Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
SEBASTIAN
Istand on the deck overlooking the creek, my thoughts chaotic after that little interlude. The winter breeze blows through the dense pines, dusting snow from the tree tops. In the distance, I can see heavy gunmetal-gray clouds that signal more snow.
I bring the olive-green ceramic cup to my lips and sip my tea, which burns extra hot because I added bourbon with my honey.
I’m just about to head inside when my phone buzzes.
I check my messages, seeing one from Charlie asking about Fiona.
Fi won’t answer her phone for anyone but Detective Lin, citing various movies as evidence that someone can trace her calls and read her texts.
I teased her about the idea, but sometimes I wonder if there’s a grain of truth there.
I’ve been intentionally vague about our whereabouts, just to be safe. The last thing I want to do is alert my stepsister and her overprotective boyfriends to our situation. I suspect that little secret is going to bite me in the ass.
And now, I’ve definitely crossed a line with my sister’s best friend, which makes it even more awkward, assuming this goes anywhere.
Why wouldn’t it?
I shake my head and take another long pull of my drink. Despite the rush of fear and uncertainty I get with every sexual experience, I can’t deny that we have chemistry.
We. The three of us.
My phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a FaceTime from Marcus.
Guilt prickles my stomach. We have so much on our plates with the Seattle pub location, and while I’ve been trying to keep up with some administrative tasks alongside my menu research, my cell signal is super spotty out here, so I’ve had to ask Gabriella and Marcus to shoulder a few extra responsibilities.
I swipe my phone and hold it up. “Hey.” I run a hand through my hair, hoping I don’t look too frazzled.
While I know I should be anxious about all this throuple stuff, I can’t deny that I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.
My nightmares have quieted, and being mostly cut off from the real world seems surprisingly good for my mental health.
I always thought I was a city boy. I’m accustomed to Vancouver’s cacophony and days and nights spent in a chaotic kitchen, but the quiet moments the three of us have spent cooking, reading, and just talking have left me at ease.
“Hey.” Marcus gives me a wry smile. “What’s good?” He looks so much like our dad with his dark brown eyes and meticulously styled dark hair.
“Oh, you know how it is—just hanging out in a secluded cabin with a washed-up, smart-mouthed hockey player and our sister’s hot best friend. What could happen?”
He snorts a laugh but then gives me a hard stare, probably looking for the truth in my words. “You growing a beard?” he asks cautiously.
My hand runs along my jawline, the stubble scratchy against my fingertips. “Not on purpose. I just forgot to shave, I guess.”
Which isn’t a lie, despite the razors I bought.
Fiona seems to like the stubble though—she touches my cheeks a lot—so maybe it’s more intentional than I think.
“Well, I’m just checking in.” His eyes dart to the side and a strange look crosses his face, but when he glances at me again, he’s all business. “I was going to go back to Vancouver this week, but Gabriella took to your admin tasks pretty quickly. You should leave more often.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. I know his words were meant as a joke, but I kind of agree. Not about leaving more often but about getting back into the kitchen, doing what I love. I’m a chef; I wasn’t built for a desk job.
He shrugs. “Do you know when you’re coming home?”
“That, I don’t know yet, but soon I think.” I take another sip of my tea. “Fiona has to sort out this stuff with her stepdad and the VPD before we can come back.” I pause and look away, hoping that he doesn’t see the worry in my eyes.
“Is he dangerous?”
“Who? Dennis?”
Is he?
Of course he is. He threatened Fi and Charlie. He cornered Fi in an alley. I feel like Fi’s hiding something serious about him, but we haven’t had that conversation yet. “I think he’s dangerous to Fi if she’s alone,” I clarify. “Which is why we’re still here with her.”
Marcus’s lips thin, but he nods. “Just be careful. I know you can handle yourself, but after what happened with Charlie…”
“I know.”
I know exactly how he feels.
Charlie kept so much from us until it was almost too late, and she and Fi are a lot alike in that sense. They both have a martyr MO when it comes to people they love—I think we all do—and it makes for stupid decisions sometimes. Love and loyalty are double-edged swords.
“I assume you know better than to tell Charlie and the guys about all this?”
He chuckles. “She’s been calling me nonstop because she knows you’re hiding something.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you have a huge crush on Fiona and you’re embarrassed about it.”
