A Stone in the Sea

by A. L. Jackson

  “You’re a fool if you think that’s who I really am.”

  “And you’re a coward because you refuse to risk allowing that man I see underneath it all to become who you are. A coward because you can’t risk being with a woman who has a kid. A coward because you reject the idea of me loving you…the idea of you loving me…just because you haven’t experienced that in your life before.”

  His face screwed up in disbelief. “You think I’m a coward because I can’t be with you? That every fucking second I’m not thinking about you? Wishing things were different so maybe I could have a little bit more time? Something good in my life when I’ve got so much bad? Do you really think I want this life for you, Shea? That I could stand to drag you and Kallie into it?”

  I watched the slow roll of his thick neck as he swallowed hard. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? Being in the public eye every day of your life? The traveling? The women who throw themselves at me? The shit I see…the shit that I’m a part of?”

  Every bit of it I understood.

  “You don’t have to be with any of those women or be a part of any of that shit. It’s a choice, Sebastian.” Leaning forward, I touched my chest, emphasizing each word. “Be. With. Me.”

  Pain struck across his expression. “You just don’t get it.”

  “So you’re trying to protect me because I’m too stupid and narrow-minded and hick to understand your life?”

  “I’m trying to protect you because I don’t trust myself with you.”

  Hurt wove into my tone, just as heavily as it wove with my spirit. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Why do you think I didn’t tell you? For a million reasons. Because I didn’t want you to look at me the way all those other girls look at me…the way that stupid bitch did tonight. I wanted you to see me. Inside me. But the hard truth is that me is the same guy I don’t want you to know. I told you I was no good. There’s so much bad about me and I wish I could erase it all. Be someone different. But I’m not. And just for a little while I wanted to pretend I could be something I’m not.”

  “You wanted to pretend. With me?” The words broke. “That’s all this was? Pretend? Because to me? It was real. I’ve never felt anything so real.” My tone hardened. “And you’re a liar if you say you don’t feel it, too.”

  An ugly sound scraped up his throat. “It doesn’t matter if it’s real, or pretend, or a straight-up lie, it all ends the same. I go back to California tomorrow and I won’t be coming back.”

  Right.

  Okay.

  I gathered myself, trying not to fall to pieces in front of him. I’d have plenty of time for that later.

  I felt as if Sebastian had slapped me across the face. How ironic this blow hurt a million times worse than that jerk-of-a-kid who’d pushed me to the floor. Sebastian had been so inclined to save me then, yet he had no remorse in crushing me now.

  With my head down, I crept around him, the heels of my boots much too loud against the wood, the hurt taking hold of me too much to bear.

  I ducked under the end of the bar and grabbed my purse where it was stowed on one of the bottom shelves, and tried to keep it together when I slunk back out. My eyes glanced across that striking face, all hard lines and curves and scars, averting just as quickly to my feet. “Take me home,” I said through a pained whisper.

  He strode across the huge room, eating up the floor like he couldn’t wait to escape, didn’t pause when he passed me by and headed down the dingy hallway.

  Wearily, I glanced back at our booth, at the shards of glass scattered across the floor, at the table where he’d stolen another piece of me.

  I’d clean up our mess tomorrow.

  He said nothing as I followed him down the hall. Quickly, I locked the back door and got into his car.

  Tonight was nothing like the night when he’d rescued me.

  That night? My choice had been made.

  And tonight, Sebastian had made his.

  No words were said as he drove me home. He made no move when he pulled up at the curb. The heavy rumble of the idling engine was the only sound to break up the unbearable silence.

  I didn’t look back as I wobbled up the walkway on my too-high boots and let myself into the quiet of my house. I climbed the stairs then fell face first into the unmade bed that still smelled like him.

  Somehow I’d slipped—tripped—and had been foolish enough to think the dream could become ours. Conflict raged in me. The agony that ate me up with the feeling of being used, at odds with the need to cling to every memory Sebastian and I had made together. To cherish them like I’d promised I would—back when I was fool enough to think it would be enough.

