chapter 40
Sebastian
REMI AND I WOKE UP late today, both exhausted after the show and long night.
I ordered brunch from Malibu Farm, and we ate on the patio together.
When I asked Remi what she wanted to do today, she said she just wanted to hang out.
So now she’s lounging in a bikini beside my pool, sipping on pineapple juice and listening to music as her toes trail slowly through the water.
I watch her from the kitchen, where I’m slicing up fresh mango. And I’m so distracted by her that I very nearly take a finger off with the knife. After that, I keep my eyes fully focused on what I’m doing, even if they keep wanting to glide back to her.
On the island beside me, my phone rings, and I get a knot in my stomach before I even read the name on the screen.
Dad.
I’ve been ignoring him since Remi got here on Friday, and his calls are growing more incessant. He never just stops. When I don’t answer, he pushes harder, like his pride won’t allow him to back down.
Putting the knife down, I glance out at Remi again. Maybe now’s a good time to talk to him; at least then he’ll finally leave me alone.
With a sigh, I quickly rinse the mango juice from my hands, then take a breath, steeling myself before answering the phone.
“Hey, Pops.”
Immediately, I can feel the tension in the silence that greets me, even without being able to see his face. My dad is good at that: using silence as a weapon just as sharp as his words.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he finally says.
The cutting words make heat lance through my stomach. On the countertop, one of my hands curls into a fist.
He treats me like I’m fifteen still, staying out past curfew. But my dad has never seen me as a man; my music made sure of that.
“I’ve been busy,” I say. “You do know I’ve got my own life, right?”
“Your mother’s been worried sick about you. What the hell are you doing, scaring her like that?”
Liar, I think. Mom texted me a couple nights ago, just to check in—and subtly apologize for Dad’s behavior. Again. But Dad has always used her to get to me, poking and prodding at any guilty spot he can find. And I’m starting to get pretty fucking tired of it.
I take a long breath, trying to keep my cool.
“What’s up, Dad?” I ask, choosing not to engage.
He lets out a rough sigh, probably frustrated that I didn’t take his bait. Then he does exactly what I expect of him.
“The roof is leaking.”
My teeth clench. I’m pretty sure I paid for the “roof” to get replaced two years ago.
“Again?” I ask.
Another silence, this one tighter than the last.
“Yes, again.”
I draw myself up in the kitchen, closing my eyes and taking another breath. These conversations with my father have never been easy or enjoyable, but recently, they’ve been digging deeper, cutting into old wounds that I wish would finally heal.
If only he’d call just to say hi, or to ask when our next show is, or to get backstage passes to come see me. But no. He came to one show when we were first getting started, and he complained about it for days afterward, saying it was just noise.
But dwelling on that doesn’t change anything. And Remi is waiting for me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” he repeats. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” I snap back.
Dad lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I don’t know, Sebastian. Maybe act like you actually give a shit. It’s not like your mother and I live in a multimillion-dollar fucking mansion.”
The words are meant to hurt—he’s good at that.
My family didn’t have much money growing up.
I was the kid who had a job at fifteen, working at a surf shop and playing music with the guys on the weekends.
Dad worked, Mom worked, and yet it felt like we never had enough.
Now I have money for all of us, yet somehow, I still feel like I’m falling short—at least in my father’s eyes.
“I do give a shit,” I say, some of the heat gone from my voice.
Dad scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I glance through the sliding glass doors, watching as Remi slips into the pool, making the water ripple and glisten around her. I want to be out there with her right now, not in here, fighting with my father.
So, in hopes of getting off this call, I say, “How much do you need?”
His answer comes quickly. “Five grand.”
I actually grind my teeth. No way he needs five thousand dollars for a “roof leak.” Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell and slam the phone down.
But Remi is out in my pool right now, floating on her back under the summer sun, and the last thing I want is chaos.
We only have a couple more days together before she flies back to Vegas, and I have no intention of letting my father ruin that.
If five grand is what peace costs, I’ll pay it.
“Okay. I’ll send it. You need anything else?”
My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and I wince, knowing I just doused his fire with fuel.
Shit.
There’s a pause before he speaks. “You know, Sebastian, I don’t like your fucking attitude.”
Heat builds in my chest. I shouldn’t fight back. I should just swallow my words down and hang up the phone. But my control fails, just for a fraction of a moment, and the truth slips out without me meaning for it to. “And I don’t like only hearing from you when you want my money.”
“Your money?” Dad laughs his shitty laugh, the one that he’s used to belittle me since I was a boy. “Everything you have came from this family.”
I scoff. He acts like I haven’t worked my ass off to get to where I am.
Dad’s voice drops low. “You think that’s funny?”
He’s gearing up for a fight; I can hear the slight tremble in his voice that means he’s about five seconds away from exploding.
And I really don’t want to do this right now.
So I finally rein myself in, take a tight breath, and say, “I’ve gotta go. Tell Mom I love her.”
He draws a breath, probably ready to launch into one of his tirades about how lazy and ungrateful I’ve always been, but I hit the screen to end the call, and it cuts him off before he can begin.
Without his voice in my ear, the kitchen feels quiet—so quiet I can hear a low ring in my ears from the adrenaline tingling inside me.
I slowly lower the cell to the island beside me, and I find my hand shaking.
When I was young, I learned not to fight with my father.
No matter what I did or said, I could never win our arguments, never convince him to see things from my point of view.
So I learned to dance his dance, to do what he wanted to keep the peace in the household.
Back then, I had no idea it’d follow me into adulthood, but I’ve been dragging this weight around for years now.
And I’m not sure I want to anymore.
My gaze lifts once more to the sliding glass door.
Remi has her arms crossed on the side of the pool now, and she’s looking right back at me.
When she catches my eye, she smiles, completely unaware of the conflict churning inside me.
But just that one look from her helps calm the beating of my heart, and my shaking hand goes still on the countertop.
She waves a hand at me, her fingertips still damp with pool water, beckoning me to join her.
Trying not to let myself get spun up again, I quickly grab my phone and send my father the five thousand dollars. Then I take the plate of fresh mango and pad through the living room, going to join Remi outside.
When I step onto my back patio, she pushes off from the wall of the pool, floating on her back in the water.
“This is amazing,” she says, her arms drifting at her sides, helping keep her afloat. “I wish I had a pool.”
I put the plate down on the table, then reach for my shirt, tugging it off over my head. I’m already wearing swim trunks, and I ease myself into the pool, careful not to splash Remi.
“You can use mine whenever you want,” I say.
She smiles, still floating on her back. “Careful. I might be here all the time.”
My lips tug up. I reach for her, scooping her off the surface of the water, holding her in my arms now like she’s a princess and I’m her knight.
“I’ll make you a key,” I say softly.
Remi tips her head at me, the sunlight reflecting off the water and her sunglasses. Then she leans in and kisses me. Her lips taste like pineapple juice, and with one brush of them against my mouth, my muscles soften, and the last remnants of adrenaline finally leave my veins.