by BA Tortuga
He wasn’t fixin’ to blow sunshine up Seb’s butt. The man had done too much for too long, and no one’s body could do that forever.
Markus knew. From experience. It had taken him three years to get back to feeling almost normal, and he knew he could never drink again. He wasn’t sure what the fuck Seb was going to do. The choices there seemed… harder.
Definitely more complicated than going to rehab. The man had to rehab his whole team. People he trusted had done him dirty. “Want some banana?”
“They have a lot of calories.” Seb chewed his bottom lip, and Markus stared.
“You’ve burned off at least ten bananas.” He kept it light.
“Can you imagine eating ten bananas? You’d puke.”
“Hey, I used to be able to mainline a twenty-four pack of beer. Ten bananas was nothing.” Now, raw eggs? That Markus couldn’t hack.
“I went ten days only drinking black coffee. That’s when I hired Bev.” Seb’s denial was the weirdest addiction.
“She’s a good friend.”
“She’s a harpy.” Seb’s grin was warm, though, happy, and a piece of banana got eaten.
“She is. I mean, Helen has nothing on her.”
“I bet she’s ready for you to be home.”
“Maybe? Maybe she wants to have a retirement.” He grinned. “I bet Bev is losing her shit.”
“You know it. She’s überefficient.”
“She also worries about you, maybe more than I do.” At Seb’s raised brow, he shrugged. “I know more about your life. The way it is. From personal experience.”
“I don’t know what to do about it, my life. I don’t know if I want it anymore.” Seb wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s selfish, huh?”
“No.” Hell, no. Sure, they both had a lot to love about their lives, but everyone should have a chance to move on.
“I have everything everyone wants.”
“But if it’s not what you want anymore, it can’t make you happy.” Markus hated platitudes, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m not sure some people get to be happy.”
He popped Seb’s hip. “Stop it. You deserve it as much as anyone.”
Seb pinched his nipple. “You stop it.”
Markus jumped, barking out a laugh. That was kind of shocking. “Why?”
“Because you can’t just randomly whap a guy.”
Oh, this wasn’t random. “You’re not just a guy. You’re my lover, and I wasn’t being random.”
“Your lover, huh?” Seb looked over at him, one eyebrow arched.
“Mine.” That was the one thing that was certain in all of this.
“What are we going to do, Candy?” And there it was. Simple. Bald. Just put out there. Finally. “I mean, are we going to keep finding places to hook up when we get lonely? The press will find out, if we do it more than a couple times a year, so I need to know.”
He chewed on that a moment, not wanting to blurt something out that had no thought behind it. “I don’t want that, baby. I have no idea how we’ll do it, but I want you. Not just part-time, you know?”
“I want to watch you sleep when I can’t.”
God, that would be a great song hook. His fingers itched for his guitar, the music already starting to run through him. “That’s a good song, baby.”
Sebastian looked at him, and then the smile busted out. “Yeah. It’s one hell of a hook. I’ll grab the guitars.”
“Cool.” They could work, scribble out the basic shape of the song. And talk. It was easier to talk through the music. They’d been making love through the music for years. This was no different.
“No, that should be the chorus, not the opening line.” He made a notation, grinning when Seb snorted, obviously not agreeing.
“So, then how does it start? This great love affair?”
“How about with them knowing each other for years?” He gave Seb a slow grin, raising an eyebrow, feeling like he was issuing a dare.
“Watching each other? Working together?”
“That’s it. And now they’ve been together, and there’s all this stuff they have to figure out.”
Seb nodded. “Details. It’s all details.”
Now there was a first line. “I like it.” He scribbled, plucked, and they had half a song. And a title.
“How do you figure out what to do, when you don’t have a home to leave?”
It was a lyric, but Markus knew the question was real. He strummed a little on the guitar, not sure if he needed to answer right now. Then he nodded. “Find a place to lay your head.”
Those green eyes looked at him. “Promise me a place to settle.”
