by Eden Winters
“What would Sebastian Senior’s family do if they found out?”
“He didn’t have much family, and Annette didn’t inherit. She took the man’s name for her son. Nothing else.”
It wasn’t right to think ill of the dead, but Henri didn’t like Sebastian’s mother much. “And she confessed all on her death bed.”
Lucas nodded. “I can’t figure out if I should praise her for raising him alone to be such a fine young man, or bring her back and kill her myself for denying me my son.”
“I’d give everything I have to be able to sit down at dinner with my parents, or call them, share my good days, get their advice,” Sebastian had said.
“Have you told him?”
“Are you mad? Do you have any idea what kind of damage coming forward now would do to his career? No, I watched from the sidelines and put my faith in others. But I pulled myself out of a bottle, stood on my own feet again, and tried to be someone he might one day look up to, if he didn’t stare too closely at the tarnish around the edges.” Lucas raised his head high enough to give Henri a sidewise glare. “Which brings us back to where we were. I have no idea where my son is, but he isn’t onstage where he belongs, and he disappeared the day after you paid a little visit. I ask you again, when was the last time you saw Sebastian, and what did you do to make him run away?”
Oh shit. “I brought him flowers. And had made dinner reservations. I’d hoped to make a night of it.”
“Charles found out.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never liked the man, how he manipulates everyone around him, using money to buy people. There’s a special place in Hell for men like him.”
A special place in Hell. And yet Sebastian attended the church of the hologram. Was he hoping to find Heaven there? What a mess. Henri kinda preferred the tangled web to the unraveled ends. Charles had made his shit list, he wanted to smack Lucas around a time or two for being a pushover, and he definitely wanted a talk with Sebastian’s dearly departed mama. But the one he most longed to see was the innocent victim in a lot of schemes. “Call the band. Tonight’s practice is cancelled. I’m going to find Seb.”
“Henri, the debut is tomorrow. You can’t afford to miss practice today, and you have to be on a bus at 10:00 a.m.” If Lucas squeezed his cup any harder, it’d shatter. “He’s my son. I’m going.”
It might take a while for Henri to get used to this man being Seb’s father. “Now’s not the time. He needs a friend, not a…. Look, I’m the one who showed up unannounced, I’m the one—”
“—he slept with.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s true.” The glint in Lucas’s eyes hinted at violence.
“I’m heading for the airport. Have a plane waiting for me and a rental car in Denver.” Henri laid a hand on his manager’s shoulder, softening his words. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just need some answers.” And I need to know he’s okay.
Henri rang the doorbell, tugged his jacket tighter around himself, and settled on the front porch to wait. Damn, it was getting cold. Seemed like yesterday he’d been lying in Seb’s bed, enjoying a cool summer breeze. Now, late in October, the flowers in the flower beds were a withered memory. No matter how cold, he wasn’t leaving until he spoke to Sebastian. What was he angrier about? Not seeing the truth sooner, or not trying harder to take Seb with him? Or with Lucas for not recognizing his own child, despite what the mother said? And mostly with Charles, for being an arrogant asshole manipulator. Henri eyed a loose shutter. One good punch would knock it down. But he’d get sore knuckles and a pissed-off Seb. He wrapped his arms around himself to ward off temptation. Damn, but he needed… something.
After the fifth time Henri jabbed the doorbell, the door opened a crack. Sebastian! Hallelujah!
“How long, Seb?” Molten lava rumbled up from Henri’s stomach, bile burning the back of his throat.
A three-inch glimpse of Seb’s face showed in the narrowly opened door. Three inches of green, blue, and yellow. Oh fuck.
“How long for what? How long has he been fucking me?” Seb threw the door open wide, showing the full range of his injuries. Bruises circled one eye and the vicious welts along one arm appeared to have been made by a belt. “Or how long has he been hurting me?”
Nineteen
“Why didn’t you tell me?” They sat in the music room—Seb at the piano, Henri in a nearby chair. Oh how he’d come to love the time they’d spent in this room. Not now.
“Why should I have told you? This isn’t your problem.” Seb idly stroked the piano keys, avoiding Henri’s scrutiny.
“How about because I’m your lover?”
“Are you?” Sebastian met Henri’s gaze and quickly glanced away again. “I thought you were a spoiled rock star who needed guidance. Sex was a bonus.”
Anger rolled back through Henri. “I’ve about had enough of your insults. Yeah, I’m a rock singer. No, I didn’t have years of training. No, I didn’t pay my dues your way. No, I don’t take care of my voice. But I’m sick and tired of you condemning me for being a bad person without knowing me first. Yes, I screwed up in the past, but have I ever, ever mistreated you?”
“No.” Seb didn’t look up. “Not directly.”
What? “How have I hurt you indirectly?”
“Every time you leave. I knew you wanted me because I was the only one available. And while you’re here, I can dream. Whenever you leave, reality returns. Each time you leave and come back confuses me more. I’m nothing to you. Could never be anything to you.”
