by BA Tortuga
“No, bébé. I insist.”
“Thank you. I just don’t think I can stay at Sister’s.” Or another hotel.
“No. No, there’s energy in there that got to ease, huh?”
“Not to mention all of the clocks are stopped. I’d be late for everything.” He gave her a watery smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, bébé. You mine, jus’ like mine’s hers.”
“’Kay.”
She nodded. “Come home, now. Rest. Folks will sit with her, and tomorrow we’ll sing and the good Father will send her home.”
Sebastian could handle that. After that was over, well, he had no idea what he would do.
That thought terrified him, down to the bone.
“LET ME buy you a drink, Markus.”
Markus turned to stare down the record exec who had insisted on taking him to dinner to talk about some award show or another. He would much rather be by the phone in case Seb called, and he sure as hell didn’t want a drink.
“Just water, please.”
“Are you sure? They make an exceptional martini.”
“No, thanks. Look, I hate to be in a hurry on your dime, but I’d like to kick back at the hotel for a few hours. Can we cut to the chase?”
“Absolutely, man. We want you to do the CMAs. Closing act. It’s a good spot. You could parlay an encore into something with all the performers.”
“Oh.” Well, hell. Tawny would shit a pink Twinkie. Markus frowned, wondering why they hadn’t just taken it to Tawny instead of catching him in Vegas. “My manager knows my schedule better than me, man.”
“Are you with Jack Michaels now? Or are you still with Tawny?”
“Tawny is my girl.” He forced a smile. “Jack is pretty busy with the Longchamps machine.”
“Yeah. I heard he had a death in the family. That sucks. I hope the family’s okay.”
“Last I heard they were holding it together.” Thank God Seb’s sister was as solid as they came.
The dude—who, Markus had to admit, had a name he didn’t even know—just nodded, all sympathetic and shit. “So, I’ll contact Tawny, tell her that you agreed to the gig, and we’ll discuss compensation. Do you think that Longchamps will be available for the show? I know you two have the EP.”
“I don’t know. If he is, it would be great to do the show with him.” That would be just fine, in fact, allowing him and Seb to come back together.
“Excellent.” He got another of those slick grins. “You sure you don’t want anything but water? I won’t tell.”
“No. Thanks.” Markus tapped his fingers on the table, wondering how soon he could duck out after a steak dinner. If this was a date, he’d know. Tawny always gave him the signal at business things.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Twice.
“Hey, can you excuse me a moment?” Markus slipped out of the booth, heading toward the casino floor, where he might be able to get a steady signal. Deep in the steakhouse it was harder to keep a call going.
He called Seb back as soon as he got a good signal, keeping his ball cap pulled down low.
The first thing he heard was “You busy?”
“Nope. What’s up, baby?” He started walking. He’d call Tawny later, tell her to apologize to Mr. Industry, that it had been an emergency.
“Jack says I’m out of bereavement leave. I’m supposed to be in… New York in the morning? Some morning show? How’s wherever you are?”
“I’m still in Vegas. Tell Jack to fuck off. This isn’t an option. This is your mamma we’re talking about.” He was going to call Jack personally, set a meeting, and pull the man’s teeth with a pair of pliers.
“Vegas, huh? Don’t gamble, it’s bad for you.”
“No gambling, no drinking. Is Sister feeding you?” Please, God, let Seb be eating.
“I’m staying with Cece.” Seb sighed softly. “I miss you. Is that a pussy thing to say?”
“God, no.” No, he missed Seb like a lost limb. Hell, he’d decided to chuck all caution and be with Seb, and now he wanted the payoff, damn it.
“Oh, good. I can’t write. I don’t want to sing. I just run a lot and read. Cece really likes vampire books.”
God, Seb made him laugh.
“Are they the sexy books, or just bitey?”
“Mostly biting, some fucking.” He could hear Seb’s smile in the man’s voice. “Tell me you’ve been having fun. I heard your show went well.”
“Touring with you has done wonders for my career.” Ironic, since he was really retired.