Markus gave up all pretense of writing a song and set his guitar aside, reaching for Seb. “I promise you that, baby. You’ll always have a place with me, and if the spot I chose isn’t it, we’ll find a new place together.”
Seb pushed into his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I liked your house.” He got a soft, chaste kiss. “What I saw of it.”
“I know. I want you to see it all.” Guilt was overrated, but he had it for keeping Seb at bay then, keeping him isolated, just like everyone else did.
“I’m tired, Markus. Like in my bones, huh? I never used to be, but I am now.”
“It’s been a long road.” There had been a hell of a lot of hills too. They wore on a man.
“It’s going to be longer, for a few days, and then I’ll come home, huh?”
Home. Home, yeah, that sounded good. A home they made together. It wasn’t just a pipe dream. Markus had beaten so many of his demons. Surely he could help Seb fight these last few.
Then the huge ones, well, they’d just have to bash them together.
Chapter Nineteen
“TELL ME why you did it.” Sebastian stood in front of Jack’s desk, staring the old man down, trying to figure out when Jack had gone from dapper older gentleman to a hawklike scary bastard sitting behind a huge oak desk like he was qualified to pass judgment. Sebastian had kissed Markus goodbye last night and flown back to Nashville. Six espressos and three energy drinks later and he was here in this familiar yet somehow strange fucking high-rise, facing down another demon that he’d always thought was one of his angels. Part of him wanted to cry, wanted to shake Jack and beg for reassurance, answers, stability. Peace.
It wasn’t going to happen, though. He knew that.
Sebastian figured he needed to start out like he could hold out, because this man had been a friend, a father figure, a confidant for years. Jack knew him. He’d trusted Jack with everything.
“Did what?” The look was practiced, masklike.
“Don’t lie to me, man.” He shook his head, pulling out the folder, the little printouts that proved what Bev had suspected and he knew, now. “Millions. You’ve taken millions. Why? I’ve never told you no. I got your back, for fuck’s sake.”
Jack snorted. “What are you doing, messing with the numbers, son? You’re not smart enough to do that. Do you even know what you’re looking at? You don’t have a head for numbers; you never have. I’ve known you for damned near your whole life. You’ve never even balanced a checkbook.”
Jack reached for his papers—like those would be the only copies. This stuff was electronic; it was everywhere. Still, Seb pulled back. He wasn’t stupid. He knew when column A and column B didn’t add up. Music was math.
“I’ve had three people look over the numbers, man. You’re skimming, and it’s not just a couple of bucks. It’s millions. Why?” He needed a reason—someone was dying of cancer, someone was going to break Jack’s legs, something.
“It’s just accounting, shifting cash from one thing to another to protect you.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Three people? Who? Who have you brought into this? Your fuck buddy? His bitch manager?”
“Watch your mouth.” He wouldn’t give Markus up. He couldn’t.
“I don’t have to.” Jack shook his head. “Don’t you get it, kid? I don’t have to. I own y
ou, and what I don’t own, the label does.”
No. No one owned him. Markus had made him repeat that over and over. Practice it. Markus’d said that was what Jack and the label would say. What they always said.
“Bullshit. Don’t be like this, man. Are you in trouble or something?”
The mask seemed to flicker, and for a moment he thought it would break. Then Jack’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Are you trying to fuck me out of my retirement, kid? Is that what this is about? Get rid of the old man?”
“What?” Him? Fuck Jack over? How?
“I have pictures, kid. Of you and your fuck buddy. I have the first ones, and I have new ones. You know what releasing them will do? To your career? The band’s? Markus’s? You think he won’t drop you like a hot rock when he has to pay all the bills at his big place in Austin without a label? How long do you think he’ll stay clean around you? Does he know about the hallucinations? The way you can’t do without the drugs? This isn’t a drinking problem, Sebastian. You’re fucking crazy. Mental. Medicated, you at least function.”
