“I can’t stay.” Sebastian said in response to my quiet invitation after practice was over. We stood close together as we unplugged our guitars and wound up cables. “But do you think I could leave my gear here this week? I won’t get much time to practice at home.”
The others had already headed out for the night, except for Tom, who had hunted down Jordan. Even though we had made up, Tom was definitely pulling away from me more and more, the closer we got to his departure date. It made me sad, but I understood. Right now, however, I was more concerned about what was happening between Sebastian and me. Not even twenty-four hours ago, we’d talked so openly and sincerely to each other late into the night, and now I could hardly get him to look at me.
“Of course. Anytime.” The barrier around him was palpable and I was at a loss as to how to cross it. “Did you get a chance to see Foster? How was he?” Sebastian had worked again today, his one weekend a month at Stodders, but I was pretty sure he’d gotten off in plenty of time to swing by and check up on the man and his dog. Then again, the state of his eye gave evidence that he’d been waylaid at one point tonight. Was it before or after checking on Foster and Pete?
“He’s fine. Slept well. Laid low all day.” His clipped answer made my stomach turn because I knew it for what it was. Lies. A gripping fear overwhelmed me, making my knees feel wobbly.
“Sebastian, who did this to you? Is it the same—is this connected to Foster somehow?”
Sebastian kept his head down, but I didn’t miss the flexing of his jaw muscles, the tightening of his mouth.
“Sebastian.” I touched his arm and he flinched, just like he had that day he’d hauled my brother off me. But this time, I didn’t pull away. I grabbed his hand, the one still holding the cord he’d been winding up, and I didn’t let go, even when he tried to pull away. “I don’t know what’s going on, but please, please let me help.” I took the cord from him and draped it over my microphone stand so I could lace my fingers with his. “I’m worried about Foster and Pete, and about you.”
He stopped tugging on his hand, but he didn’t look up at me.
“Please,” I pleaded. “You’re scaring me, Sebastian.”
Something about those words triggered a response in him. He jerked his hand from mine and crouched down to latch the clasps on his Strat case. “Where do you want me to leave my stuff?” he ground out, still avoiding making eye contact with me.
“If you’re not going to use any of it again until we practice on Thursday, you can put it against the back wall.” I pointed to an assorted collection already stashed back there, the odds and ends of our equipment, our back-up gear. “You know you’re more than welcome to come over and go through stuff with me. I’d like that,” I added, wrapping my arms tightly around my middle, infusing as much hope as I could muster into my voice.
“I won’t be back until Thursday.”
The shield I’d made with my arms did nothing to block the jagged tear of his words across my heart. I watched as he hauled his stuff through the maze of gear to the back of the room, stacking it neatly beside the jumbled mess I’d pointed to. I couldn’t decide what to do next, so I just stood there as he approached, my eyes never leaving his averted face. He had to pass right by me if he wanted to leave the way he’d come in. He stopped about two feet from me, shoved his hands in his pockets, and then lifted his shadowed eyes to mine again.
“I’m sorry I got you involved in this, Tish. I should have sent you and Ani home as soon as I got to the park last week. I’m—I’ll stick around for this gig, of course, and hopefully long enough for you to find a new guitar player, but I—I gotta get out.” His voice broke, and then faded out to a whisper.
I couldn’t even register what he was telling me for a moment, but when it hit me, I felt it like a punch to my gut. My crossed arms seemed to be the only thing holding me together. “What? No. You can’t just quit, Sebastian,” I implored as soon as I caught my breath.
“Yes. I can. And I have to. I’m trouble, Tish. You said it yourself. You’re scared.” He watched me, challenging me to contradict him, to prove him wrong… or right.
“I’m not scared of you,” I insisted adamantly, taking a step closer and poking him in the chest, none too gently. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m scared for you.”
“Ah,” he retorted, and there was that awful mocking tone I thought I’d heard the last of. “But those were your exact words, weren’t they? ‘You’re scaring me, Sebastian,’ you said.” He mimicked me in an exaggerated whine.