  I curled onto my side and hugged a pillow to my aching chest, breathing him in.

  And I tried not to succumb to this broken heart.

  “GOOD TO SEE THE FRESH AIR in Savannah was so good for your sour mood.” Anthony Di Pietro was all sarcastic brows and ridicule watching me slouched against the leather in the back seat of the town car.

  “Just happy to be home,” I said just as hard, this unknown rage boiling in my blood, my anger stony and bristly and damned near out of control. My knee bounced in annoyance and aggression, my focus out the window at what seemed like a never-ending line of houses as we traveled down the narrow, winding road out of Hollywood Hills. The houses were interspersed with tall shrubs, floral trees, and the blurred line of palm trees.

  Anthony propped up his elbow on the window seal, index finger at his temple to support his head as he shifted to get a better look at me. “If it’s even possible, you seem more bitter than normal.”

  “Not possible.”

  In frustration, he shook his head. “The second you stepped off that plane yesterday, I knew something was up. You need to let me in on what’s going on with you. You can’t go walking into this meeting with a chip on your shoulder. Right now, it’s time to play nice and you look like you’re ready to rip the face off the next person you see.”

  I tugged at the tie that felt like a lasso around my neck.

  Leading me off to the slaughter.

  I’d been dreading this fucking mediation since the moment Anthony had convinced me to take part in it. Up until Tuesday night, I’d had every intention of coming here, then turning right back around and hauling ass straight back to Savannah. It’s what’d kept me sane. I’d planned on letting Shea know I had to return to California to take care of some business, no doubt giving her some more of the bullshit answers I’d fed her when she’d asked questions.

  And the girl had always just swallowed them. Not because she was naive or half-witted or dumb. But because she respected me, accepted what I would give.

  Those quick flashes of truth and touches we’d lived on had been enough to sustain her.

  Not anymore.

  Because those flickers had caused that sweet girl to fall, and continuing to string her along would be about the most selfish thing I could do.

  So I severed it.

  Cut her free.

  No longer could I handle that storm in her eyes. Couldn’t keep ignoring that feeling I saw in them every time I looked at her. Every time I touched her. The way the feeling swelled—stretching out for me—begging me back with all that hope and beauty and belief.

  And I couldn’t ignore it when Shea had uttered those feelings aloud.

  But that girl in the bar had been the reminder that I couldn’t forget what was waiting for me back here. That just like Ash had warned me, I’d dug myself a very deep grave.

  But that grave had been dug long ago.

  Now I was buried in it.

  Paying the consequences in the most insufferable way.

  But the danger in pretending was it becoming real.

  “Baz, look at me. What’s going on with you? You need to be prepared when you walk in that room.”

  “I am prepared.”

  He scoffed. “You’ve barely done anything more than grunt at me since my driver picke
d you up at your house. You’re getting ready to walk into a room with Martin Jennings. You remember what happened the last time you were with him?”

  My chest tightened, anger grating at the raw spot Shea had left behind. Yeah, I remembered. I glared across at Anthony. “And I don’t know how sitting in a room full of suits is going to change any of it, because I sure as hell wouldn’t take it back. I may not have all the facts, but I fucking know he had something to do with Austin.”

  Austin had kept his mouth locked tight. Keeping secrets he shouldn’t keep. Recognized it the second he woke up in that hospital bed because, just like him, I’d lied and hid and masked for too many years. I knew exactly what that bullshit looked like. Initially I’d gone to Martin to confront him, to get those answers, but the pompous asshole had just laughed, then straightened his fucking suit jacket as if he were shaking me off.

  Then he’d given me all the confirmation I’d needed.

  Punk kids like your brother aren’t ever going to make it, anyway.

  Like Austin was trash and him leaving this world would be doing it a favor.

  A heavy sigh wheezed from Anthony’s lungs. “What you’re going to do is sit in there and pretend you’re remorseful and you’re going to do a damned good job of it.”

