A Light in the Dark

by Becky Doughty

  “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.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The door closed softly behind Mom and the air around us filled to bursting with silence for several long moments. I finally took pity on Sebastian and reached across the cushion between us. He ignored my gesture.

  “Take my hand, Sebastian,” I said. I wasn’t going to let him isolate himself now.

  He didn’t move. I could feel the sofa vibrating and realized he was trembling badly.

  “Take it.” I stretched my hand farther.

  He still didn’t respond.

  “For the love of all that is good and gory, take my stupid hand, Sebastian Jeffries.” I didn’t raise my voice, and I doubted it had anything to do with my impotent pirate curses, but this time, he reached for me. His big hand curled around mine, and I laced my fingers through his. I sighed in deep satisfaction, my shoulders relaxing at his touch.

  “I’m no good for you,” he ground out, his jaw tight.

  “That’s crap. Don’t shovel that my way. I won’t take it.” I hated it when people claimed they weren’t worthy of others, and it especially bothered me to hear him try to use that line on me.

  “You don’t understand—”

  I sat up abruptly, knowing it would hurt like a hot dagger in the eye, but not caring. In fact, I pressed the gel pack harder against my face, the pain motivating me, emboldening me. “You know what?” I turned so I was facing him, but didn’t let go of his hand. “You’re right. I don’t understand. But before you think I’m actually agreeing with you, let me tell you what I don’t understand, okay? I don’t understand why someone as compassionate, kind, and gentle as you are toward others who are hurting, like Foster, for instance, why someone who intentionally gets involved when most people would just walk away or turn a blind eye, why someone like you, Sebastian Jeffries, would push people away who want to do the same for you. This?” I raised our joined hands
and pointed a thumb at my face. “This happened because you pushed me away. Not literally, you hear? This didn’t happen because you’re no good for me, but because you tried to put up a wall to keep me out. Dude, I wouldn’t have this stupid bruise if you hadn’t pushed me away! Do you get that? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand!”

  And there were my tears again. But this time, I didn’t care. Let him see me cry. Let the whole wide world see me cry. They were angry tears and I had every right to cry angry tears right now.

  “Do you understand how long I have wanted to sit here like this with you?” I shook our hands between us. “Do you understand how many days, weeks, months, I asked God to show me what I did wrong to make you treat me the way you did last semester? All I wanted was a smile from you, maybe a ‘Hey,’ now and then. A date or two would have been above and beyond my wildest dreams, but I would have been happy if just once, before school got out, I’d turned around to see you watching me with something other than disgust on your face.”

  Now I was clutching his hand so that I wouldn’t start thumping on him again, because I really, really wanted to. Badly. “Can you possibly understand how hard it was for me to walk out of school on the last day knowing I’d never see you again? That my heart would just have to get over you, and that I’d have to find a way to stop wondering what was wrong with me that you couldn’t even tolerate being in the same room with me? You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Sebastian. Not me. You.”

  He was sitting forward now, too, perched at the edge of the sofa, but his eyes were closed, his head bowed, almost as though I was hitting him verbally instead. I took a deep breath and swiped at my eyes with the back of the hand that held the cold pack. “Ouch!” I blurted, my knuckles accidentally grazing my cheekbone. Calm down, T-Bird. Can’t you see he’s hurting, too?

  “Sebastian,” I began, my voice calmer now. “When you showed up for the audition—what was it? Three weeks ago? Four? I nearly had a heart attack on the spot. I was just starting to come to grips with the fact that there’d be no resolution between us, and suddenly, there you were, your music like a—like a drug to me, asking me if you could be a part of my world. Choosing me, hoping I would choose you.” I leaned forward, pulling on his hand. “Look at me, please.” I waited until he turned just enough for his one eye to meet mine. “The night we helped with Foster? You almost kissed me, didn’t you? Oh, please tell me you almost kissed me. I’ll die if you tell me it was only me wanting you so badly.”

  He nodded, just slightly, but that was all I needed. “Friday night at Taylors. Oh, Sebastian, whatever pieces of my heart I’d managed to keep from you up to that point? You took one when you followed me out to the truck to make sure I was okay. You took another when you helped me up onto the tailgate without laughing at me for being so short. And when you kissed me? You took my breath away, along with the last pieces of my heart I’d been clinging to so tightly.” My voice became a whisper, a ball of emotions lodged in my throat. “Sebastian, you can’t leave now. You hold my heart.”

  Sebastian straightened, gathering himself, and I held my breath, preparing myself for whatever he might say.

  There was a light tap on the door and Mom stepped inside in front of Dad, who held the door for her. He’d obviously been asleep, but he’d put on a pair of shorts and a clean shirt and combed his hair. I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not.

  “Hi kids,” he said, his voice careful, but kind. He held one of the desk chairs steady for Mom to sit on and lowered himself slowly into the other, taking his sweet time. He eyed our linked hands for a moment, but I didn’t release my connection with Sebastian.

  “Mr. Ransome,” Sebastian replied. He nodded at Mom.

  “You all right, sweetie?” Dad leaned forward and eyed me curiously. “Let me see.”

  I pulled the cold pack away and tipped that side of my face up toward the light. It already felt considerably better than it had ten or fifteen minutes ago when I’d first put the ice on it.