“Why do you have to be such a jackass?” I snapped, giving in to the childish streak inside me. I stopped poking him and instead, thumped him in the chest a few times with the side of my closed fist.
Suddenly, he had my wrist clutched tightly in one hand, his other cupping my shoulder. I could feel a slight tremor in his grip, his fingers squeezing, not painfully, but with restrained power. He leaned down so he could look me in the eye, and snarled back. “Why do you have to hit me? Why? Don’t. Hit me. Ever. Again.” The words came out choppy, sharp breaths punctuating them. His top lip curled up in a sneer that contorted his beautiful face, his one red eye glaring out from behind the strands of his hair that had fallen over his forehead again. The other eye, almost midnight-black with emotion, fixed menacingly on mine. “Are you scared of me now? Because you should be. I hurt everyone I care about eventually.” He released me suddenly, his voice twisting into a growl. “I am a monster, little girl.”
I would have been fine if not for the heavy-duty boom stand right behind me.
When he let go of me, I took a small step backwards. My heel came down on the round base, slipped off the edge of it, and my ankle buckled. I grappled for something to keep me upright, my fingers tangling in the cord I’d hung over the stand, and when I went down, it all followed, crashing around me. I tried to block it, to roll away from the falling metal pole, but with its upended hefty die-cast base, it came down fast, and the boom arm spun around, catching me hard across my cheekbone. The backside of the boom knocked against my stool that was in its path, but it missed me by a hair. I cried out, unable to determine which was worse, the searing agony in my face, or the pain in my heart over what I could only imagine would be the fallout of this terrible, out of control moment.
Sebastian loomed over me, his hands reaching, pulling, shoving the gear off me, his face stricken, voice broken and desperate. “Tish, oh God! Tish, please!” He kept repeating it over and over, almost like a mantra, the needle of a record player stuck on that one line. “Oh God. Tish, please!”
When he’d freed me, he knelt beside me, crouching low over my face to look at me. His fingers shook as they hovered above my throbbing cheekbone and I winced in anticipation of his touch. He mistook my expression and jerked back, his eyes wild, frantic.
“Wait, Sebastian.” I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stop. I wasn’t afraid of you touching me.” I tried to smile and gulped as the movement pulled on the bruised tissue. “I just don’t like pain,” I explained as light-heartedly as I could muster.
He tried to tug his hand free from mine but once again, I held on. “Please.”
When he stopped pulling, I let go and got my elbow under me to sit up. Sebastian reached an arm around my back for support. I rotated my ankle but quickly discovered that miraculously, or ironically, it appeared to be perfectly fine. I had simply stepped back onto the stand at the right angle and couldn’t catch myself. The throbbing in my face was escalating and I couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped my lips.
“I think I need some ice.” I looked up at Sebastian, his face so close to mine, his expression making me want to comfort him, soothe his mind. “Don’t we make a pair?” I brought a hand up and gently touched his cheek below his bruised eye.
“Don’t try to get up,” Sebastian ordered, and without warning, he slipped his other arm under my legs and lifted me up against him. I squeaked in surprise, but he ignored me, turning to go sideways through the narrow door into the mixing room.
I looped my arm around his neck and rested my forehead against his cheek, closing my eyes in a vain attempt to shut out the pulsing pain in my face, not even bothering to resist him. It felt so nice to be cradled in his arms, even though I hated the circumstances that put me there. But I kept my wits about me. “Sebastian. Slow down, please. I do not want to go out there like this.” Especially if Tom was still out there, and I was fairly certain he was since he hadn’t said goodbye. I could just imagine what kind of flurry we’d cause storming into the kitchen, me in Sebastian’s arms, my cheekbone swelling and turning colors. “Just leave me on the sofa in here and go grab one of Mom’s ice packs. You saw where she keeps them.”
He stood still, clearly undecided, until I raised my head to look him in the eye. “Listen. If my mom’s out there, you can bring her in, but no one else. I don’t want Tom or Jordan to come in and get all worked up over nothing, okay?”