“Yeah. You were rocking it, without me. You look amazing.”
“Shit, baby, I was just trying to live up to the show you would have given.” He found a quiet alcove near the bathrooms off the lobby.
“Still.” Seb sighed for him. “Are you going to be somewhere day after tomorrow, maybe?”
“I’m sure I’ll be somewhere,” he teased, then relented. “San Francisco.”
“I’ll see if I can come, if you want. I’ve got New York City tomorrow morning, then Nashville tomorrow night, but I can fly out late.”
“Oh, baby, I want. I’m getting antsy for you.” That was putting it mildly, but he knew they would have to work through obligations.
“Good. I need to see you for a bit, just sit with you. Maybe have a sing.”
His fingers itched for his guitar, just like that. “God. Please.”
“I’ll bring my acoustic.”
“Then I’ll be waiting.” They needed to write together. They were turning out good songs.
“Cool. You… you talked to Tawny?”
“I did. She says the rabbit hole is deep, baby. We need to talk in person.” His teeth clenched, just thinking about what Tawny had already dug up, which was the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Somebody’d been fucking Seb for a while, but it was getting worse, getting blatant.
“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” It seemed like every time he spoke to Seb, the man sounded a little older. That whole tired and sad thing needed to stop.
“Over cioppino and sourdough, huh?” He might be from cowboy country, but he could eat local when he was on the road.
“Listen to you, eating food that you have to chew.” The words were fond, teasing.
“I know. We can always get you a nice broth.” Chuckling, he checked to make sure no one seemed too interested in him.
Everyone was busy, smoking, drinking, working the slots. Suddenly, painfully, the scent of addiction was everywhere, like it was in his fucking skin. Markus closed his eyes, ready to just—something. Explode, maybe. Tawny had left yesterday, and the rental car was gone. “I need to get out of here, baby. I need to….”
“Okay. Okay, like now? Do you have a room?”
“I do, but it’s here in one of the casinos. It’s—” Markus laughed a little, his throat feeling raw. “It’s a bit much.”
“Shit, it’s like temptation distilled into fucking neon lights.”
He croaked out another laugh. “I know, right? You think someone would come get my shit if I just left? I have my wallet.”
“I think someone would, yeah. Get in a car and drive, man.”
“I will. God, baby, why is this so hard? We did this for years, you and me. Being apart.”
“Because we got spoiled, maybe. Mostly, though? We got hope.”
Hope was as painful as it was wonderful. “You know it, baby. You know it. Thanks for saving me from the shark.”
The Jaws theme song came over the phone line, making him chuckle.
“I’m heading out. I’ll call you when I get a car and figure out where I’m staying tomorrow.”
“I’ll have my phone. Have fun driving. Sing a lot.”
“I will. I have a lot of Longchamps on my iPod.” He headed for the doors, intent on getting a cab to the nearest car rental place, which was probably at McCarran.
He managed to slip into the cab before the pair of teenagers discussing whether or not he was him got the courage to ask. Better to leave t
hem wondering than snarl at them and end up getting bad press.
Soon he was in a Mustang, flying through the desert, the moon huge. He thought about calling Seb again, but the man had to sleep, and Central time was way ahead of him, now. Still, he’d gotten out of Sin City without so much as a cigarette, which he thought was a triumph of sorts.
He’d head for San Francisco and find an amazing boutique hotel, let the one Tawny had chosen be the decoy. If he was going to spend some time with Seb, he wanted to do it right.
He wanted contact, privacy. He wanted Seb. They needed to touch and sing and just be. The rest could just go away.
Chapter Eighteen
SEBASTIAN FLEW into Half Moon Bay, sitting close enough to Justin to see out of the front of the little plane. There were benefits to being him—lots of them—and he’d made a couple of calls and found an old friend who still had a pilot’s license and a free schedule who was willing to take him to Cali.
He loved surfers.
“Thanks for the short notice, man. Things are—” Weird. Awful. Insane. “—crazy busy.”
