The Hardest Fall (Roadmap to Your Heart Book 3)

by Christina Lee

  Some folks kept secrets locked up tight for a reason. But I had always believed in truth and honesty and that might just be my biggest downfall.

  “So um, I need to lock up.” I reached for the sign on the door and flipped it to CLOSED.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” he said as he walked through the entryway and I followed him onto the street.

  Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I wanted to ask more questions, to keep him talking. “Where do you live, Tate?”

  “On Carmine, off Bleecker,” he said, watching as I pulled out my ring of keys and locked the door. “And you?”

  I jutted my thumb behind my shoulder. “Around the corner, on 10th.”

  I wracked my brain for something else to say. The real Tate Sullivan was standing in front of me and I didn’t want us to go our separate ways. Not yet. Not when I was just getting to know him.

  9

  Tate

  Sebastian’s storefront wasn’t anything like I pictured, given the modestly stylish businessman who had attended my performances for weeks. The shop was old-fashioned yet charming and it was almost unsettling because this guy so far had surprised me at every turn.

  “So how long have you owned this place?” I wondered why he didn’t also have one of those metal grate security doors that other businesses in the area used to keep vagrants from breaking in or sleeping in his entryway.

  He froze a moment before his shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t exactly look like a store I would own, does it?”

  How the hell did I respond to that?

  “Honest answer?” I asked, as he turned to meet my gaze.

  He sighed. “Please.”

  Then he fished his bottom lip through his teeth as he waited on my reply and I wondered why it even mattered to him.

  “Not really.” I looked at the storefronts and the pedestrians skirting around us, at the mix of styles, cultures, and socioeconomic backgrounds. Lower Fifth Avenue was different than upper in that the glitz and glam were lacking. Washington Park and the West Village were a stone’s throw away and I wondered just where Sebastian fit. He almost seemed to straddle both worlds, just like his business. “It’s not as…sophisticated as you are.”

  His eyebrows arched up. “I’m sophisticated?”

  “Sure. I mean look at you,” I said, avoiding the temptation to fawn over his perfectly rolled shirtsleeves and crisply starched collar. I had never really been into guys like him—though there were obviously exceptions—but Sebastian was alluring in his own way.

  “I’m looking but I don’t think I see the same thing you do.” He gazed down the front of himself and then shook his head. “You’re the one who’s on trend. Just standing next to you makes me look halfway cool.”

  “If you say so.” I grinned and somehow his words were pleasing to my ears. I knew that I was on point, loved the latest fashions, and it helped to have a roommate in the industry. But there was just something timeless and elegant about Sebastian. He seemed older than his years. If I had to guess, I’d say I was about three years his junior, maybe four, and he was rounding out thirty.

  “Anyway,” Sebastian said, gnawing on the side of his lip and not meeting my gaze. “I better get going before I’m late.”

  “Which way you heading?” I stepped aside to allow a group of pedestrians to pass.

  He pointed west. “Sixth Avenue to Houston.”

  “Mind if I walk with you?” I asked, hoping the question didn’t make him feel awkward.

  “Not at all,” Sebastian said and I breathed out in relief.

  I had no idea why I would skate around Sebastian like some skittish kid. Sure he seemed refined yet defeated at the same time and I couldn’t help being more than curious about him. But he was simply a shop owner on the Lower West Side, not some slick trader from the financial district that I needed to be wary of.

  The truth was, when I was in character as Frieda Love, I could perform a role. Happy, bold, free. But right now I was a stripped down version of myself and I wished I’d decided to at least wear eyeliner and lipstick today, to hide myself better.

  As we walked, he kept his gaze forward as if maybe that made him more comfortable and I wondered if I rattled him as much as he rattled me. He seemed that way inside my bar but I didn’t expect it on his home turf. Although when he’d first spotted me in his shop, his expression was one of shock, certainly, but also interest.

  I had covered for him in front of his employee because it was evident to me that he didn’t want anybody to know how many times he’d been present at my shows. I’d admit that spurred me on. Normally I hooked up with club guys but in this situation I had no earthly idea what Sebastian’s story was. Except that he was more than likely living his life as a straight man and I had to respect Sebastian’s right to his privacy.

  “Are you from the city, Tate?” he asked at a crosswalk on McDougal.

  “Born and raised on the Upper West Side,” I responded as we crossed the street into Washington Park. “My mother lives on the Upper East Side with her new husband, George.” I didn’t feel close enough to George to call him my stepfather. Besides, I was an adult when they got married. It wasn’t like he raised me—though I might’ve preferred that to the alternative.

  “How about your dad?” he asked as the famous white arch gleamed in the setting sun.

  “They got divorced when I was in high school,” I said. “I rarely hear from him. He moved out of state. We were never close, especially after I came out. Honestly, he was sort of a self-righteous bastard.”

  “That’s too bad.” He winced and probably wished he hadn’t asked the question.

  My father was ashamed of me, and Tori always wondered if that was why I seemed to be attracted to seemingly straight and closeted men. Oh, she’d have a field day if I told her about my crush on Sebastian.