My face flushes. “Thanks for that, asshole.”
He grins wide. “I had to tell her something to get her off my back.”
“Marcus?” The voice is muffled like it’s coming from another room. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.
“Well, I should get going,” he says quickly.
“Who was that?” I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a girl there?”
“What? No,” he scoffs. “Definitely not a girl. I’ll call you later, okay? Stay safe. Say hello to Fi for me.” Then he hangs up before I can respond.
That was weird. Marcus isn’t exactly forthcoming about his personal life, but he doesn’t hide stuff from me if I ask.
More guilt twists in my gut when I realize that I probably haven’t been the best brother over the past several months.
Between managing the pub, menu brainstorming, and this stuff with Fi, we’ve hardly talked at all beyond business. Maybe he met someone.
“Really?”
I jump at Michaels’s voice, barely managing to catch my cup before I drop it off the deck. “Fuck, Michaels. You scared me.” He’s changed into jeans and a heavy red flannel and is holding a coffee mug in one hand with a picture of Garfield in a bathrobe on it and reads, Not a morning person.
“Cool cup,” I snark.
“Don’t change the subject, dickhead.” His eyes flash with anger. “You just called me a washed-up, smart-mouthed hockey player. Can’t you just admit that you actually like me?”
His attitude raises my defensive hackles. “That would require me lying, Stitch,” I say flatly. “Also, eavesdropping isn’t a good look.”
“You’re so full of shit.” He steps closer. I smell coffee and my body wash mixing with woodsy pine.
He smells like me. I think I like it.
My stomach curls with that familiar anxiety I’ve felt every time we’re intimate. “What?”
“Acting like you hate me when you actually don’t is peak toxic masculinity.”
I shiver because it’s cold. Right? Yes, it’s cold. Duh. “So you did learn something in college.”
Why did I say that?
I see the moment Michaels snaps. His hazel eyes, so close to mine, blaze with rage, and he slams his mug down on the table, sloshing his coffee.
“You can push me away all you want,” he growls between clenched teeth, “but I’ve seen the way you look at me when my cock’s out.”
The fire in his gaze reminds me of who he used to be on the ice—a man possessed, a man who owned every game like he was invincible.
I feel myself getting hard.
Fuck, stop it!
“You want me just as bad as you want her, Bastian. You’re just too scared or homophobic to admit it.” He steps closer, and I worry my half-erect dick will betray me. “I sincerely hope it’s not the latter.”
My eyes widen and my throat goes dry. “It’s not…I’m not…”
His tone softens. “Then tell me why you do this. Why are you so scared?”
“I…” The words are stuck in my throat, and I’m choking on them. And suddenly I can feel him again—violating my body. And even though it’s a memory, the pain is there, sharp and hot, like it’s happening again in real time, and I rear back, pushing Michaels out of my space.
He stumbles, his foot slipping on the icy deck, and he falls on his ass. His arm hits the table, and coffee spills everywhere.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Stitch.” I reach out to help him up.
He looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and slaps my hand away.
“You don’t want to share? Fine. But you don’t get to call me that anymore.
It’s not a cute nickname, and it just reminds me that I’m a fucking failure.
” He grabs the coffee mug, surges to his feet, and pins me with a glare.
“But you know what? I’d rather be someone like me.
At least I’m honest with myself. Who are you, Sebastian?
Because from where I stand, you’re just a lying dick. ”
“Michaels, wait! C’mon. Don’t be like that.”
But he’s already stormed inside, slamming the door behind him.
His words shouldn’t cut like they do, but I find myself rubbing my chest uncomfortably. I go to finish off my tea and frown when I realize my cup is empty.
“Great,” I mutter and follow behind Michaels.
I don’t immediately see him when I enter, so I assume he’s in the loft. I wander into the kitchen and refill my mug, this time with straight bourbon.
I stare out the window.
I hate that I’m not normal. My issues go beyond my sexual orientation, whatever that may be.
I can’t just enjoy sex. Hell, I can’t just enjoy people.
There’s always this invisible wall that separates me from my emotions.
It’s the only way I can describe it. I can see how I should feel and how I should react, but usually, I feel nothing.
Now, though?
Now I feel fear all the time, but it’s warring with want and pleasure and this overwhelming need for these two people, and I don’t understand what’s happening.