“No worries, mate. I need to hang on this side of the world a bit. I’ll go see my sister. You call when I’m supposed to take you wherever, deal?”
Sebastian nodded. “I have to be in Nashville day after tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. for a business meeting. When’s the latest we can leave here?”
“Be here at midnight. We’ll make it happen.”
“Rock on.”
He got out of the jet, grabbed his guitar and bag, and headed toward a little red convertible waiting by the hangar, a familiar grin under the brim of that gimme cap.
Long arms unfolded and reached for him, Markus coming to meet him just inside the hangar door. “Hey, baby. Nice ride.”
“It’s good to have friends.” He admired the Mustang. “I like it. Can we drive? I have until midnight tomorrow, and my phone’s turned off.”
“Anywhere you want to go. I got nowhere to be, and I’m rested up.”
Markus had told him about the long sleep, about how Vegas had worn him out, just resisting temptation.
He put his guitar in the back seat, slid in the passenger side. “Somewhere we can write and I don’t have to pretend to be somebody else?”
“I got us a house on the beach. Tawny rented it in her name, and I picked up the key last night.” Markus pushed into the driver’s seat, hand landing on his leg. “God, I missed you.”
“Ditto. You look good.” Three weeks and Markus looked like magic still, somehow. “Cece sent me with pralines.”
“Oh, man. I remember those. They’re like heaven.” Markus leaned over to give him a lingering kiss, which made him a little stupid. “Thanks.”
“Drive. Tell me everything you’ve done.” He blinked, achingly happy to be there with Markus.
Markus started up the car and got them going, heading out toward the highway. “Mostly I did those Vegas shows and met with label people. How’s your sister holding up?”
“I think she’s a little relieved, cher. She can focus on the kiddos, on doing her thing. She looked less tired when I left.” He sighed. “Lord, I don’t know. It’s a damn strange thing.”
Markus laughed, patting his leg again. “Such a Cajun once you’ve been home awhile.”
“I stayed up at Cece’s. She makes me remember where I come from.” He’d told her about Markus—her and Sister both—and they’d both laughed at him, teased him unmercifully. “Sister says you have to come sing her happy birthday in February.”
“I can do that. Especially if she makes me étouffée.” Markus looked over at him. “They…. What did you tell them?”
“The truth.” That he’d been Markus’s for a long damned time and he didn’t know how it was going to work yet, but he knew who he wanted.
The smile that broke over Markus’s face made it all worth it. It was beautiful to see.
They were going to have to talk about things—mostly Tawny and money—but this was enough for right now. It had to be.
Sebastian leaned back, let the air wash over him. The interview had gone poorly this morning, the makeup on his newly shaved face too heavy, the lights too bright, the newscaster too toothy. They’d forgiven him, he thought, offered condolences about Maman. Jack hadn’t been happy, though. Had been hanging too close, hovering over him.
Markus let it ride for a good while, just humming along with the radio. That kid who’d opened for them, Houston, had a new single out. Go him. He’d known the kid would hit; there just had to be a catalyst.
“Not bad,” Markus said when the song ended. “Not as good as any of the ones we wrote.”
“Nope. You going to do a video for ‘Running on the Wrong Side’?”
“If I have to.” They got going on the highway, getting up to speed, which was just fun as hell.
He slipped out of his seat belt and got up on the seat, letting the wind hit his torso as he swayed on his knees. God, he wanted to fly. Really fly.
“No jumping, baby.” Markus sounded amused, though, not worried.
“No. I’m just—” Breathing. Soaring. Free. “—happy.”
“Good.”
Yep. Good. It was a fine thing to hear the satisfaction in Markus’s voice too.
He plopped back down, breathing hard like he’d been running. Immediately he felt Markus’s hand on him again, stroking his arm. “You want to stop for some food?”
“I’m okay.”
He felt Markus’s eyes on him, heavy, looking hard.
“Maybe a milkshake?”