“You’re wrong.” Henri crossed the floor and stooped down by the piano bench. He cradled Seb’s face gently in his palms to avoid his bruises, and lifted. “You mean more to me than you realize. At first I thought it was the music. But now it’s more.” He shifted one hand down to Seb’s chest. The thumpa-thumpa of the man’s heartbeat thrummed against his skin. His Seb, so warm, so alive. “You don’t have to put up with Charles. Leave. With me.” He hadn’t intended to make the offer, but now couldn’t do otherwise.
“And do what?”
Henri only meant to lighten the mood. “Let me be your patron.” He found himself on the floor while six-plus feet of pure fury stalked away.
Sebastian threw his hands into the air. “Ah, you’d be my pimp now, huh? And I’d still be the kept man. Tell me, would you at least make promises you plan to keep, or like Charles, will you offer me the world on a platter, only to snatch it back?”
Henri bolted to his feet. “Look at you! You’re one hell of a tenor. You don’t need him. You can go anywhere and sing.”
“Can I? Do you have any idea how many in the opera world have their hands in his pockets? A word in the wrong ear and I can come crashing down. All my hopes, all my dreams, crushed on one man’s whims. My own mother appointed him my guardian, and for years he’s guided my career. If I dared to tell the truth, no one would believe me. Either way, his word or mine, I’m ruined.
“I’m trapped. If I had any sense I’d kick you out, not risk him finding out you were here.”
“Why do you let him act like he owns you?”
“Because he does!” Sebastian stared out the window. Heavy snowflakes began to fall. “This house, my car. My lessons. All paid for by him. He makes sure I have to use enough of my pay to keep me broke and dependent. And he constantly reminds me that one wrong move and he’ll throw me out. Tenors are a dime a dozen.” He didn’t yell. He never raised his voice. Too easy to damage vocal chords.
“How long has this been going on?” Henri regretted the question the moment the words left his mouth. Did he honestly want an answer? He might have to give up his lucrative singing career to make license plates in prison if his “he needed killing” defense failed in court.
Sebastian whispered low. Henri strained to hear. “Since I was sixteen. About a week after my mother died. But this is the first time he let his temper get the best of him to the point I couldn’t hide the marks.”
&
nbsp; Oh dear God, no. Henri closed his eyes for a moment, shutting his hand into a fist. Sixteen. Younger than Jenni. Younger than Henri when he’d made his first record deal. And no telling how old asshole Charles had been. At least thirty years older. An unreleased song languished on Henri’s mental hard drive: “He Needed Killing.” Mama Unger, or whatever her last name was, might not have known at the time, but she’d left her son in the worst possible hands. And Lucas should have fought harder for his son. Henri couldn’t change the past, but the future remained open. “Why did you sleep with me?” Give me something to work with here.
In a more authoritative tone, Sebastian replied, “Because I wanted to.” He scrunched his eyes closed. “Selfish of me, I know, but just once I wanted to know what it felt like to be with someone I chose of my own free will.”
If letting Henri past his guard, even a little, was intended to be selfish, Henri would never fault the man. They’d shared something precious—at least to Henri. “I have money. Let me help you.”
Folding his arms across his chest announced Seb’s decision loud and clear even without words. “I’m not letting you spend your money on me.” He focused on Henri, a stubborn glint in his eyes.
“Why not? If I don’t spend it on my friends, I’ll only blow it on hookers and cocaine.”
Sebastian’s mouth fell open. “Wha….”
Henri tried to force a grin that said, I’m joking—maybe. “How do you think my old band got its name?” The joke had grown old a long time ago. People weren’t supposed to believe the hype.
Sebastian dropped down onto the settee, face buried in his hands.
Oh crap. Open mouth, insert foot. “Sorry, Seb. Bad joke. But really, let me help you?”
“This isn’t your fight. I can’t allow you to rescue me. I have to get out on my own.”
“But you’re going to get out?”
“Yes.”
Henri gently tugged Sebastian’s finger and pulled his hand away from his face, revealing the evidence of Charles’s mistreatment. He lightly caressed an angry purple welt on Seb’s cheek. “No offense, but you’re not the first person I’ve known who put up with shit ’cause they were afraid to walk away. I’m your friend. Friends get to help. “
“Noted.” Seb trained his vision on something beyond the window, a shimmer in his eyes. Stubborn oaf.
“Seb, I have to be back in LA tomorrow morning.”
Seb’s only acknowledgement was a sigh.
“I don’t want to leave without you.”
“You know I can’t go. I have my life, my career to think about.” His words came out flat, so unlike Sebastian’s normal melodic tones.
No. He wasn’t going to evade. Henri maneuvered his way into Seb’s line of sight. “Then leave him. Pack a bag and get the hell away from him.” He raised his hand, intending to indicate the man’s injuries. Sebastian flinched. If Charles were here right now, he’d rip the bastard’s fucking head off for daring to lay a hand on someone else… or daring to make another person a virtual slave.
“I’ve heard you sing,” Henri continued. “You don’t need him. You’re a star in your own right. And I’m not leaving Evergreen until I see you checked into a hotel. Someplace he can’t find you.”
Sebastian nodded. “But this house….”
“Is only a house. No matter how much it means to you, it’s not worth your soul.” Of all the places Henri had lived, Seb’s old cabin had come closest to being home. If he could, he’d give all he had to buy the place, give it to Sebastian outright. But Sebastian would never allow such a gift.
