chapter 51
Sebastian
IT TAKES A COUPLE DAYS at home in Cali for Remi to decompress.
We spend our time lounging around the house, floating in the pool, and eating way more food than either of us needs.
She told me the full story of what happened in the private room, and even though I still want to fucking murder that guy, she seems . . . okay. Like she’s processing it.
This morning, she talked to someone from the police department in Vegas, and when she got off the phone, her eyes looked clearer, her shoulders squared. She told me she intends to press charges, and then I just held her and whispered, “I’m proud of you.”
Now she’s by the pool, which I’ve determined is her favorite thing about the house. If she’s not eating snacks on the couch or curled up with me in bed, I can usually find her next to the pool, face tipped into the sun, like the true desert creature she is.
I’m next to her, feet in the water, when there’s a loud knock on the door. I look over my shoulder into the house, confused about who’s here.
“I ordered food,” Remi says, smiling up at me from under the big floppy hat I bought her at a tourist shop in Malibu.
The tension softens from my shoulders. “Of course you did.” I steal a quick kiss from her, then pull my feet out of the pool, dry them with a towel from the nearby lounge chair, and jog into the house. “Coming!” I yell as I swipe my wallet from the kitchen counter and reach inside for a tip.
When I pull the door open, I expect to find a delivery driver with a big bag of some sort of greasy food. Instead, I find my father.
My stomach drops.
He hasn’t visited me here since I first bought the place. And from the look on his face—eyes tight, mouth hard—this isn’t a casual visit.
“What the fuck, Sebastian?”
On the door handle, my fingers tighten.
“I’ve been calling you for days. Where the hell have you been?”
I grit my teeth, then say quietly, so that Remi won’t overhear, “I’ve had to shit to do.”
Dad lets out a sharp scoff. “Been doing a lot of that lately. Guess all that shit takes priority over your family.”
A twisted mess of guilt and anger swirls inside me, but I bite back anything I was about to say. Dad likes getting a rise out of me, baiting me into fighting with him so he can make me feel bad about it later.
So I refuse to engage.
And it just makes him more enraged.
“See, this is why I wanted you to play college ball,” he says. Hands on his hips, he shakes his head. “Sports make you a man. But you still act like a boy. You take no responsibility, don’t show up when we need you.”
More heat builds inside me, and I fail at my goal of not rising to his bait. “I’m not a man now? Even though I’m the one keeping your fucking house intact? Keeping your piece of shit truck running?”
“Because you fucking owe me!” my father yells, his face going red.
And I know there’s no way Remi didn’t hear that. But I find it impossible to stop now.
“I don’t owe you shit,” I snap back. “You did fuck-all for me when I was a kid. I’ve worked hard for everything I have.”
“No, you got lucky.” He takes a bold step forward, but I don’t move. “You’ve spent years getting drunk, sleeping around, and banging on drums, acting like you’re better than all the rest of us. Hard work has nothing to do with it.”
“Seb?”
I turn, and Remi’s standing there, wrapped in a towel, still wearing her floppy sun hat. She takes her sunglasses off, her gaze flicking from me to my father and back. Slowly, understanding dawns on her face.
And my father lets out a low, scornful laugh. “I see. So, she’s the shit you’ve been doing, huh? The next one in your revolving door?”
The heat inside me turns into a snarling inferno. My gaze slides back to him, and I shift in the doorway so he can no longer see Remi standing behind me.
“You,” I say, voice low, “have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? I have eyes, son. I see what you do. I know you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know anything about me. You’ve never cared to know me. All you care about is what you can get from me.”
“Just like all the women in your life, huh?”
For a moment, there’s a rushing in my ears, a mixture of anger and shame and guilt.
Because even though he’s an asshole, he’s also right.
All these years, I’ve tried to buy affection, have believed that I’m only worth something so long as I can provide. It’s what my father taught me. I’m useless if I’m not willing to bleed money.
And he’s bled me more times than I can count. No matter how many times he does it, I just bandage myself up and keep going. Over and over again.
But not Remi. She bought me pizza on our first date and picked me up from the airport for the second. She makes me dinner and holds me when I need her and never asks for a single fucking thing from me, even when she should. And that just makes me want to give her more. To give her everything.
Because she fucking deserves it. And my dad doesn’t.
I look down at him, standing on my porch, and I see him differently.