  Pretend.

  Laughter erupted from me—cutting and biting—filled with the sheer malice I held deep inside. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at Jennings or myself.

  “Sick of pretending.” The hard edge of my words slipped on the last. God, I sounded like a pussy bitch the way it came out with the blinding regret and shame that had tagged along at my heels since the moment I’d stared Shea down and broke her. Wrecked her just like I promised I would.

  “I am on your side, Baz. I’m trying to get you out of this. You don’t have any chances left. You’ve used all of them up, both with Mylton Records and the law. You have to suck it up and get through this, as painful as it’s going to be. Believe me, I understand it’s going to be rough in there. If we could turn the tables and have the threat of jail time hanging over that bastard’s head, I’d be all over it, because just like you, I’m positive he had everything to do with what happened with Austin. But we don’t have anything on him and he has everything on you.”

  My mouth opened on a pained breath. “I know you’re on my side, Anthony.” Slowly I shook my head, lips pursing in a tortured line. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take…if this is worth it any longer.”

  “What do you mean by this?”

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter, when so much of my life had been spent with it mattering most. “Playing. Writing music. This lifestyle. Just don’t know if it’s worth the cost anymore.”

  Surprise pinched his face before it spread out in a slow wave of disbelief. His voice grew quiet. “Damn it, Sebastian. Thought I told you to keep your dick in your pants? This is about some girl?”

  Regret that had been lining my insides made a bid to climb right out, clawing at my throat, the sour taste coating my tongue. “Not some girl.”

  An amazing girl.

  An unforgettable girl.

  My girl if I wasn’t living this life.

  Mine if I wasn’t getting ready to get my sorry ass hauled off to jail again.

  Wouldn’t put her through that.

  Couldn’t.

  Cared too much, as foolish as it was.

  My jaw clenched, teeth grinding as my hand fisted tight, pressing into the thigh of the black tailored suit pants I’d donned to pretend some more, trying not to break apart in the back seat of the town car.

  “Shit,” he hissed. “What’d you do, Baz?”

  “I didn’t do anything that wasn’t right.”

  All except for chasing her in the first place.

  Should have left well enough alone when she told me she didn’t date. That she didn’t have time for distractions. But there was something about her that wouldn’t let me go, like some piece of her was chasing me, too, hounding me to find out where the curiosity came from, like maybe she’d needed some time for pretending, too.

  “Sure looks like you’re proud of whatever it was you didn’t do.” A snort filtered from his nose. “When are you going to realize you don’t have to be miserable, Sebastian? You spend so much time worrying about your brother. About the band. Being your agent, I’m going to be the first one to tell you that’s important. But as your friend, I’m going to tell you it’s about time you understood you don’t have to sacrifice one life for the other.”

  Sarcasm dripped from my soured tongue. “What? You think I can have my cake and eat it too? Maybe you got lucky, man. Got it all. But my life doesn’t work out that way. I have too much shit going on…cause too much shit to go down in my life.” My tone turned incredulous. “And I thought you told me to keep my dick in my pants?”

  Now the asshole sounded like he was encouraging me to go for it.

  His laughter was hearty, good-natured, and he smiled a wry smile. “Like that was going to happen any more than you staying out of trouble.”

  This time it was my turn to laugh. “Whatever, man.”

  Anthony grinned. “And for the record, I’m a suit.”

  The driver pulled to the curb in front of a large building that was probably fourteen or fifteen stories encased in glass. At least ten steps ran along its façade, leading to the smooth glass front doors, the professional building drawing that lump right back to my throat.

  “You ready to put this all behind you, Baz?”

  Anthony’s question was formed with encouragement, with a warning, basically telling me what happened today in the eighth floor conference room was up to me, the end result held in the palm of my hands.

  “Ready as I’m ever gonna be.”

  “Let’s do this, then.”

