Chapter 9
nine
SEBASTIAN
It took some convincing, but I got Indie to agree to let me pick her up. Part of me worried she’d stand me up if we met at the restaurant, and if she stood me up, I couldn’t fabricate another run-in. I’d have to show up at her door and have a conversation we should have had ten years ago.
But the more I consider it, the more I think it’s best if we avoid that talk.
At least for now. Because I know Indie Bloom—or I used to—and she’ll do just about anything to avoid uncomfortable situations.
Not that I blame her. After the way she grew up, running from anything that could blow back on her in a public way became second nature.
And it leaked into the way she dealt with personal issues too.
So yeah, I want to talk to her about what happened ten years ago to make her run and block me.
I have my suspicions, but that’s all they are.
Suspicions. The best move is to play this smart and safe, and that means I can’t go in, guns blazing, and demand answers.
Not if I want to see her again after today.
And I do. Very much.
“Hi.” Indie tucks a pink curl behind her ear as she opens the door. Her cheeks flush a similar shade, drawing attention to the freckles that kiss the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.
She’s beautiful. She always was, but there’s something more settled about her now. Something that gives me hope the years have been kinder to her than they used to be.
“Hey, Rosebud. You ready to go?”
She nods, glancing back inside the little bungalow. “Be back later, Lols. Text if you need anything.”
There’s a muffled, “I won’t,” from inside the house that has my lips twitching. I think I’m going to like Indie’s friend. Assuming I get the chance to get to know her.
Indie rolls her hazel eyes and steps out onto the porch.
She’s bundled up in that purple peacoat with a cream scarf looped around her neck.
It makes the loose curls of her hair puff up around her.
For a local, it would be considered overkill.
After a long winter, the beginning of April feels downright balmy.
But Indie has spent her life in the warmer weather of Hollywood, and I doubt she’s been here long enough to truly acclimate.
It’s instinctive to hold out my elbow to her. She eyes it for a moment, wary, like it’s a snake about to strike, but then she sucks in a deep breath and loops her hand through my arm, and my whole body warms. “You look pretty.”
Her blush intensifies, and it gives me hope. She may have tried to wear a mask of indifference when we ran into each other, but she’s still affected by me. It’s mutual, of course, but I doubt she has any idea how deeply she still affects me.
“Thanks.”
“My car’s here.” I lead her to my SUV and pull open the passenger door. “Do you want me to put the seat warmers on?”
“Sure,” she says softly, sneaking a quick glance at my face before looking away.
Closing her door, I hurry around to the driver’s side and get everything situated.
My fingers tremble as I turn on the car and the heat.
Hopefully, she doesn’t notice. Pretty sure I wasn’t even this nervous when we were down by one in the final game of the playoffs last season, and I knew it would all be on me if we lost and were eliminated. “Make sure you buckle up.”
Indie huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes before turning to me and finally making eye contact. “I have ridden in cars before, Bash.”
“Right. Sorry.” My voice cracks like a pubescent teenage boy, and I die a little inside.
I’ve never been as smooth as Griffin or Logan, but damn, this is ridiculous.
Thank god they’re not here to witness this train wreck, or I’d never hear the end of it.
I’m used to being the best. The competent one.
Nothing about me right now is competent.
We spend the first few minutes of the drive in silence. I rack my brain for something to say while Indie squirms in her seat.
We never used to struggle for conversation.
Hell, my parents would tease me that neither one of us could seem to shut up around the other.
Nothing was off-limits. We talked about mundane things, like movies and music, to much more personal topics, like how Indie was dealing with the latest round of media bullshit being hurled her way.
And when we were silent? It was comfortable.
This isn’t.
“So Lola seems cool,” I say when I can’t think of anything else. The restaurant isn’t far away, and I’m hoping we can get over this awkwardness before we sit down. The last thing I need is for anyone to witness how very little game I have off the ice. “When did you two meet?”
“We went to high school together, but we were never really friends. Didn’t run in the same crowds.
But after I graduated and moved back home, we ran into each other at a coffee shop and struck up a conversation.
” She smiles, and the sight of it nearly has me swerving into oncoming traffic. “We’ve been inseparable ever since.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. I wish I’d known her in high school. It would have made those four years so much more tolerable, but I’m glad to have her now.”
Clearing my throat, I hold myself back from reaching out and covering Indie’s hand with mine the way I want to.
I hated that she felt alone throughout high school.
Hated that all I could do was text and call her when she was struggling on the other side of the country.
“How long have you two been living here?”
“Oh.” She shifts in her seat, her fingers twisting together. “Um, we’re not living here. Just staying for a bit. We’ve been here since the end of February.”
Shit. Staying for a bit. That’s all?
“Oh yeah? And how long are you hanging out in the Twin Cities?”
“Um, the tentative plan is three months.”
Three. Months. They’ve been here since the end of February, and it’s already the second week of April. That means they’re halfway through their stay.
It’s not enough.
“That’s cool.” Lie. “What brings you to Minnesota?”
Indie sighs. The sound is tired. Defeated. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news about my parents.”
“Yeah.” I wince, shooting her a sympathetic look. “I was sorry to hear about the divorce.”
“Thanks. It’s been…interesting.”
Interesting is one way to put it. I obviously haven’t watched her parents’ sex tape, but I’d have to have been living under a rock not to know about it. “Do they know who leaked the sex tape?”
She chokes out a laugh at that. “Nope. I’m half-convinced it was one of them. Neither has been booking as many high-profile projects these days, so I wouldn’t put it past one of them to leak it, hoping to reignite some public interest. Hell, maybe it was a mutual decision.”
Robert and Vivian are both nice people. Much nicer than you’d expect an A-list actor or actress to be, when the whole world fawns over their every move.
But they aren’t devoid of the narcissism that often walks hand in hand with fame.
I’ve seen people with much less notoriety get a big head at the first brush of fame.
Hell, hockey players are some of the most arrogant assholes you could ever meet.
And Robert and Vivian aren’t just hockey-player famous.
The entire world knows who they are.
But the sad fact of the matter is that Hollywood is often a young-person’s game. In an industry that values beauty, youth, and novelty above almost anything else, even the most famous actors in the world eventually live to see their star dim.
I can’t imagine either of Indie’s parents are happy about that.
“Have you avoided seeing anything too traumatizing?” I ask, smiling. I hate that she’s being forced to deal with any of this, but it does give us something to talk about. And at this point, I’ll take what I can get.
“Oh, god. No. I’ve seen far too much of my father’s ass. No one should have to see the things I’ve seen. Nor should any child be forced to know what their mom’s sex noises sound like.” Indie makes a disgusted face. “I swear I hear that shit in my nightmares.”
“I’m sure. Not enough therapy in the world for something like that.”
“Exactly,” she cries, laughing. “At least when they film movies, I know when to close my eyes to avoid seeing any tits or ass. When it’s out there on the internet, it’s like avoiding a million jump scares.”
She’s beautiful when she laughs. I’ve missed that sound. Way more than I realized. I want to hear it every day. To clear the air between us and deal with whatever made her run away and deprive me of that glorious laugh.
But then her expression shifts, and I know I can’t.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s reading a situation, and we’re nowhere near where we need to be to have that conversation.
She’s still holding herself back, and I’ll have to play it safe and smart.
That means showing Indie she can trust me.
That I still care about her. I need her to remember how good we were together before I attempt to reopen old wounds.
I’ve spent ten years waiting for Indigo Bloom. I can be patient. Because letting her run away from me again isn’t an option. Which means I’ll do whatever it takes to win her back. Even if that includes ignoring the elephant in the room. For now.