Instead of a man I’m supposed to earn something from, I see a man who should’ve given freely—love, affection, praise. A child shouldn’t have to bleed for a parent to consider them worthy of love. I fucking see that now. Finally, after way more years than I care to count.
I draw myself up in the doorway. Dad looks smaller now, somehow, though that doesn’t stop him from glaring right back at me.
“You need to leave,” I say.
His eyes narrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.
“No. We’re done.”
His face is turning a brighter shade of red. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I take a step forward onto my porch, forcing him to take a step back.
“I’ve tried to earn your approval for years.
I’ve paid your bills. I’ve fixed your truck.
I’ve maintained the house. I’ve answered every fucking phone call, just to keep the peace.
But I’m done trying to buy your affection.
” I shake my head, somehow relieved and angry and disgusted all at the same time. “It’s not worth it.”
“Family takes care of family. And you owe—”
“I don’t owe you anything!” I yell, and it startles him enough that he stumbles back, almost falling down the few stairs that lead to the front door.
“Don’t call me asking for money anymore.
Don’t show up at my house like this. And don’t try to use Mom to get to me.
Just . . .” I draw a long breath through my nose, trying to calm myself down.
The next words that come out of my mouth are a whisper. “Just go, Dad.”
My father stares at me like I’m a stranger, like he doesn’t even know me.
And maybe he doesn’t. Because the only guy he knows is the one who gives him cash whenever he asks for it. And I’m done being his ATM. No amount of money I have can buy the love he should give freely.
Remi helped me see that. She taught me that I’m worth more than the money in my pocket.
And knowing she’s standing in the foyer behind me bolsters my strength, and I don’t allow myself to feel guilty as Dad waves a hand at me, as if I’m some annoyance he can just brush off, and starts back down the walkway to where his old truck is parked in my driveway.
The diesel roars to life, and then he peels out, leaving tire tracks on the pale concrete, his total lack of regard for my property setting my teeth on edge.
If I did that at his house, he’d rip my fucking head off.
I’m still standing on the front porch, hands in fists at my sides, when I feel a gentle touch at my low back.
And with that one touch, all the air rushes out of me.
My tight shoulders release, hunching forward, and the next thing I know, Remi is in front of me, her arms wrapped tight around my middle, the pool towel she was holding falling around her feet.
I hold her, breathe in the scent of sunshine clinging to her, and find the adrenaline has made my hands shake.
Even though she’s small in my arms, she feels so sturdy, so strong. And she’s the one who holds me as hot tears burn my eyes and sneak down my cheeks, falling into her soft black hair.
Every tear that runs down my face feels like an unleashing of all the anger and frustration and hurt I’ve held inside since I was a boy—since I first learned what guilt and disappointment taste like and discovered they were the only dishes my father served up.
I’m almost thirty now. That’s how long it took for me to finally say no to him.
And I know it won’t be that simple. I’ll have to talk to my mom about this, have to figure out how to still be in her life while cutting Dad out of mine. But all of that will come in time.
Sniffling, I swallow down the rest of my tears, and I find myself feeling lighter after letting them out.
“I’m sorry you had to overhear that,” I say into the side of Remi’s neck, where I’m curled over to hug her.
Quietly, she whispers, “I’m glad I was here.” She eases back to look up at me. “Are you okay?”
I scrub a hand over my face, wiping the remnants of my tears away. “Yeah. I feel . . .” I take a deep breath, taking stock of myself, then let it out slowly. “Shitty. But okay too.”
She gives me a small smile. “I know that wasn’t easy. And I’m proud of you, Seb.”
My own words from earlier echoed back at me.
I guess we’re both facing our demons this week.
But with her here, I feel like I’m finally strong enough to do it, strong enough to finally stand up for myself and stop being my father’s doormat. All because of her.
There’s the sound of tires on concrete, and we both glance over as the delivery driver pulls up. And sure enough, the bag he’s carrying has grease stains and smells suspiciously like burritos from my favorite Tex-Mex place.
Fuck. I really love this woman.
I give him a tip, then wrap one arm around Remi’s shoulders as we walk back into the house. And as I push the door closed behind us, I look down at her and say, “There’s . . . something I want to show you.”
“How about after the burritos?” she asks, already reaching to take the heavy bag from me.
I grin. “After the burritos.”