A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  A pleased smile crossed her face. He wiped it away. “After I’d been drugged and wriggled out of some lunatic’s plans to do God only knows what to me, I asked you for one simple thing. Do you remember what?”

  Deer caught in headlights didn’t appear as frightened as she. “I didn’t ask you for money. I didn’t ask you for one damned thing you couldn’t easily give. You could give it, but you wouldn’t. I asked for a hug. And maybe for a little understanding.

  “Because you couldn’t be bothered, I found someone who could. Not to gain from me, not to use me, but simply because I needed it.” What he wouldn’t give right now to have Seb standing beside him. “It’s because of my anchor that I’m here. Don’t think for a minute I won’t turn back around and leave. I can. And I will. The choice is yours.” He leaned over the back of an empty chair, bracing against the headrest to hide his trembling. No way would he confess the emotional toll this visit took. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes. Ten more and security would come to the door to check on him. Nothing like having a backup plan. “Here’s the part where you get to talk.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what was happening at the party. You have to admit you have a reputation for….” Margo, always ready to spin a deal.

  “Don’t apologize and then try to make me feel guilty. Yes, I’ve taken some stupid chances. My irresponsible behavior is behind me. I found a reason to do better.”

  “The band wants you back.”

  “Say what?” Okay, she’d definitely surprised him. “Why?”

  The truck-driver snort belied her dainty appearance. “Have you been to the website lately? Traffic is way down, ticket sales are down. There’re even rumors that I fired you, and a petition to get you back.”

  “You did fire me. Sort of.”

  “In the heat of the moment I might have said something….”

  “You told me if I embarrassed you one more time, you’d wipe your hands of me. I did, you did, the rest is history.” The humiliation and rejection weren’t supposed to burn after all this time. Bile rose in Henri’s throat, the ghost of the horrifying day etching her wooden, halfhearted hugs into his heart. Utterly and completely alone. What the hell had he done in his life to deserve abandonment? Was this how Seb felt? After he finished his business here, Henri ought to hunt down Lucas and kick his ass until he confessed everything to Sebastian. Sebastian wanted a family. He deserved a family.

  Now for Henri to lay his cards on the table, much like the family’s skeleton-in-the-closet-card-shark. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I won’t rejoin the band. Ever. What I said in the interview was true. I’ve grown past them. I’m ready to go in a new direction, expand my horizons. However, I heard you need an opening act. As a gesture of truce, Mismatched Delusions will open for you until you find someone else. Six shows at the max.”

  The relief on his mother’s face was short-lived.

  “They’d better step up their game, too, if they want to keep up with me. My new manager will be in touch for the necessary evil paperwork. Now, one final thing before I go.” He slowly inhaled, taking a deep breath without appearing to. He’d never show his folks how riled he’d gotten. This next confession would either set the course for future dialogue, or he’d soon find himself as alone as Sebastian.

  “What’s that?” Margo demanded. Ah, be careful what you wish for.

  “I’m in love with a man. Get over it.”

  Three mouths hung open. Oh, Sebastian, wherever you are, you’d be fucking proud of me.

  Jenni broke free of whatever magnetic field had held her to the couch. Henri stumbled, barely keeping himself upright from her hug. For such a wisp of a girl, she tackled like a linebacker. Margo could learn a thing or two about hugging from Jenni.

  “Oh, Henny,” she murmured, using her childhood nickname for him, “I missed you.”

  After a moment he wrapped his arms around her, face pressed to a mass of unruly curls. “I miss you too. One day soon, I promise, you can come stay with me if you want. Okay?”

  She gazed down at him with watery eyes and sniffled. “Okay.”

  Henri found a genuine smile on his face. “I love you, pipsqueak.”

  “Love you too. And Henny?”

  “Yes?”

  She whispered, “Are you really in love with a guy or did you say that to piss Mom off?”

  He met her gaze with his own. “I meant it.”

  “Good. You should be happy.”

