by BA Tortuga
Time to call in the reinforcements.
THE CROWD was wild, and they played an extra three songs before finally shutting it down. Given how shitty his day had gone, Sebastian would have sworn that the show was going to suck. Somehow it hadn’t.
Markus brought the house down, he did his shit, and then they got on stage together and… fuck. Fuck, yes. There was something about the energy between them tonight, something amazing and scary and wonderful. Bruce had figured it out; the man couldn’t seem to stop grinning at him.
He wiped his face, took the shake from Bev, and downed it. “It was a good finale.”
“You sounded fabulous.” Like Bev wasn’t totally tone-deaf. She was still his number one fan, though, and she meant what she’d said. He could tell.
“Thanks, sweetie. I’m going to get cleaned up.”
She nodded. “Uh. Markus—Mr. Kane—his company is here. Waiting.”
“His manager?”
That got him another nod.
“Good deal. I’ll be in my dressing room.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Kane. Right?” She gave him a searching look, like a puppy needing reassurance they were a good dog.
“Yep. Then just keep your phone close, yeah? I might need you.”
“I will. Don’t let them mess with you, Seb. Call me before Jack makes you do anything.” She clicked off, her “it’s showtime” heels making the best noise. Like castanets.
He cleaned up, changed shirts, drank three huge bottles of water. The need for the pills buzzed at the back of his skull, but he resisted, pacing instead. He chewed his thumbnail, a habit he’d given up three years ago.
When Markus—and he knew that rhythmic sound like he knew his own heartbeat—knocked, he damn near jumped out of his skin. He practically ran to the door, his hand shaking when he opened up.
Markus stood there, smiling, looking relieved as hell. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey. We did it.” He let Markus in, shut the door behind him.
“We did. It was a hell of a tour.” Markus hugged him, the motion easy as breathing.
Sebastian snuggled in, hummed, stealing this second. He needed to soak up Markus’s solid strength to do this. Shit was fixin’ to hit the fan, he knew it like he knew the melody to “Pretty Woman,” and he wasn’t ready.
“So.” Markus paused, then sighed. “You ready to talk to Tawny?”
“No, but I bet I don’t have a choice.” He took a deep breath, then stepped back. “Do we do it here or in the bus?”
“The bus, I think. Unless you want to go to mine.”
“I do, but everyone will notice. Bev said she cleaned up from my shit-fit earlier.” He’d been on the far side of stupid. Go him.
“Okay, baby. We’ll go to yours.” Markus winked, taking his hand.
“Tell me that I’m not a paranoid idiot.” He knew he was, just like he knew that Bev wasn’t. At all.
“Well, you’re not an idiot.” They laughed, Markus squeezing his fingers.
“Fuckhead.” They headed to the sofa, waiting out the crowds, the chaos. It felt so good to sit there, held in Markus’s arms. He clung a little, so afraid this was going to end, that it would all be ripped away.
“Hush now. We’re gonna fix this.”
Sebastian could hear his maman in his head. “Chile, chile, we gon’ fix it.” It made him smile. Helped him believe too. His maman, the old Cajun witch woman.
“Mmm. That’s better. I like when you smile.”
“I like it when I smile too.”
“Imagine that.” Markus kissed his neck, just below his ear.
He shivered, his cock filling with a rush that left his hands shaking. “Be good, Candy.”
“Sorry?” Markus didn’t sound sorry. The man sounded evil. Like incarnate.
“Uh-huh. No kissing.”
Markus answered him with a bite that might just leave a mark. Maybe that was okay, though. He didn’t have anywhere to be for two days, so long as he made tomorrow’s little show. He’d argued for that one until he was blue in the face.
Finally, finally they were going to be able to stop a second. Breathe. Figure shit out.
When the knock came at the door, Markus sighed but let him slide off the couch. “It’s Tawny, baby. I’ll get it.”
“I got it….” The door popped open, and Bev stood there, pale as a ghost.
“Seb?”
“What?” He backed up a step.