  Anthony climbed from his side of the car, and I followed, stepping out onto the wide sidewalk that coursed along the front of the building, meshing with the concrete walkway that led to the steps.

  High noon. The California sun stood proud, today the sky burning blue, with only a faint hue of the typical hazy gray of smog that forever hugged the city.

  I cringed when I heard the voices yelling for me from off to the right, a rapid fire of more bullshit thrown my way.

  “Sebastian Stone! Can you tell me where Sunder has been hiding?”

  “Sebastian…what is the nature of your meeting this afternoon?”

  “Is it true Sunder is breaking up? Will tonight’s show be your last?”

  “Mr. Stone, reports say you reconciled with Hailey Marx and have spent the last six weeks at her vacation home in Greece. Can you confirm?”

  My mind had been too wrapped up in Shea and this meeting to have been prepared for them—my time in Savannah too easy and peaceful to remember what it was like to have the paparazzi hound you at every turn.

  I dropped my head and pushed forward as they swarmed us. Anthony clasped the inside of my upper arm, like he was guiding me, protecting me. “Mr. Stone will not be answering any questions today.”

  Sebastian.

  Sebastian.

  Sebastian.

  A barb of anger struck me deep.

  Everyone wanted a piece of Sebastian Stone.

  Their voices cut off when the door fell shut behind us.

  “What the fuck are they doing here?” I growled, shaking out my arms like it could rid me of all the vile assumptions they’d thrown my way.

  Anthony raised a brow. “What, you think after you’ve been gone for six weeks there weren’t going to be rumors about where you disappeared to? Plus, with the announcement of tonight’s show, the media is all over it. This is par for the course. Part of the game. You know that, Baz.”

  But that was the problem. I didn’t know if I still wanted to play.

  Anthony had thrown a show together last minute, something to scream Sunder was back and we weren’t going anywhere. Part of me couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around my guitar, to feel the music
come alive, to experience the chemistry between the guys and me when we got on stage.

  Amid the turbulent chaos roving through a show, somehow I always felt washed in peace.

  The other part of me?

  I wanted to walk into this meeting, give the bastard whatever he wanted, then walk away. And run straight back to Shea, never turning back.

  But that didn’t mean the disaster I’d created wouldn’t follow me there.

  And the guys…they’d stood behind me for my entire life. Supported me when I got thrown in prison the first time, back before we’d ever made it. When we were struggling to get venues to take us, begging everyone and anyone to listen to our demos, and sleeping in the damned van just trying to make a name.

  They could have booted me then.

  But they’d held out, waited for me because none of them believed in Sunder if it didn’t mean the four of us made it up. The second I got out, I’d gone clean, put my all into the band and my brother. When we’d lost Mark, I was sure it was all going to fall to pieces, and with my little brother following down the same path, I’d been sure there’d be no way to mend that kind of break. Until Zee had stepped in and became a balm to all that hurt, even though looking at him still ripped me up inside.

  And what? Now I was just going to walk away?

  Couldn’t do that anymore than I could drag Shea into this life.

  Kenny Lane, my attorney, stepped out from where he waited in the foyer, his arm outstretched as he approached. “Sebastian,” he greeted, his salt and pepper hair combed in a blunt part on one side, suit tailored and expensive, the man tall and thin and no-nonsense.

  I’d liked him the moment I met him.

  I shook his hand. “Kenny.”

  He turned on his heel and started walking, expecting us to follow, and began talking as we did. “Martin Jennings and his team are already upstairs. I’ve been in preliminary talks with his attorneys. They seem willing to negotiate, but I’ve sensed some resistance on Mr. Jennings’s part. If questions are asked of you, they will be directed to me, and you’ll direct your answers back to me. Same as with Jennings and his attorneys. Keep your tone mild and contained. Basically what we’re going for here is to agree on a dollar amount to keep the personal injury suit out of court and for Jennings to back away on the criminal charges. If so, I feel confident we can make a plea deal for lesser charges with the state. A fine. Community service. Probation. No jail time.”