  “You also mentioned to Annie that you recently moved back to town?” he asked with a sidelong glance. I nodded. “How long were you gone?”

  “Three years,” I responded. “I went to NC State to finally finish my communications degree.”

  “You couldn’t do that in the state of New York?” He asked as the university bookstore appeared in my side view.

  “I could have but…I guess you could say I was too distracted. I needed to get away to refocus.” He did not need to know that I was a lost twenty-two-year-old waiting around for somebody who did not deserve me. Although given the momentarily pained expression on his face, it almost seemed like he understood.

  “What do you do with your degree?” Sebastian asked as we passed a couple of older gentlemen playing a game of chess. “Do you perform at more than one bar?”

  “I actually have a graphic tee business,” I said, motioning to the front of my shirt, even though I didn’t wear one of my own today. A light bulb seemed to go off in his head as he stared at my chest, as if imagining letters there. “I used to make screen-print designs, but it was more involved and I can’t really pull that off in my tiny apartment. In all honesty, I thought maybe I’d be in front of a camera by now, but that hasn’t come to fruition.”

  “You’d be good at it,” he said glancing at me in his side view. “You’re very striking. When you’re on stage nobody can take their eyes off of you.”

  “Are you flirting with me?” I said in a playful tone as my pulse thrummed in my ears at his flattering words. I watched as he turned tomato red from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. “I’m just messing with you. I know you’re not interested in me like that.”

  This seemed to take him aback as his feet faltered on a patch of smooth concrete. “You do?”

  “Well yeah,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You’re a nice, straight…Jewish boy? Maybe?”

  He shook his head. “Pacific Islands. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I was adopted.”

  “Go figure?” I attempted to keep my lips in a neat straight line. “Well, that’s hot. You know, for a straight boy.”

  He laug
hed and the sound was a deep rumble that warmed my stomach.

  “But seriously, how could you guess that?” he asked, and I’d admit to feeling a spark of disappointment that my suspicions were dead on. “Do I have some sort of sign on my forehead?”

  I wanted to ask him why the hell he came to my shows, but I didn’t want to put him on the spot. He obviously had his reasons and maybe I’d find out eventually.

  I grinned. “You know us gay boys. We have built in radar.”

  10

  Sebastian

  “Am I that transparent?” I asked, rushing my fingers through my hair. “Please don’t think…I’m cool with whatever anybody’s orientation is, for sure.”

  The truth was that I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin. Like I was trapped in a body I didn’t even recognize. Ever since I jacked off to thoughts of Tate and remembered some key moments in my younger years.

  “No worries,” he said as if to let me off the hook, but I got the impression that he was more than curious. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. “So tell me about you. Where did you go to college?”

  “NYU,” I motioned behind me toward the familiar campus as we turned west onto Sixth Avenue. It wasn’t a traditional campus, just several concrete buildings that spanned a few city blocks.

  “A city boy through and through,” he said and I grinned. “Do you have your business degree?”

  “Nope. Social work.” When he opened and closed his lips like he couldn’t get his mouth unstuck, I asked, “Did that throw you off?”

  He nodded. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting that. You’re full of surprises.”

  “Am I?” I asked, almost preening at the fact that he didn’t find me boring. “Not sure anybody’s ever thought that of me before.”

  He more than likely wondered why the hell I owned a shoe repair shop and why I had an awkward relationship with my long-time employee. How could I not know about Annie’s anniversary? Had she stopped telling me important things and I didn’t even notice?

  “Anyway, thought I’d be a clinical therapist—even did my internships at a couple of treatment centers—one in Queens, and one in the Bronx,” I said, feeling like I needed to explain about my degree. “But then my father passed away a couple of years ago. The business became mine but I didn’t know what to do with it. The store stayed closed for a couple of months until Annie called me…God, why am I telling you all of this? Sorry…”

  “Please, I’d like to hear it,” Tate said, once we moved past some tourists gathered around a table of faux designer handbags.

  “Okay,” I said in a wary voice, wondering if he was only being polite. “Annie called and said if I kept the business going, she’d help. She said it would be a shame for the shop to close. That it had history and tradition.”

  I often wondered why my father hadn’t just signed it over to Annie. She was more the heart of that shop than I was. But she’d argue the point with me if I confessed that. She’d tell me the customers knew me just as well as they knew her.

  “So you essentially gave up your career to keep the store running?” He winced after he said that, as if he’d crossed the line. “Sorry, none of my business. Sometimes I’ve got no filter.”

  “It’s actually refreshing when somebody says what’s on their mind,” I said, glancing over at him, and trying not to be too obvious about it. “And feels comfortable in their own skin.”

  For some reason my compliment made his cheeks color and I took that as a great feat. He was different today than at his shows. He was modest and almost demure, but still delivered those killer one-liners along with that devastating grin. Maybe this was the real Tate, the one that didn’t hide behind the costume and makeup.

  Not that he had to hide, but maybe putting on a show gave him a certain kind of liberty he didn’t necessarily have in his everyday life. I could’ve used some of that. Maybe then I wouldn’t care so much about what was in that envelope and how it might affect the person I needed to give it to.

