Chapter 64
Sixty-Four
SEBA
Meds. Duffel. The packages on my bed upstairs… There was something else I needed to grab, but I can’t remember. My brain is still at the apartment with Cade beneath me, over me, inside me, repeating that precious confession.
I love you.
Tires crunch on the gravel driveway.
I stifle a groan.
The plan was to get Cade’s things before Mom came back from the Women of Christ Charity Brunch that Sinclair’s wife hosts once a month at Barefoot Beach Resort.
Little do those gossiping socialites know, they’re writing checks to fund drug trafficking, fraud and some things exponentially more sinister.
The sky-blue Lexus SUV chirps as Mom clicks her key fob and approaches, dressed like a damn doily.
“Seba…” She turns her nose up. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
That’s when I notice the woman following her. My mouth sours. Beverly Aldrich— wife of Sinclair’s main donor and Fort Manor’s top plastic surgeon. The bitch is a fucking weed that needs to get ripped out.
“I’m actually just leaving.”
Mom eyes me skeptically as Beverly gives me a heinous attempt at bedroom eyes.
“What a shame,” she croons. “But I’m sure I’ll see you around St. Gemma’s soon.”
My nostrils flare, vitriol bubbling magma in my veins.
Mom daintily touches my bicep. “We’re so proud of Seba’s dedication to the congregation.”
The closest thing I can manage to a smile is a grimaced show of teeth. “Tell Declan to call me back.”
I’m climbing behind the wheel when Mom tugs on my sleeve, hissing, “Where the hell is Cade?”
Knew that was coming. I wasn’t about to mention he’s waiting for me at my apartment in front of Beverly just for it to get back to Sinclair.
“He’s safe.”
“That’s not an answer. You promised Declan—”
“I didn’t promise anything. I said I’d go with him to the club and I did. It’s not my fault Declan didn’t answer the phone this morning.” I shift the truck into reverse. “I’ve got shit to do.”
“Sebastian.”
I step on the gas. The engine revs. The tires spit gravel. She jumps back with a surprised gasp. Blowing out of the drive, I angle for the backroads.
One last errand.
The bright green sign of the local garden center comes into view fifteen minutes later.
I’m the only one in the lot aside from a flatbed trailer stocked with mulch.
The sun's unforgiving rays beat down on my shoulders and hat as I weave through potted palms, birds of paradise and gardenias, headed for the floral department.
A bell chimes. Cool, humid mist blows from a spigot next to a rotating fan, spreading the scent of well water, fresh soil and moss. An organized, lush jungle stretches in all directions.
I’m so out of my element.
“Hello there!”
A woman in elbow-high yellow gloves emerges from behind a cart of snake plants, her salt-and-pepper hair twisted into a messy knot on the top of her head.
I glance around. “I, uh… need some flowers?”
No way, genius.
She just smiles and wipes her gloves on her stained apron. “That I can help you with. What kind you got in mind, hon?”
My brain scrambles. I have no idea what kind of flowers Cade likes. Or if he’d even want any. Do men like getting flowers?
“They for someone special?” She prods. The metal badge pinned to her apron reads, Maggie.
I nod.
Maggie grins. “Tell me about her.”
I clear my throat. “Him.”
Her eyes widen. My heart stutters. Pins and needles prick my toes. I hold my breath.
Then her gaze softens. “Well, he’s a lucky boy. What’s he like?”
Air whooshes out of my lungs, making me momentarily dizzy.
“He’s… dangerously beautiful. Combative. Chaotic. Occasionally sweet. Sometimes vicious, other times delicate. Most of the time, a pain in the ass.”
She hums. “And he’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”
My cheeks heat. “That he does.”
“Come with me. I know just the one.”
I follow her through a maze of plants to the far back corner, where we stop in front of a row of yellow flowers.
“Blooming Datura, or as most folks call ‘em, Angel Trumpets. Extremely toxic if ingested, but stunning when they bloom. They open up at night and boy, do they smell divine.”
“They’re perfect.”
She beams, helping me select one with a good amount of healthy blooms. On our trek back to her check-out table, something stops me in my tracks.
“These aren’t in season,” I murmur, reaching out to touch the creamy, velvet petals of an orange blossom.
Every March at the grove, I clip the first blooms of the season and leave them on Andrea’s front step— wherever that has been over the years.
I have no idea what she does with them. Probably throws them out.
“No, they’re not, but that don’t stop us from growing ‘em,” Maggie chuckles.
“I’ll take them too.”
As soon as the flowers are situated on the floor of the passenger seat, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. I whip it out, expecting my stepfather.
A different name appears on the screen.
Trembling with dread and anticipation, I tap the app Darren had me install to record calls.
“Sebastian.”
Acid collects in the back of my throat at the sound of his voice.
My tongue flicks over the scar on my upper lip.
It might’ve faded but the memory hasn’t.
Metallic blood and 18-carat gold. A tinny scrape of a signet ring across my teeth, through split skin.
I told Coach it happened during a bar fight.
The next time he hit me, he made sure to avoid visible areas.
“Pastor.”
“We’ve got a situation.”
That could mean anything. He’s careful— never disclosing everything to one person. But he trusts me. Calls me the son he never had. Believes I’m his prodigy, not his downfall.
“What kind of situation?”
He blows out a sigh. “Dr. Larson’s son… he’s gotten mixed up in some things.
I guess there was some incident at the dorms and they’ve brought him and Marcus in for questioning.
I’m sure it’ll blow over, but you know how August gets.
Anyway, I just need you to swing by his place and pick up a couple of things. ”
Evidence.
My palms sweat. “When?”
“Now.”
I massage the bridge of my nose. Cade’s been alone at my place for over an hour now. He needs his medication. “It’s gonna be a bit before—”
“It’s imperative you do this with a sense of urgency,” Sinclair snarls.
Inhale. Hold. Slow breath out. Remain calm. He’ll only retaliate if you react. It’s almost over.
“Of course. I’ll head there now.”
“Oh, and if you could just store it at your place, that would be wonderful.”
I grind my teeth. My eyes close. It’s ok. If he thinks I have it, I can hand it over to Darren without them knowing. Maybe it’ll speed this whole thing up and I can avoid the next drop.
“Sure.”
“Thank you, son. You’re truly a faithful servant.”
I don’t know about faithful, but I’m definitely a servant.
When the call disconnects, I forward the recording to Darren and immediately text Cade.
Hey baby, sorry for taking so long. There’s just one last thing I gotta take care of and I’ll be home.
Just one last thing.