  Twenty-One

  Weeks without word might drive a man insane, but no telling what Charles might do to Seb if Henri showed up while he was there. Why the hell had Seb gone back? If he’d gone back. Why the hell didn’t he at least call? Oh yeah, that whole “gotta save myself” thing. Martyrdom was highly overrated. Like patience.

  Henri rented an inconspicuous economy car and paid a visit to the house he’d fallen in love with last summer. Christmas would soon be here. With six inches of new-fallen snow, the place would look awesome decked out in garland, a Christmas tree in the foyer.

  And Seb, smiling, greeting Henri at the front door. Maybe in another lifetime.

  Henri arrived midday and nearly turned around when he spotted other cars in the driveway, until he noticed a “Barclay Realty” sign on the door of one. Not good. The second vehicle, a late model Ford, didn’t appear to be the kind of car a man who flashed his money around would drive. After ten minutes the front door opened. Two women and a man stepped out. Henri unrolled his window far enough the eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “Oh, it’s perfect! And those antiques! I know a shop that’ll pay top dollar.” The man and one woman bustled into their car.

  Selling the house with Sebastian’s heirlooms inside? Oh fuck no! Charles had made good on his threats, but where the hell was Sebastian?

  The remaining woman turned the collar of her coat up against the chill and picked her way through snow to Henri. He stepped out to meet her. “This house is for sale?”

  She pulled back bright red lips into a predatory smile. “With the furnishings. You’d make a lot of money selling those off.”

  “Why would I sell them off? Why not keep them in the house?”

  The woman’s perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up to her cherry-red hair. “You’d keep the house?”

  “What else would I do with a house if I bought it?”

  “Do you have any idea how much this land is worth to a developer? The couple who just left plan to build a resort here.”

  Tear down Sebastian’s house? The house his family had lived in for generations?

  Over Henri’s dead body.

  Henri dialed his manager’s number. Lucas had better damned answer.

  He answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Henri?”

  “We have a problem. There’s a house for sale in Evergreen, Colorado.” He paused long enough for Lucas to gasp. “A buyer wants to tear the house down and build a development. We’re not gonna let that happen, are we?”

  If the bastard wouldn’t pull strings for himself, maybe he would for his son and his dead lover. “Nope,” Lucas answered. Oh yeah. Henri loved the pit-bull growl—as long as Lucas directed it at someone else.

  “Do whatever it takes, but this house will have Sebastian Unger’s name on the deed. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Henri nodded at the Realtor. “Your phone number?” She dug in her purse and handed him a business card. “Call this nice realty lady and do what you have to.” Henri recited the number from the card.

  He waited until her phone rang and she’d submerged herself neck-deep in negotiations, then walked away from the woman’s excited chatter. Time for some changes. If only he could convince Seb to accept the house. Oh hell. How could he do that if he couldn’t even find the man?

  Anaheim. A-fucking-gain. The city of Henri’s nightmares. If only he wasn’t on tour and had time to focus more effort on finding Sebastian—without having to watch his back for crazy stalkers.

  �
�A man called asking for you,” Arnulfo said after speaking with the hotel manager. “They didn’t confirm you had a reservation here.”

  “Did they get a name?” Not that he remembered much about someone he’d only met briefly, in a darkened club, months ago. Stalker Boy hadn’t even given his name.

  “Seb was all he said.”

  Oh, thank God. “Arnulfo, Sebastian Unger is a very, very dear friend. I should have told you sooner, but if he ever shows up at a concert, bring him down front, and no matter where I’m staying, he gets full access to my room. Understand?”

  Arnulfo cocked a brow and gave Henri his best cop look over the top of the mirrored shades he never seemed to be without. “Is it wise to let someone into your room while you’re not there?”

  “This isn’t just anyone. This is my best friend.” Even if it had taken way too much time for Henri to figure that out.