“Sure, baby. I bet you’d eat some fries too.” From the way Markus’s smile went a little strained, he thought he’d failed the test.
He sighed, rubbed his forehead to ward off the headache that was threatening. He hated fucking up.
“Stop it.” Markus flicked his arm with one finger. “I worry. I’ll be good, though, huh?”
“I just… I don’t want to think about that part right now, cher. There’s enough to think about.” Maman, Markus, Jack—he couldn’t do anything else.
“Then I’ll think on it for you.” The next exit rose up, and Markus pulled off. “Get your sunglasses on, baby.”
He nodded and pulled on his cap and glasses, relaxing back into the seat bonelessly. He knew he looked nothing like his concert photo-shoot self. It would be Markus people recognized. Markus was stunning and unique. He was a Cajun in a T-shirt.
“Hey, there,” Markus said to the kid at the drive-in. “A double bacon burger, two fries, two vanilla shakes, and a fried apple pie.”
“Sure, man.” The kid nodded and dealt with the order, giving Markus a fish-eye only a couple of times. “Cool ride.”
“Thanks. She handles real well.” Markus grinned, and Seb was thankful Markus had sunglasses on. Those eye crinkles were the stuff of legend.
The smile made his cock jerk, try to fill for the first time since Maman had died. He’d had it turned on him more than a few times, and it was breathtakingly effective. They got their food without anyone making the connection, though, and Markus hit the road again, whistling a little.
“You might have to feed me french fries.”
“I can do that.” He pulled out one of the containers, pulled a fry out. “Open up.”
“Ahh.” Markus opened up and let Seb pop a fry in his mouth, then licked the salt off his lower lip. “Yum.”
Seb moaned, eyes on the dark stubble, on those now-slick lips. “You want another one?”
“I do.” Markus opened up again, slowing the car down just a tiny bit.
He fed Markus another, then licked his own fingers clean.
“We might have to find a place to stop before we get to the rental, you keep doing that.”
“Feeding you fries?” He liked it, that he felt like he could tease a little bit.
“Licking things.” That voice was a low growl.
“Fuck, cher. You got things way more lickable than my fingers.” He was addicted to that fat, heavy co
ck.
“Don’t make me wreck the car, now.” The sideways look he got damned near burned him to the ground.
“I won’t. Drive. I’ll feed you.” He ate a fry; they were good. Greasy and salty and hot.
“Thanks, baby.” Markus ate another fry before grabbing one of the shakes.
Sebastian played with the radio, landing on a classic rock station and lighting there, singing along as he unwrapped Markus’s burger, set it up so the man could eat on it. He also downed half an order of fries and a quarter of his shake before he slowed down, which made him blink in surprise.
Markus didn’t say anything about it, and neither did he, because they were singing with Pete Townshend and Paul McCartney and Paul Simon. Sebastian kinda forgot about it halfway through “Mother and Child Reunion,” and by the time they’d yodeled their way through “Hocus Pocus” with that Focus band, they were turning off the highway again, the GPS pinging softly.
The place was gated, Markus digging out his phone for the code. It had that California look to it, like it would be all tile and hot tub. Private too. His fingers found Markus’s thigh, traced the seam of those soft, ancient jeans.
“Oh, now. Good thing I’m done with my food. I’d be dropping stuff everywhere with you distracting me.”
“And all you have to do is get to the garage.”
“Yeah? Gonna ride me right here in the car?” Markus gunned it through the gate, keying the garage door opener hanging off the visor.
“Fuck, no. I want you naked, sprawled out on a bed. Maybe in the pool.”
“Jesus.” They almost hit the back wall of the garage, but the door shut behind them and Markus jumped out of the car. “Last one to find the master bedroom is hauling in the suitcases later.”
He grabbed his guitar, noting with a grin that Markus did too, and they headed in, running. The cases were left on a kitchen table, and then they made a beeline for the huge staircase. Masters were always upstairs, right?
“Look at that, baby.” Markus opened a door, but it was a bathroom. It had an amazing tub.