“This isn’t nothing,” Sebastian muttered. I was sure he didn’t even realize he’d just echoed my words from earlier about his injuries. He looked inconsolable. Time to get pushy again.
“Sebastian, put me down. Bring me ice. And my mom, if she’s out there. The longer you stand here with me, the more swollen my face gets. The more pain I suffer.”
That got him moving. When he’d slipped out into the kitchen, I lay back against the cushions, forcing my face to relax. My cheek hurt like crazy, but I knew it could have been so much worse if it had been the main part of the stand, or the top-heavy stool. In fact, it might have been the stool that prevented the boom arm from hitting harder since it slowed its rotation down before it caught me. Please, God, don’t let this be bad. Sebastian couldn’t handle it.
He returned only moments later, holding the door open for my mom. She kept glancing at Sebastian, and I almost laughed when I realized she was more concerned about him than she was about me. We were seriously too much alike.
“I tripped,” I began.
“It was my fault,” Sebastian interjected, glancing back and forth between me and Mom, his face resolute.
From the absence of surprise on Mom’s face, I surmised he’d already given his account of things. But I had a feeling his story might be different from mine. From the truth. “Actually, no, Sebastian, it was not your fault, remember? I punched you. Several times. And called you a Jackass. Again.”
“Titia.” Disappointed Mom voice.
“See? She’s more upset by my cuss word than she is over my injury. Or how I got it.” I was trying to get Sebastian to relax a little. He looked distraught and badly shaken.
“Actually, that’s not true.” Mom’s response surprised me. “I’m very concerned about what happened in here, but let’s take care of first things first.”
Okay. That didn’t sound good.
“Let me see, honey.” She knelt in front of me and swept the hair from my face the same way I’d done to Sebastian, tipping my chin up so she could see better. “Hand me your phone with the flashlight turned on, will you?”
Before I could slip mine out of my bra and swipe it open, Sebastian had his on and held out to her. She checked to make sure my pupils were dilated right, and then gently prodded the area with her cool fingertips. I assured her it hadn’t hit me that hard. It just happened to come down on the ridge of my cheekbone where the skin was thin, the bone prominent. She didn’t ask me even half the concussion questions she’d asked Sebastian earlier tonight, and I hoped he’d just assume it was because she could see my injury was nothing like his.
“Okay.” Mom handed Sebastian his phone and stood up, watching me closely. “Well.” She seemed at a loss for words now that her examination was complete. “You’re going to have a nasty bruise. And it might turn into a black eye.” She crossed her arms and studied Sebastian in turn.
“What can I do?” he asked, clearly rattled, his voice vibrating with emotion.
“Sit.” She uncrossed her arms and pointed at the sofa, taking the two cold packs he held in his hands from him.
Sebastian sat.
“Now, both of you put these things on your eyes.” She handed one to me and waited while I leaned back again and positioned it gingerly over my cheek. Then she handed the other to Sebastian. “Your eye is swelling up again, Sebastian. You need to keep the ice on longer this time.” And she waited while he leaned back and pressed his to his brow.
We exchanged glances then looked up at her, waiting for our next orders.
“Now, don’t go anywhere. I’m getting your father, Titia.”
Sebastian started, but to his credit, it was only a quick jolt. I, on the other hand, reacted quite differently.
“No, Mom. Don’t do that. It was an accident. Dad will—well, he won’t—” Nothing I could come up with in my head sounded right. I felt like I needed to defend Sebastian, but on the other hand, tonight’s physical reaction to me antagonizing him scared me. Not because I thought Sebastian wanted to hurt me, not because I was afraid of him, but because I’d felt the frustration rising up in me that had led me to lash out at him, and thought I understood the frustration that must have welled up in him, too, to respond to me so aggressively. I got it, I understood it… but that didn’t make it okay. It didn’t make it okay for either one of us.
“I’m not asking your permission, Titia. He’s my husband. We’re a team. And this is something I don’t want to figure out on my own.” She’d crossed her arms again, but her expression remained soft and a little sad, as she looked back and forth between us. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sebastian said, his voice firm, the resolute look back in place.