  He marched out of the hotel to a waiting limo, ready to tell the band to go out without him. He’d stay here and wait for Seb to come back. They’d worked hard, they’d earned a bit of excitement. A cab sat across the street, idling. The moment Henri’s foot hit the curb, the cab door swung open. He jumped and Arnulfo stepped ahead of him. In the dimly lit interior sat Sebastian, a little worse for the wear. Sebastian. Henri’s heart caught in his throat. “Tell the others to go on,” he said. “I have something I have to do.”

  “Are you sure? I should stay with you.” Ah, Arnulfo the bodyguard was worth every penny they paid him—all six feet of him.

  “I’ll be fine. I promise not to leave the hotel. Now, go, before I kiss you again.”

  Arnulfo cracked a smile, swiveled his head from the cab and Henri, and wandered away.

  Henri waited until the limo pulled off to approach. Had Sebastian come to say hello or good-bye? With each footstep Henri’s heart beat harder and harder, threatening to explode in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Sebastian.”

  “Henri.” Pure misery shone from the man’s eyes. He’d lost weight. Not enough to label him skinny, but for a man terrified of changing his vocal tone, he’d sure dropped a few pounds.

  Without a word Henri slipped a hundred dollar bill out of his billfold and handed it to the cab driver. “This cover the fare?”

  The man stared at the bill a moment and grinned. “It will.”

  “C’mon, Seb. Let’s get you inside.” Seb didn’t resist when Henri gripped his arm and helped him from the car. “Do you have a bag?”

  “I can’t stay.”

  Arm around Seb’s waist, Henri led the way into the hotel. Damn, he should have kept Arnulfo around to ward off camera-bearing tourists. Too late now. Anyone staring directly quickly turned away. Once they’d reached the brightly lit lobby, Henri discovered why.

  Sebastian’s eyes were nearly swollen shut.

  “Bruises, cuts, and cracked ribs,” the doctor pronounced. Seb lay sleeping in Henri’s bed. Outside the door Arnulfo stood guard, though technically his shift had ended an hour ago.

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Someone worked him over. I assume he’ll press charges?”

  “I’m not sure.” The doctor not asking if they were the Henri Lafontaine or the Sebastian Unger didn’t mean he hadn’t recognized them, or that he couldn’t guess how such charges might affect their lives and careers. Would Sebastian finally break free from his abuser? Damn, what a beating. If Sebastian didn’t need Henri here, he’d hunt down the bastard responsible and give him a taste of his own medicine. It wasn’t just singing Henri’d done in clubs. He’d encountered, and won, his fair share of barroom brawls back in the day.

  Or maybe he’d ask Arnulfo to pay a courtesy call, a la a B-movie mobster.

  Henri showed the doctor out, sent Arnulfo home, and sat beside the bed, a cup of tea in hand.

  “Henri?” Poor Sebastian’s voice came out barely a whisper.

  “Yes, Seb.” Henri put the cup down and eased onto the bed. He forced himself to look at Seb’s poor ruined face. “Is this because of me? I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I had no idea about Charles.”

  “Yes and no. He didn’t take to kindly to me leaving. After you left, I…. I got scared. I went to stay with friends. Charles found me.”

  Henri lay down beside Sebastian, not close enough to touch, but close enough to hear his husky words.

  “I told him no more. He was my patron, and I’d sing at his parties, but nothing else. He didn’t own me, and he sure wasn’t entitled to my body.” Sebastian laugh held no humor. “He… didn’t take the news too well. He put the house, and everything in it, up for sale to force my hand. It didn’t work. No house is worth my soul.”

  A tear leaked from the corner of Seb’s eye. Henri wiped it away. “Can you buy him out?” Better to let Sebastian think he’d saved himself than to hint of Henri’s intervention.

  “One of the problems with being a rich man’s plaything is you never develop a credit rating. I tried. Believe me, I tried. No one will give me a loan.”

  Sebastian showed no sign of closing the gap between them. Henri needed to feel him. He wrapped an arm loosely around Seb’s chest and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll help in any way you’ll let me.”

