
How is this shitshow the same guy I used to watch on TV?
“Try three thousand dollars in property damage.” I advance on him as I bite out the words, and he steps back, his eyes going wide. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.”
This isn’t why I came here, and I can’t look at him anymore.
I turn abruptly and leave, slamming the door behind me.
I’m seething as I walk up the street. I’m so angry.
Angry at Fi for leaving and at Michaels for being a colossal disappointment.
I don’t even understand why I let Michaels get under my skin.
Yes, he cost us a lot of money and the pub’s reputation took a hit, which is what Marcus is upset about—but what really gets to me is that I used to practically worship Brantley Michaels.
He wasn’t just a hockey player to me. He was this graceful package of talent, charisma, and perseverance.
I admired him. And now? It’s like finding out that your favorite author is a piece of shit.
How can you still enjoy their books? Once Michaels started showing up in my bar as the regular drunk, I couldn’t stomach watching hockey anymore.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing a text on the lock screen.
Unknown
Sorry, I just got back to the condo. Where are you?
That has to be Fi, but why is her number different?
I type out a quick reply and pick up my pace, relief calming my nerves now that I know she’s safe and didn’t leave without me.
It’s getting dark, but Vancouver is full of life, the streets and buildings lighting up as commuters start the trek home and city dwellers venture out to bars and restaurants.
Something floats into my eye, and I blink in surprise when I realize it’s snowing.
I reach the condo, ride the elevator up, and open the door to find Fiona sitting on the floor lacing up her boots. She looks up at me, her pink lips curving into an apologetic smile.
Instantly forgiven, dammit.
“I would ask you where you’ve been, but I don’t want to sound like an overbearing prick.” I don’t bother to remove my coat since she’s obviously getting ready to leave.
She pulls the laces taut and ties them before standing up.
“Dennis was sending me texts before he attacked me. I wanted to get a new phone with a new number, just to be safe. It took longer to do than I thought.” She pushes a long strand of hair behind her ear, and I frown, realization dawning on me.
“Yesterday when Michaels was here. That’s when he texted you.” She nods, and I sigh. “Fiona, you have got to stop pretending that everything is peachy all the time. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to ask for help. Maybe we could have stopped him before it happened.”
Fi’s eyes soften. “While I appreciate the thought, Seb, Dennis is a slimy asshole, and I think he would have found me regardless. I just wish it hadn’t happened so soon.
” She puts on her coat and reaches around me to grab her purse from the island.
I shiver when her arm brushes my waist. “Now, can you go grab your stuff so we can hit the road?”
As I walk to my room to get the bag I packed earlier, I can’t help wondering if going with Fi is a mistake.
I want to protect her. I do.
She’s Charlie’s friend.
But deep down, I know two things for sure. My body’s reaction to her is more than physical because attraction isn’t a straight line with me. And being in close proximity to my little sister’s best friend is going to test the moral code I’m already barely clinging to.