She held out her phone. “Your sister’s been calling, honey. I’m so sorry.”
His knees buckled. “Oh, shit. Shit, no.” He’d just been thinking on her. His maman. Not now. Oh please.
“Seb?” Markus caught him when he staggered. “Seb, you need to talk to your sister.”
He reached for the phone. “Sister?”
“Chou? Chou, she… it’s over. About fifteen minutes ago. I been calling.”
Seb figured he was gonna puke. “I’m sorry. Oh God. I should have been there.”
“Oh, Chou. Lord, she’s not been awake in days. She was gone-gone. Shit, you know she ain’t been Maman in two years, easy.” His older sister chuckled, and the sound was so Maman that it burned. “I reckon she waited for your big tour. She always hated messing with folks’ schedules. I need you now, though, huh? Just to help for a few days and maybe to give this old girl a hug.”
“Anything.”
“Well, you just get here as soon as you can. The funeral will probably be Wednesday.”
“I’ll pack now. I’ll be there by morning. I promise.” Shit, he didn’t even know for sure where he was. Michigan? Wisconsin? Somewhere. “Love you.”
He pushed the button and handed the phone back. “Bev, I need….”
“I’m on it.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t know what to do. His hands kept fluttering, his mouth opening and closing. Finally he turned to Markus, who immediately grabbed him.
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I think. I mean. I have a show tomorrow. I have to bring Jack in.” Could this whole fucking nightmare have come at a weirder time?
“No. No, you need to go home. I can take your show tomorrow. I bet Tawny can swing that.” Markus chewed his lip. “Bev, we need to get a schedule worked out.”
“Let me get a private plane booked for Seb, and I’ll get with you and Jack and Tawny.” Bev looked at him. “Your job is to be with family. All this crap—all this politics and bullshit about family and values—everyone has to understand or expose themselves as assholes. Grab your bag. I’ll have a suit delivered to your hotel for the funeral.”
“What would I do without you, girl?”
“Be painfully disorganized and skinnier than you are. Get your go bag.”
“Thank you.” He hugged her hard, just needing to hang on to her for a moment so she understood how much he loved her.
He headed to the back, he heard Bev talking to Markus, and then the big man filled the doorway, looked at him. All in the world he wanted, right this second, was to hide in those arms, but it wasn’t going to happen. Shitty, but true.
He found a smile for Markus, knowing it wouldn’t be true. “I guess I should be happy she’s out of pain, huh?”
“That’s what they say. I think you should feel what you feel, huh?” Markus knew too. Those dark eyes looked a little haunted. “I’ll take care of business. You take care of family. We’ll meet up after the funeral.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, but he was. This whole situation bordered on ludicrous in the extreme. He might just start laughing hysterically and not stop.
Markus moved close enough to touch his shoulder, fingers strong, warm. That was all they were gonna get, because security was there suddenly, ready to take him to the car so he could head for the airport. Markus held on, though, long enough for him to look the man in the eye.
“I’m not,” Markus said softly. “Not about anything except your mamma.”
“I love you.”
> He didn’t wait to see if Markus said it back. He didn’t wait to see if Markus had even heard him. He’d said it, he meant it, and God willing, one day he’d say it again.
Right now, though, he had to head home.
MARKUS WENT to his bus, needing to get away from the media frenzy. Hell, he needed to get away from Bruce and Kyle and the opening acts and the damned photographers who all wanted to know what they could do or if there was some way to get more information.
Christ, what a zoo. At least Seb had managed to get out, get on a plane.
“Hey, Scooter. How’s he doing?” Tawny was sitting there, like she belonged on his bus, looking cool as a cucumber in a pretty little white dress.
“He’s freaking out.” Markus went to the fridge and stared inside, wanting a beer so bad he could taste the sour goodness of it on the tip of his tongue.
“I brought us strawberry milkshakes.” She stood, pushed one into his hand. “And of course he is. Poor baby. We’ll send flowers to his sister.”
“We will.” He took a sip of the shake, closing the fridge. “Someone’s stealing from him, Tawn. We need to figure this shit out.”