  He nodded and turned to Sebastian. “Let’s take a look at you, too.” Dad waved a hand at his cold pack. “Did she do that to you?”

  “Oh no! No, sir! Tish didn’t touch me!” He pulled the pack away from his eye and let Dad look anyway.

  “Then who did?” And there it was. The question of the hour. Of the whole night.

  “Sir?” Sebastian was stalling.

  “Who caught you with a right hook? Seen my fair share of those in this household. I know what I’m looking at.” Dad shifted in his chair, crossing his ankles out in front of him. The room fell silent.

  Sebastian finally cleared his throat. “I had a run in with a guy in our apartment complex. He was causing trouble and I stepped in. He didn’t like it.”

  Wow. There was a lot of information missing from those three sentences. I looked at Dad.

  “Do you know this guy?”

  “Yes.” Sebastian’s fingers tightened in mine.

  “Did you report him to the police? For causing trouble? Or for assaulting you?”

  “No, sir.” Sebastian kept his eyes fixed on my dad’s face, but I thought I saw his chin go up just a little.

  “Why not?” Dad was not letting up.

  Sebastian pressed his lips together for a moment, and I wondered if he might refuse to answer.

  “Because we’re not—it’s not important. It’s no big deal. Normal where I live.”

  Dad straightened and nodded. “It’s not normal, son. Even in our house, with four rowdy boys and a daughter who knows better, that kind of injury isn’t normal.”

  I looked over at Mom, wondering where this was going. She had her feet tucked up under her and her arms crossed, her chair turned slightly so she could focus on Dad. She gnawed on her bottom lip as she watched him.

  “Tish, did you hit Sebastian?” How many times in my life had I been asked that question? In that same tone of voice?

  “I did.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No. In fact, he stopped me from hitting him by grabbing my hand. When he let go, I stepped back, tripped over my mic stand, and fell.”

  “Sir, that’s not exactly how it happened.” Sebastian lowered the cold pack from his eye and spoke earnestly.

  Dad shut him down. “You can have your turn in a minute, son.” Ouch.

  Sebastian pulled his hand free from mine and straightened again in his seat. Separating himself. Pulling away from me. Pushing me away from him again. I felt a deep sadness flood me as I watched him fold in on himself.

  “So how did you get that?” Dad waved a hand at my cheek.

  “When I started to fall, I grabbed at whatever was within reach. Which was my stand, the same one I tripped on. Instead of keeping me from falling, it came down with me. The boom swung around and clocked me in the face. Sebastian didn’t touch me.”

  “After he grabbed you, he didn’t touch you. Is that what you mean?”

  I felt a trickle of fear course through me at Dad’s calm, but condemning words. “Right,” I murmured. “Because I was hitting him.”

  “I heard you the first time.” Dad was not happy. He spoke to Mom. “What do you think? Is she going to be okay? Or do we need to take her to Urgent Care?”

  Mom shook her head. “I think it’s just a bruise. The swelling has already gone down from the ice.” She spoke quietly, reassuringly.

  “Good. Okay, Titia, head on up to your room. I think it’s a good time for you to call it a night.”

  “But—but….” I looked over at Sebastian and then back and forth between my parents, feeling fifteen all over again. “What are you—what about him?” I didn’t have to ask, though. I saw the fervor in my dad’s eyes, the solemnness in Mom’s. “No. I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s all right, Tish.” Sebastian said. “I’m good. Go.”

  I shook my head, tears welling again, this time in frustration. “But I don’t want to. This is about me, too. I’m part of this.”

  “Titia. Go.
Now.” Dad’s voice rose in volume just the slightest bit, but his tone brooked no argument. If I resisted anymore, things were going to get embarrassing. Even more than they already were.

  I stood slowly and made my way between Dad and Sebastian toward the door. I looked back one more time before I pulled it open, but no one was watching me. All three of them were studying the floor.

  ***

  JollyRockerTBird: Got a minute? I hated bothering Ani. I knew she was in heaven with Paulo and his family and I didn’t want to put a damper on her joy. But I needed her, and I knew she’d be upset if I didn’t reach out to her.

  FarfallAni: Sure!

  JollyRockerTBird: Can you talk? Or just text?

  My phone rang a moment later and I pushed the green button, sighing with relief at the sound of Ani’s voice. I told her everything that had happened tonight, beginning with Sebastian showing up with his black eye, to his lie about Foster, about our little scuffle, and finished up with what had just gone down with my parents.

  “Oh, T-Bird.”

  “I know. This totally rots. I can’t even begin to imagine what they’re saying to him right now.”

  Ani made an odd sound on the other end of the line. “Really? You can’t?”

  “No. I mean, I hope they’re being nice to him. The poor guy is probably under a lot of stress right now.”

  “Tish. Listen to yourself. You sound like you’re defending him.” Her voice, even over the phone was hushed with concern.

  “I am defending him, Ani. He didn’t push me or knock me over. I attacked him and he stopped me.” Wasn’t that right? Or was I trying to justify things now?

  She kept silent on the other end of the line.

  “Ani, what are you not saying?”

  “T-Bird. Tish. This isn’t the first time. I saw him overreact to you at the park. And that thing with Jordan? Something isn’t right and you’re trying to pretend it is.”