  As we crossed over to the west side of Bleecker Street, I slowed down, knowing he lived only a couple of streets away. “I think this is where you get off?”

  “Normally I get off in private,” Tate said without forethought. “A couple times in public…but yes, this is where we part ways.”

  I could feel my face and cheeks heating up at the thought of him getting off in public. I could only imagine the colorful life he’d led. Hell, anything compared to mine was brighter and shinier.

  “Sorry, can’t help myself,” he said, shrugging.

  “You’re good for comic relief.” I laughed. “The friends I’m going to see would love you.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, no doubt wondering just what kind of friends they were since I was always solo at his shows. “Because they have dirty minds too?”

  “Not exactly,” I said as his eyebrows knit together. “It’s just that they could use a laugh. To answer your earlier question, I didn’t totally give up my career. I volunteer quite a bit at Safe Harbor.”

  “Should I know what that is?” he asked, his lips twisting into a frown.

  “Probably not. Unless you’ve seen charity fliers around town,” I said, feeling dumb for not remembering he wouldn’t be familiar with social services in the city, unless his family had had a need for them. “Safe Harbor provides transitional housing for the homeless. People who need a place to stay after treatment or prison or from an abusive relationship. They live there for a limited time and are provided services to hopefully make it on their own.”

  “Wow, I’ll admit it’s not something that would’ve ever crossed my mind,” he said, looking sheepish. “I’ve been thankful enough to have a place to stay. You’ve got me curious, though.”

  “Want to come?” I asked in a hopeful voice, but only in an effort to keep talking to him. “They can always use an extra set of hands in the soup kitchen, which is open to the public five days a week.”

  When he bit his lip and stared at the ground, I realized that I had put him on the spot, and that wasn’t fair of me.

  “No worries.” I held up my hands and took a step back. “I get that it doesn’t sound like much fun. It’s a passion of mine and I get satisfaction from it, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “It’s not that,” he said in a rush.

  “You don’t have to explain.” I’d had this kind of conversation one too many times with family and friends over the years. People had the right to find their own cause to be passionate about. “It definitely bums some people out when they have a perfectly decent place to go home to.”

  “Maybe. But mostly it just makes me feel guilty for never considering it before,” he said in a modest voice.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I replied. “But I’ll tell you what. The folks at Safe Harbor don’t see anything beyond trying to survive. They are some of the most accepting people I’ve ever known. So if you ever have the urge to come along, just let me know.”

  “Okay,” he said, as a series of emotions flitted across his face. “I will.”

  “Take care, Tate.” I locked my gaze on his one last time. “Maybe I’ll see you soon.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come to another show?” Was that a hint of hope I heard in his voice?

  “Who could resist?” I replied with a smirk. Was I doing the flirting now?

  “Hey, that’s my line.” He grinned.

  “Maybe you’re already rubbing off on me,” I said over somebody’s head, as I turned to walk toward Houston.

  “That’s what she said,” Tate cupped his mouth and shouted.

  I shook my head and couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my lips. “Annie will call when your shoes are ready.”

  “Sounds good.” Tate walked backward a few steps before he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  11

  Sebastian

  Tate was sexy and interesting as hell. Maybe that had been what drew Alan to him. The way he flirted so shamelessly with me a
couple of nights ago only made my blood pump zealously in my veins.

  I felt so deceptive, spending time with him, or wanting to spend time with him. What in the hell was I doing? He’d had an affair with my married best friend…the friend that Tate didn’t know we had in common.

  But I liked him. There was something so engaging about him. Had I met him under different circumstances, would we have become friends? Would I still be this insanely attracted to him?

  I had thought about him the rest of that night, imagined him ladling noodles beside me at the soup kitchen, cracking up some of the regulars as we ate beside them afterward at the rows of makeshift tables. He would’ve been like a burst of sunshine in an otherwise dreary day.

  It was dangerous thinking, I knew, so as I aligned the final stud on a customer’s motorcycle boots, I tried to thrust it from my brain. I was definitely losing it.

  “Mr. Sullivan’s shoes are ready,” Annie called from the front of the store.

  I stood up, rolling my shirtsleeves as I went. It was a warmer day and we had yet to turn on the air. “What’s that?”

  Annie sat in front of the stretching machine as she removed one of the silver stilettos and eyed me appraisingly. “Your friend Tate? I thought you’d want to be the one to contact him.”

  My heart thumped wildly. I opened my mouth to tell her that she could be the one to let him know but no sound came out. I wasn’t in the habit of contacting customers anyway. Normally, they just showed up to retrieve their possessions a couple of days later.

  But I was being pathetic, so I reached for the pink ticket she offered that Tate had filled out and signed to place his work order. “I also weatherproofed them and replaced the heel caps.” Most customers didn’t realize the small fixes that could be made to extend the life of their shoes.

  The door jangled open and Annie greeted the new patron who asked about restoring expensive vintage pumps that she had bought at an estate sale.