Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEBASTIAN
My brain and my heart split in different directions.
I stare at Fi’s panicked face. Her adorable, freckled nose is scrunched up, and her body is tense like it’s bracing for impact.
I look at Michaels. His eyes are huge and a little sad, which confuses the hell out of me. I’ve never really thought of him as competition because I never really thought Fi and I would ever be anything significant.
And he and Fiona have a history. How can I compete with that?
But I’ve been thinking about her all day.
The small ways she touches me and how it makes me feel safe—like I matter.
The comfort she offers so freely. And I’m so tired of being alone.
I’ve been craving her ever since our moment in the loft.
Being in Fi’s proximity has always felt different.
I feel it in my bones. Her gentle touches light my skin on fire.
Her floral scent is a drug. She’s the first person who’s evoked that visceral response—both physically and emotionally.
I’m so broken in so many ways, but she’s made me feel seen.
It’s a frightening realization. I swallow hard.
Maybe I’ve wanted a chance with Fi all along—maybe I was just hiding behind the fact that she’s Charlie’s best friend.
And while Stitch is a fuck-up by society’s standards, over the last couple days, I’ve seen his layers. He’s disarmingly charming, and when he wants to be, he’s fiercely protective.
And has the body of a hockey player, albeit a retired one.
He’s everything I’m not.
“I…I’m really tired,” I say quickly. “I’m going to bed.”
I walk up to Fi and kiss her on top of her head.
Then, I climb the loft ladder. I can feel their eyes on me the entire time.
I drop on the bed with a huff and pull off my socks, ball them up, and throw them across the room.
The energy in my chest makes me want to scream, but I don’t have the privacy to melt down.
I stare at my shaking hands. I thought maybe she could make the nightmares go away. Hell, just sleeping in the same bed with Michaels was the first time in a long time that I’ve slept unfettered through the night. But I was wrong to let my guard down. I’m still alone. Like always.
Charlie bolts past me, sprinting down the hallway, choking on sobs.
I blink.
I’m in my childhood home.
I hear a whimper over the din of voices in the room below. I approach Charlie’s door, toeing it all the way open as I enter the dark room. The illumination from the hallway casts a yellow column of light that splashes across the carpet and falls onto two figures moving on the bed.
As I step closer, I see Matt, and there’s a woman pinned beneath his naked body. Rage swells in my veins.
“What the fuck, man?” I shriek.
Matt’s head snaps up, and the grin he gives me sends chills skittering down my spine. I always knew my best friend was a little off—his parents are the worst kind of people, especially his dad—but the look he’s giving me now is straight-up sociopathic.
He sits up on his knees, his dick still erect and bobbing. “Jesus, everyone is trying to ruin my night. Unless…Did you come to join the party, Sebastian?”
“No, no, no, not again!”
“Sebastian…”
“Sebastian! Wake up, buddy?” A gentle, callused hand pushes the hair out of my face, and I flinch. “You’re safe,” Michaels whispers.
It’s pitch black, but his spicy scent fills my nostrils, calming me more than it probably should.
I’m safe.
My hands loosen their grip on the soft flannel sheets.
The nightmare was more intense than usual. I swallow down bile and take a deep breath, my eyes filling with tears.
I hear rather than see Michaels raise himself onto his elbow and peer down at me. “Did you have a bad dream?” He doesn’t sound like he’s mocking me.
As my eyes adjust, I can make out the sharp lines of his jaw.
I sniff and look away, shame warming my cheeks. His fingers graze my forehead again, and I want to lean into his touch—lean into the comfort he’s offering—but part of me is still lit with anger toward him.
I shove his hand away and roll over with a huff. “I’m fine.”
I hear his quiet sigh and feel him shift his weight on the bed as he lies back down. “Despite what it may look like, all I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend. I hope you know that.”
I don’t answer him, but his words tug at my heart. Because deep down, I think I want that too.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m just here as a friend to Fi.
That’s it.
But today has been awkward already, and I haven’t even had breakfast. She and Michaels keep exchanging concerned glances as we tiptoe around each other. Despite my attempt at a nonchalant attitude, I think they know I’m upset.
The cabin seems livable now. Michaels got up before Mariah Carey this morning and dusted the entire place, and Fi wiped everything in the kitchen with the cleaning spray I bought in Flurry.