Sebastian stood there, feeling like he was getting beaten on by a million words like bees, the anger just crashing into him, and he didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Who’s been hiding how crazy you are? Who? Me. Just me, going from doctor to doctor, paying them to keep quiet, paying them to make sure you get what you need, and this is how you repay me? You ungrateful little fuck.”
Somehow everything was backward. Screwed up and his fault. Again.
Jack stood up, yanked the papers out of his hand. “You get your fucking ass downstairs, you get ready for your day of interviews, and then you get ready to go. I have a flight for you leaving at three, you bastard, for Japan. You have commercials to do and then a video to shoot. I’m traveling with you.”
Wait. Wait, what? Japan?
“I’m not….”
Jack put both hands on him, shook him hard. “Stop being a brat. Take your goddamn meds and move. I will destroy him, you hear me? I will destroy him, that pregnant bitch manager, your sister, Bev. Everyone. I will put those perverted pictures of you on the internet, and you’ll never be able to breathe without someone watching you, hating you, and you’ll never play again.”
So that was it, then. Jack knew. Seb was right about the money, and no matter what Sebastian did, it didn’t matter. He could survive it, the tidal wave of shit that would hit when he was outed, but could everyone else? Could Markus?
God, he was tired, and he’d just had enough. “I’m not doing interviews today.”
“You’re doing what you’re told, and I’m going to crawl up your ass to make sure it’s done. You’re out of choices. Fucking little shit.”
Sebastian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. He stumbled a little when Jack let go, and he reached for his phone. He needed to call someone—Bev, Markus, 911. Something.
“No.” Jack grabbed his phone, shattered it on the edge of Jack’s desk. “Let’s go. Quit being a child. Jesus, I should have known you weren’t capable of touring without me there every fucking second. From now on, I’m your fucking shadow.”
Sebastian thought, maybe, all the times Markus had said that the demons he saw, that the people that were waiting to eat him were just in his head, maybe Markus was wrong.
The demons were real; they just hid really well.
THE PHONE rang, “Silent Love” playing as his ringtone. Markus snatched it up, hitting Answer before he even looked to see who it was. It had to be Seb. Had to. “Hello?”
“Mr. Kane?” Bev sounded like she was a million miles away.
“Bev? What’s going on? Are you okay? Seb? I haven’t heard from him.”
“I’m…. I don’t suppose. Do you happen to need a personal assistant?”
“What?” He blinked, not quite able to process what she’d just said. “Bev, honey, where are you? What’s going on?”
“I’m in Nashville. Management fired me. Me, the band, everyone.”
The air whooshed out of his lungs. “Everyone? Have you talked to Bruce?”
“You haven’t?”
“No, honey. I’ve been calling and calling, and no one is answering.” He got off his ass, went to get a bag and start tossing shit in. “Where do I need to go? Where are you?”
“I’m in Nashville. I… I can come to you. I’m scared for him, Markus. Genuinely. He was there, on the other side of the glass when they called me in. He was… it was like someone had killed him or something.”
Bile rose in Markus’s throat. “Is he overseas? I’m not seeing any stuff about him on the E-news.”
“He was in Japan for a couple weeks, here for two days, now they have him in São Paulo.”
“São Paulo?” How did he find someone in São Paulo? “Okay. Okay, you come here. I’ll get a hold of Bruce and find out what he knows.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll be there in… twelve hours, hopefully less. I’m sorry for calling, but I’m scared for him.”
He needed to call Tawny. Bruce.
“Don’t apologize, honey. And don’t worry about the job. I won’t leave you out in the cold while we straighten this mess out.”
“Okay. Your house?”
“Yeah. Yeah, let me know when you’re coming in, and I’ll have Helen come get you.”
“Thank you.”
They said their goodbyes, and then he called Kyle. That man knew fucking everything that happened to everybody.
“Hey, man, what the hell is up with Sebastian?” Kyle asked without even saying hello. “His camp is shut down tighter than Nazi Germany.”
“I was hoping you knew, man.”