“I don’t even have a way to go. He owns my car.”
“I have a rental. All it takes is one call to the rental company to add you. C’mon.”
With wooden motions Sebastian packed two suitcases and rounded up his toiletries. The sun began to set as Henri loaded the luggage into the car.
“Wait!” Sebastian ran back to the house.
Oh no! What now? Henri found him in the room where Henri had slept. “Help me!” he cried, rattling the picture frame above the headboard.
His grandmother’s painting. Together they lifted the heavy framed canvas from the wall, carried the artwork outside, and tucked it precariously into the back seat. As they pulled away, tears streamed down Sebastian’s bruised face.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I’d rather you come back with me.”
If he had more time, Henri would have loved to stay a few days at the hotel they chose outside of Denver, but he’d already been gone longer than he should have.
Sebastian stared blankly at his grandmother’s painting. “Go. Do what you have to. I know people here at the Central City Opera, and though it’s too late for starring roles, Opera Colorado might need understudies. They may not have the kinds of crowds I’m used to, but they’ve been after me for years. I’ll be fine.” He gave Henri the world’s most insincere smile. But he followed the lie with a kiss. “Go on. Don’t forget—I want to be in the front row when you make your comeback.”
“And I want you there. Lucas knows to let you in no matter where we are.” Henri placed his rental’s keys in Seb’s hand. “Stay here as long as you need to. I’ll catch a cab to the airport.”
“I could drive you.”
Henri glanced out the window at darkness. In twelve hours he needed to be boarding a bus with his band. “No. Call room service. Have a nice meal and a hot bath. That always works for me.” Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Why did Henri have to leave?
“It’s not just you, you know.” His mother’s voice echoed in his brain. “Think of the band, the vendors, everyone who depends on you.”
“I am thinking. Of Seb!” he snapped back in his head.
As if reading his mind, Sebastian said, “I’d really like to be alone for a while, if that’s okay with you.” Another kiss softened the blow.
“Call me if you need anything. And I’ll try to get away next week, come see you.”
“You do that.”
Let him sleep! Henri stared at the clock. Was 9:00 a.m. too early to call? Poor Sebastian needed his rest. He gave up fighting and dialed at 9:05. The call went straight to voice mail. A nagging feeling wriggled in his gut. He called the hotel. “Sebastian Unger’s room, please.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Unger checked out last night.”
He what? With numb fingers Henri dug a business card out of his wallet and dialed the rental car company.
“Yes, sir. The car was returned before midnight.”
The phone slipped from Henri’s fingers. He followed it to the floor. Why couldn’t he fucking breathe? I never should have left. I should have said to hell with the band. Seb could be with me now, instead of God knows where.
An image came to mind: Sebastian staring at the painting of a sunny meadow, with rain in his eyes.
“Will they fucking get back?” Henri paced the length of what passed for a dressing room, spun on his boot heel and paced some more. How fucking long could it possibly take to eat a pizza and run by a salon for Tessa to get her hair done?
“We’ve got plenty of time.” Lucas sat draped across an upholstered chair, which had seen much better days. He squirmed and checked his watch, the liar.
This wasn’t the most glamorous venue, but Henri had to start somewhere. Restart. Whatever. He’d checked his cell phone a thousand times, heart thudding each time a chime announced a new text message. Nothing from Seb.
He smoothed a hand down his vintage T-shirt to dry his sweaty palms. Why was it so damned hot in here, and where was his band?
“We’re here!” Tessa’s hair beat her into the room.
“What the fuck is that?” Henri pointed at the poof above her head.
“I told you I’m a fan of Sheila E. I’m appealing to her fellow fans.” Light makeup formed a band across her face, starting at one temple and ending at the other. She stared out from a ribbon of pink and twirled her drumsticks in her always-in-motion hands.
Colton wore
eyeliner. He’d also drawn some kind of runes on himself with black body paint. “For luck.”
Henri didn’t mind the liner—he wore some himself. The runes, however, were badly drawn. Jake wore a T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, and Michael appeared ready for his middle-school class in a button-down and brown pants. What the hell? “Okay, people. Listen up. Before our next gig, we need to work on our style.” He was all for “do your own thing” but could they do it more fashionably?
As they headed out the door to the stage, Michael hung back. “What about my problem?”
“Got you covered. There’s a storage area right off the stage. There wasn’t enough room to hook up a projector, so you’ll have to play offstage. We have you plugged into the amps.” With a flourish of his hand, Henri declared, “Your office awaits.”
Tessa tugged on Michael’s arm to get his attention. “I think meditation would help. If you ever wanted me to….”
Henri tuned them out and stepped out onto the stage, heart pounding a mile a minute. In the semidarkness, the audience members all looked the same. They could be anyone. Sebastian. His sister. Or a deranged fan. Whoops and whistles met his arrival.
Tessa clashed her cymbals, Jake struck a chord, and Colton made his presence known on the keyboards. Now, if only the closet provided enough seclusion to get Michael over his stage fright. A moment later Sylvia cried out in triumph. Whew. He could play.