“I’ve got your back. You have all the files for me?”
“Bev got them to me, yeah.” He knew he should try to wind down, but he was too damned worried. “I agreed to take that Vegas thing for him.”
“Okay. I’ll call Jack, arrange it. You don’t worry about Longchamps’s money. I’ll figure it out.” She put her shake down, hands on his shoulders. “Jesus, you need a real massage. I’ll get you one first thing in the morning.”
“I worry about everything to do with him, Tawny. He’s all I want.” He hugged her just like Seb had hugged Bev, like he needed to absorb strength.
“Well, looks like you got him. And I got you. No matter what happens.” The words sounded… full of portent.
“You know something I don’t, lady?” He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t about to get ambushed with a full-on expose on one of those news shows or something.
“I do. But it’s not about you or Seb.”
He hated games. She knew that, so what she was up to was a mystery. “You gonna tell me, or do you want to sweep for bugs?”
“We caught pregnant.” The grin he got was as scared as it was tickled. “It finally happened, Scooter. We tried for so long, but… I’m due in late January.”
His jaw dropped, his heart swooping before taking up a hard beat of happiness for her. “Oh, honey, that’s great!” Markus hugged her tight, thinking better of spinning her like he wanted to.
“I know! You’re going to be a godfather!” She squeezed him, cackling. “Jim’s going to stay home, full-time. I’ll have a househusband. Crazy, huh?”
“That’s something else.” Lord, when it rained it poured. This was good, at least.
“The doctor says I’m great, she’s great. I’m not leaving you, you know that, right?”
“I know. No, I know.” She’d be hard-pressed to keep up with him and Seb, though, if Seb was gonna have to fire Jack.
“I know what you’re thinking. Two singers ain’t too bad.”
“No? Seb is more popular than me, honey.”
“I love you, Scooter, I really do, but Sebastian Longchamps is in the center of a nuclear breakdown. He’s either going to have to back off or it’s going to kill him. You know this. I think he does too.”
“I do.” His shoulders tried to pull up around his ears. “I mean to stop him.”
“Then I do too. There’s life after stadium shows, and y’all need to start planning one.”
Hardassed bitch. God knew he loved her. She was solid as a rock too. “We’ll need your help on that. Can you get me to Vegas?”
“I can. I’ll run interference with Jack too, get these numbers run.”
“Thanks.” He sighed, his urge for a beer backing off enough that he could enjoy the strawberry shake. He was starving all of a sudden too.
“Doughnut?” She grinned over, winked. “Or we could just get in a car and drive. It’s a beautiful night, and I ended up with a luxury.”
“That sounds like a plan. Everyone else can just catch up.” Most everyone else would go their own way, once the tour was cleaned up.
“Yeah. We can be in Vegas by dawn, sleep all day. It’ll be great.”
“Let’s do it.” He had his go bag, and she could stop and get him a chicken biscuit or something.
“Hey, Scooter.”
He looked back. “What?”
“I love you, honey. It’s going to be okay.”
Markus nodded, trying to believe it. He’d do what he had to do, and by Christmas, come hell or high water, he and Seb would be giving up the stadium life. He’d damned well see to it.
Chapter Seventeen
SEBASTIAN SAT at the funeral home, in one of the alcoves where nobody could see him. The photographers had been dogging him—at Sister’s, at his hotel. Everywhere. Now he was waiting.
Maman’s casket was already there, closed and waiting for Aunt Laney to wail over her and all of Sister’s kiddos to say goodbye. Sebastian wasn’t sure he knew how to. Shit marthy, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to wait for him, let him say goodbye, take her last breath clinging to his hand.
Sebastian snorted at himself. Jesus, drama much? Nothing went like you planned it to, and she was in a better place. He believed it. Alzheimer’s was no way to live.
“Where you at, Bubba?” Sammy’s voice rang out, too loud as always.
“Here, Sister.” He stood, peeked on the other side of the curtain. “Hiding.”