I set my laptop on the little rickety bistro table by the window and start sifting through some recipes that I downloaded.
Marcus and I agreed that we’d keep some of our staple menu items, but we need something to draw in locals and Seattle tourists alike.
The grocery store in Flurry was a little limited in its selection, so I had to make a few substitutions, but I’m excited to start trying out some meals.
I take a bite of my bagel and stare at the screen just as Michaels strolls by in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his hair still wet from his shower. He’s singing quietly to himself, and I’m surprised that he has a half-decent voice.
“Are you singing REO Speedwagon?”
Michaels blinks owlishly at me as if he didn’t realize I was there. He nods. “I’m surprised you recognized it. It’s my rock-bottom song,” he says with a wink.
He stops in the kitchen and rummages through the pantry before reappearing with a box of Lucky Charms. Despite my objections, Fi convinced me that junk food is an important staple for mental health, so against my better judgment, I picked up a few snacks that she and Michaels requested.
He opens the fridge, grabs the milk, and closes the door with his hip.
Michaels pours his cereal, popping a few stray marshmallows into his mouth.
Then, he grabs a mug and fills it halfway with coffee, sloshing some on the counter, before topping up the other half with milk and adding a generous spoonful of sugar.
I sip my very bitter coffee, feeling like I’m watching a kid make their own breakfast for the first time.
When he starts to eat his cereal over the sink, I sigh.
“Do you want to sit with me?”
“Oh. Uh, sure.” Michaels picks up his coffee with his other hand and joins me, but it’s a pretty small table, so he ends up sitting more next to me than across from me. He leans over my shoulder, chewing loudly in my ear as he watches me work.
I grit my teeth and glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Is that for the new menu?” he asks around a mouthful of cereal. I nod. “Are you making that for dinner?”
“I was planning on it.” I push my shoulder against his bare arm in an effort to get him to sit back. Instead, I’m distracted by how warm his bicep is through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. He still smells like Swagger (as he called it), but the scent is more subtle now.
“Do you have more recipes?” he asks when he finally sits back.
“Yes, but is there something wrong with salmon?”
“No, but I’m curious what my options are.”
“I wasn’t taking requests, Stitch.”
He ignores me and pushes my hand aside so he can click on one of the other documents I have open. “Oh! What about teriyaki? Do you know how to make it like a real Seattleite?” His hazel eyes are bright with excitement. “It’s so fucking good.”
Michaels presses his hands together in a begging gesture, and it disarms me. It’s unnerving how my resentment and anger toward him lessen slightly, like cracks in my armor. It’s still there to protect me, but he found a chink.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, okay, I guess I can make that one instead.”
He grins, and I think it's the first time I’ve ever made him really smile. My stomach does a weird backflip. He has a nice smile—boyish and genuine. It’s different from the cavalier smirk he often used when he spoke to the media.
After that, Michaels lets me work while he finishes his breakfast. I found out yesterday that I can get a tenuous internet connection by tethering to my phone, but the signal is so weak that it’s like accessing dial-up in the nineties, or so I’ve heard.
But it’s enough that I can send off a few emails and iMessages.
Fi joins us with her Kindle in hand. She glances between us, and now that we’re all in close proximity, the tension in the room thickens like a prevalent fog.
Michaels stares out the window, his knee bouncing, the last few bites of his Lucky Charms forgotten.
I can tell he feels it too. Fi’s admission yesterday was like a bomb drop on our already tenuous bond.
When nether of us speak, she moves to the the floor in front of the fire. “Shoot, my battery is really low,” she mutters. “I don’t think I brought the charger.”
Michaels stands and puts his dishes in the sink. “There’s a lot of books here, though based on the vibe of this place, I’m guessing they’re pretty old.” He walks over to the shelf and squats down. “A lot of old board games here too. Maybe we can play something.”
Fi and Michaels play a few rounds of Battleship while I make the teriyaki sauce; being that I’m cooking it tonight, the chicken marinade time will be woefully short, but I’m sure it’ll still taste okay for a first try.
I throw the ingredients into a bowl and stir everything up as I watch Michaels and Fi giggling over her latest sunken ship.
“This game would be so much better if we played strip Battleship,” Michaels says with a smirk, and Fi throws a peg at him.