“Shit, Bruce is out of the fucking country, like with his kids and everything. They fired everybody. All of them. I got hold of that little boy they replaced Kerry and Jonny with, and he says Longchamps wasn’t even coherent, never said a word. They’re taking him to do some promotional shit, and then he’s going to be sequestered to write a new album? Without his band?”
“Not without Bruce.” No. No, this was officially a kidnapping. “Bev is coming here. I’ll call Tawny. Can I—” Was it fair to ask Kyle to help? “Can I count on you to be here in the States and coordinate when I go get him?”
“Shit, man. I got your back, no matter what. This ain’t right. They’re eating him alive because he’s queer.”
Markus made a sound, half laugh, half quacking duck. “Yeah. I mean, that has to be what they’re holding over his head, but Jack—it’s bad, Kyle.”
“Good thing we’re all old and ready to retire. You could buy me an island.”
“I could buy me and Seb one and you could come visit. Bring doughnuts.”
“Fucker. You know how many Weight Watchers points a doughnut is?”
“If you jog on the beach you can eat as many as you want.”
“Maybe, if you chase me with a knife.”
“Boo! Serial killer Markus.” He sighed, rolled his head on his shoulders. “Tell me there’s nothing I can do until Bev gets here.”
“There’s nothing you can do. Log on to Rock Band; we’ll play.”
He could do that. Distract himself while he waited.
Then he could go get Sebastian. And maybe buy that island.
SEBASTIAN SAT on the patio and stared out over the ocean, watching the moon float over the water. He’d been there since dawn without moving. There was a fence with a lock, a door with a lock. No television, no phone, no radio. He had his guitar in there by the bed. Paper. Pens. The things he needed. Too bad that he had lost his mind.
There was no writing. No playing. Just the silence in his head and the distant roar of the ocean. Every so often Jack came out with some little nurse. Someone gave him a shot, took his blood pressure, and left.
He looked over, saw Maman sitting here, looking at him. “Hey, lady. You coming for me?”
She smiled at him, her face the face of his twenties, lined but not lost. “No, bébé. You not ready to go.�
��
He wasn’t sure about that. “I’m real tired.”
He wasn’t scared anymore. The hallucinations had stopped. Now all he could feel was this creeping numbness in his lower body. He figured by the time it reached his lungs he’d stop breathing.
She shook her head. “You done wore my baby boy out. You gon’ go be with your man, love on him, make music.”
“I was. He asked, and I said yes.” That had to count for something, right? That they’d made promises to each other.
“Not was, bébé. Are. You are gon’ be there.” Her accent always got worse when she got aggravated with him.
“You think so?” He didn’t, but that was okay. “Did you make it to Heaven okay? Did you find Daddy?”
“Ain’t no sense worryin’ about me. I’m dead, bébé. You still alive. Act like it. Ain’t no way what they threatening to do to you can be worse than what they are.”
He nodded. He knew. He wasn’t sure he could do anything about it anymore. Everything was heavy, quiet. The music had left him. He wanted to hear Markus sing. More than anything. Right now.
Maman reached out, not touching him, because she wasn’t real or she was a ghost or something. He could smell her vanilla-and-jasmine perfume, though. “He’s coming for you, bébé. Your coeur. Be ready for him.”
Now that thought, that made him smile. Markus, his avenging hero. He liked that.
“What are you smiling at, kid?” Jack stood there, the nurse beside him with an IV bag.
He looked at them, but he didn’t have anything to say. Nothing.
Maman said Markus was coming; his job right now was to stay alive a little bit longer and see if she was right.
“THEY’RE NOT in São Paulo. They’re in Santos, on the coast.” Tawny had come in half an hour after Bev, and they were both in his kitchen, Tawny’s sky-high heels clicking on his terrazzo floor. The stilettos were completely at odds with her thickening waistline, which worried him.
“Can you sit?” he asked, trying to get her to take a stool.
“No! We have to mobilize here. Jack has gone completely rogue. The label thinks Seb is taking a sabbatical to write the new album.”
