Inodded. “We never wanted kids.”
“Neitherdid I,” Sebastian fired back, angry at a person not sitting there, “but planschange.”
“Yeah,well,” I sighed, clutching the glass and knocking the rest back, “I didn’t geta choice in the matter. But he did.”
Snickering,Sebastian finished his own drink and poured another. “Well, you’re better offnow,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Piece of shit. Better to happen beforeyou were legally bound to him.”
“Thisis true,” I nodded solemnly. “That’s what I’ve tried telling myself, and atleast we hadn’t started planning the wedding yet, but it did suck.”
“Well,of course it did.” He sank further into the couch, holding the glass betweenhis legs. “You thought you had everything planned out, and then something droppedinto your lap and changed it all. I get that.”
Itwas as simple as some unseen person changing a lightbulb in the room, but withthat statement, I saw Sebastian in a different light. Maybe he had chosen toremain perpetually in band t-shirts and leather jackets, while I’d stuffed minein a closet, only to be worn on weekends. Maybe he was unashamed of his paintedskin, while I kept my one tattoo hidden. However, in other ways, we were verymuch the same—both of us living a life we thought we had sorted, only to findthat there was so much out of our control.
“Well,”he said after a few moment’s silence, “I’m sorry you’ve had a shitty year, butfor what it’s worth, I’m glad it brought you my way.”
Rollingmy lips between my teeth, I propelled myself into overanalyzing every word andinflection of that statement. The way he said it, without an iota of sympathy,made it seem that he really wasn’t sorry, because it brought me here. And then,there was that …I’m glad it brought you my way. What did that mean? Washe generalizingyou? Did he mean Greysonandme? Or …
Ilicked the whiskey from my tucked-in lips, finding some semblance of courage inthe lingering remnants, and with them, I acknowledged the tension between us.Had it been there since we met? I was attracted to him—that was for damnsure—but had I known it immediately, or had it taken its time settling in? Itwas only days ago, but I couldn’t remember anything other than my irritation.Had there been something else, underneath all that? Had my attraction derivedfrom a place of disgust and I wanted him simply because of how angry he mademe? Or was it that he reminded me of everything I’d been denying myself overthe years, in my frantic determination to grow up?
“It’stoo quiet,” Sebastian announced, drinking from his glass and standing up. “Let’sgo.”
“W-whereare we going?” I stammered, following orders as I pulled myself to my feet.
“Upstairs.”Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, he headed toward the stairs. “Bring yourglass,” he glanced over his shoulder and winked, “just in case.”
Hisroom was across the hall from mine. I still wasn’t sure he hadn’t done that onpurpose. He could’ve set me up in the basement. He could’ve given Greyson hisroom and taken the couch himself. Instead, I was on one side and he on theother, with an entire floor between us and responsibility.
Andfunnily enough, it wasn’t Sebastian I didn’t trust.
16
sebastian
“You ever play before?”
Iplaced my full glass of whiskey and the bottle onto a table next to my DW Collector’sSeries kit and sat down on the cushioned leather stool, lowering the seat untilit was uncomfortable. I grabbed one of the sticks resting against the snare, andwatched her as the birch spun between my fingers.
Tabbywas standing with her back to the closed door, her fingers clutched around herempty glass. “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Greyson rarely plays aroundme, let alone lets me try.”
“Firsttime for everything,” I said with a lift of my lips. I scooped both sticks intoone palm and held them out to her. “Come on.”
“Youwantmeto play?”
“Yep.”I stood up, walking around the kit and encouraging her to take the sticks.
Reluctantly,she handed me the glass and accepted the sticks in trade. I welcomed her to siton the throne with a grand sweep of my arm. She rolled her eyes, but acceptedthe invitation, walking around and sitting down.
Positioningmyself behind her, I crouched down and lifted her feet, placing one on the basspedal and the other on the hi-hat pedal.
“Heelsup,” I instructed with a smile, not oblivious to the intent way she stared atme as I maneuvered her body. Like a doll.
Standingup, I took one of her clenched hands and pulled the stick free. I manipulatedher fingers around the stick, positioning her grip just so. I was satisfied tofind her mimicking with her other hand and nodded my approval.
“You’rea good student,” I praised, gripping her forearms and positioning the tip ofone drumstick against the snare; the other against the hi-hat.
“Thankyou. All my teachers thought so.” She surprised me with a fluttery giggle.She’snervous.“I’m going to sucksobadly at this. I have zerocoordination.”
“Nah,”I insisted, shaking my head. “It’s your first time. I’ll be gentle.”