“’Course you are.” God, she looked tired. Eight years separated them, and she looked every one of them. “You need to eat.”
“You need to sleep.” He scooted over as she sat, her curves settling beside him. “How are the kids?”
“Bitchy. One’s with her boyfriend, and the other’s playing video games. Did you pick music and stuff with M’su Thibbedeux?”
“Yeah.” That had actually been easy, almost fun. Maman had loved her some music. She’d had a fondness for hymns that were more Southern than Catholic. They’d argued a bit, and Seb had agreed to have “Ave Maria” if they’d let them play “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.” Either way, the music would play here at the funeral home, not at the mass or at the graveside.
She leaned against his side. “It don’t seem real. I keep getting up of the mornin’, looking ’round for my glasses so I can call up to the home, check on how her night went.”
“You’re a good woman, Sister.”
“Shit, you paid for everything. You’re the one that got out.” Sammy hadn’t done bad for herself—marrying a vet, having babies, even getting a pretty damned successful fabric store going when her quilting habit had tried to take over. Still, Sebastian got it. He was the one hiding from the press, after all.
“I miss her.” It was so strange, being home and not having her.
“Yeah. I get that. It’s weird.”
They sat there together, just sorta… breathing. In a way, that was a good thing. Seb couldn’t remember when he last took a deep breath and stayed still. The world moved slower once you crossed into Cajun country.
“Can you stay for a while?”
“I can. At least a week or two.” He had to. Sister needed him to help her clean stuff out, deal with the big picture like she’d dealt with the little shit all this time.
Hell, probably it was more he needed her.
“C’est bon.” She hugged on him a moment, then patted his leg. “I got to go make sure the aunties know where to take the food later.”
“Okay. I… I’m just gon’ sit here with her a bit.” Maybe sing to her.
“You do that, Chou. I love you.” She left in a cloud of lemon-scented perfume, humming a lullaby he’d heard all his childhood but not since.
Sebastian sat there, staring at nothing at all, and then he stood, feeling ancient, feeling like he couldn’t breathe deep. He rested
his hand on the smooth wood, eyes on the picture that had been on the wall of the front room since the beginning of time. It was both his folks on their wedding day—a skinny little soldier and a pretty girl with a miniskirt and long, ironed hair. Did this make him an orphan?
He smiled at himself, then whispered, “I did it, Maman. I really did, and I think it’s going to be real this time. I think…. God, I need you to pray for me, because if it goes bad this time, there ain’t gonna be no rescuing your boy anymore. If I screw this up….” He shook his head, gritted his teeth.
He knew the truth, damn it.
If they did this for real—him and Markus—and they got caught, it was over. The ride was done for them, for the band, for Bev. He knew that.
But how many love songs did he have to write before his came true?
And what kind of sick, crazy fuck thought about his love life while he was leaning on his mother’s casket? He rested his head on his hands and let himself cry—for him, for Sister, for Maman.
Wasn’t nobody here to listen on it, and so it came on, his personal storm. When it was over he just felt tired, wore to the bone. He felt like his whole life had taken a left turn when it should have gone right.
Of course, taking left turns was sort of what he did.
He rolled his head on his neck, his shoulders like frozen rope. “I don’t know what to do, Maman.” He didn’t have to work out, or sing or rehearse. He was lost.
“Lawd, bébé, you don’ have to know. You ’sposed to be a little lost.” He turned, saw the familiar face of Maman’s best friend, Cece, broad and dark and sad and right there. “Come here and let me love on your baby body.”
She tugged him in, surrounded him in the scent of baby powder and cayenne and apples.
Sebastian hugged her tight, the tears threatening all over again. The only people in his life who didn’t want something from him were Bev and Markus. Being home like this, there were hundreds of people just like Cece who just needed to comfort him.
“Made you pralines, bébé, and made up the bed in the doghouse.”
He chuckled; he’d always been fascinated by the little one-bedroom house built behind Cece’s home. She’d called it the doghouse because she’d sent Warren to sleep there when her husband had pissed her off. It was private, simple, and… perfect. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”