  “All I want is for you to hold me, tell me things will get better.”

  “They will. Especially if you let me help.”

  “My company dropped me.”

  Oh shit.

  “Charles took the car and credit cards.”

  Henri wanted to say, I’ll get you new ones. Seb wouldn’t accept a handout. “Stay with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve let someone else call the shots in my life for too long. I need to stand on my own two feet, make my own destiny.”

  “But your pat…. Charles… is acting against you. Let me level the playing field. C’mon, Seb. Please.”

  “Sorry, Henri, but I can’t.”

  Stubborn ass. “I have three houses.” Soon to be four. “I’m not using any of them right now, and Charles sure as hell doesn’t know where they are. Why don’t you stay at one of them until you work out what to do next?”

  Sebastian’s silence answered for him.

  “Are you going to press charges against Charles?” Why the fuck wouldn’t he fight back?

  Seb snorted. “Who’d believe me?”

  “It might not be just you, you know. What if he treats his family the same way?” Killing was too good for the man. If Henri ever caught him. “Twenty Years to Life.” Oh yeah, he’d act out one of his own songs about a guy who went on a rampage against his brother’s killers.

  “He doesn’t. His wife is too highly placed, and too visible. Besides, I met her once. She’d kill him if he dared lay a hand on her or the kids.” Seb trembled as he spoke.

  Henri held him tighter. “What now?”

  “Now I want to spend a night with you, if you’ll let me. You don’t have to say anything. In the morning I’ll go and attempt to win back my life.”

  “Seb?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you won’t ask anything of me, can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Four favors, actually. First: call me whenever you can, let me know you’re okay.”

  Silence.

  “Second, we’re opening for Hookers and Cocaine in a month. I want you in the audience.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise where I’ll be. What are the other two?”

  With a brush of his lips against Sebastian’s forehead, Henri murmured, “Get away from him. He’s poison. I know how his kind works. He’ll say things, do things, to twist your mind. Get away from him.”

  “That’s only three favors.”

  “And you haven’t given me an answer.”

  Seb huffed out a sigh. “I’ll avoid him as much as I can, but as I mentioned earlier, he’s got a lot of pull.”

  “Then here’s the fourth thing.” Henri reached into his back pocket, p
ulled out his wallet, and extracted a card. “If you won’t take my help, then please call Dr. Worthington. She’s really helped me. She can help you, too, to sort through all the shit. Please?”

  Sebastian studied the card and placed it on the nightstand. “Yes, I will.”

  Henri held Sebastian until gentle rumbles announced his sleeping, then he got up to gaze out over the city. What good were fame and success without anyone to share them with—without Seb to share them with?

  And here was poor Seb, with no one to call his own, too proud to take the offered hand. Henri stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door. He had phone calls to make. No way in hell would he let Seb out of his sights again. Sooner or later, he’d convince the man to let him help.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Lucas growled. At least he answered the phone, though he sounded groggy. He still had a job.

  “Your son was beaten black and blue. He’s in my bed.”

  “What the fuck? I swore if you ever hurt him….”

  “Save your threats for his fucking patron. Now, you have two choices here: you can tell Sebastian you’re his father and try to have a relationship with him, or I’ll tell him and he’ll hate you for not coming forward.” Walk through fire for love. They’d only been words strung together when Henri penned that song, meant to appeal to his teen and twentysomething fans who still believed in love and happily ever after. He meant those words now.

  “You’re a real bastard when you want to be.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Bastard When You Want to Be” added itself to Henri’s mental “Songs to be Written” folder.

  Some of the anger left Lucas’s snarl. “How is he? Will he press charges?”

  “As well as can be expected, and no. Deep down, I believe he feels he deserves to be treated badly.” Please, let him call Dr. Worthington.

  “Anything I can do?”

  Anger brought bile up Henri’s throat. Anger at Charles, anger at himself and Lucas for not protecting Sebastian, and anger at his own dad for not being much of a father. “He won’t let me help him, why would he let you?”