Since Sylvie died, there hadn’t been a single day that Nate hadn’t shown up on my doorstep until now—even when I wanted him to leave me the fuck alone, the bastard wouldn’t stay away. I can’t take the void of him missing from my life, nor did I want to.
Mad that he’d left me in silence, irritated with fucking Zane, and taking a page out of my new assertive personality—what a fucking joke—I texted the ugly ass, begged him to come over because that’s not pathetic, and prayed he’d stop being a dick.
One of those three things happened. An hour later, Nate sat on my couch, and I tried to act like an adult.
I didn’t see the point in pussyfooting around the situation—so maybe my time with Zane hadn’t been a total waste. Here I was asking for what I wanted and confronting a situation head-on to find a resolution. “I don’t get what’s going on, Nate.” It was honest and heartfelt, even if Nate didn’t think so.
He sank back onto the couch and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’ve just changed a lot in the last couple of months, and I don’t really like who you’re becoming.” That was as real as Nate could be, and it pained him to admit it.
“What?”
“Surely you understand English, Bastian. I don’t like you much these days.” It appeared that once he’d gotten the initial emotion out that it became far easier for him to continue. “You and Ferry have become butt buddies, and you’re a different person around him. You go from carefree Bastian who just wants to paint, to an elite asshole who thinks he’s God. And don’t get me started on your personality flip-flop around Sera, or Christ, that Zane guy.”
I just stared at him with my mouth slightly ajar. I didn’t have a clue what to say.
“I mean, who the hell are you anymore? Do you even know? You’ve got more personalities than Sybil, and I don’t like most of them.”
I didn’t know how to respond, but when words finally came out, they were sharp. “I don’t know what you want from me, Nate. You seem to be pissed off anytime I try to do something for me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He stood and paced before turning back to me red-faced. “You aren’t doing shit for you! You’re courting Ferry for God knows what reason. You don’t need him, Bastian. If you haven’t noticed, the man isn’t putting out a damn thing that doesn’t have your name on it. You, on the other hand, have people lined up on your doorstep, waiting for you to throw out a scrap of paper, hoping to get a piece of your work. You can’t paint fast enough to meet demands.”
Nate had barely taken a breath, and when I thought there was a lull for me to interject, he met my eyes with his narrowed and focused. His chest heaved, and the vein in the side of his neck strummed a steady beat. “And if you think I’m going to be supportive of whatever it is you’re doing with this Zane character to try to get the girl, it’s not going to happen. All you’ve done is become his bitch, and if you think that’s endearing to Sera, open your fucking eyes. She liked you the way you were, not whatever it is you’re becoming. Have you picked up on the strain there, or are you blind to that as well?”
As he paced, I watched and picked apart each of his heated words. They came from a place of love, even if I didn’t necessarily agree with any of them.
He finally stopped moving, and when he spoke again, the frustration was cleared from his expression. Sadness clung to his eyes. The corners of his lips bent down. That look was the one he’d given me right after Sylvie died—the one he used to beg me to leave my bed and my house and rejoin the living.
“You were created to be who you are, Bastian.” His tone had softened along with his face. “There’s not a single person alive worth changing that for. I wish you could see the version of you that I see—or the one I used to see. I’ve loved you like a brother my entire life. I worried for years I was going to show up one day and find your brains splattered against a wall.
“Then you met Sera, and for a few brief months, I had my brother back. My best friend was living again. You’re successful. Your art is brilliant. I don’t understand why you want to throw that away to be something you’re not. You’re not in competition with Ferry; he doesn’t have anything you want. And as much as I hate to tell you this, you may never have Sera the way you want her.
“You need to reconcile all of this in your mind and start to make it right. When you do, give me a call.”
“Don’t be like that, Nate. Why does it have to be all or nothing? Why are you so jealous of Ferry and Sera?”
And that there…that blew the top.
“I’m not fucking jealous of anyone, Bastian! What is it you think I want? The asshole photographer or the kinky girl? Guess what, I don’t want either one, and I don’t think either one of them has brought even an inkling of goodness to your life. Grow the fuck up, man. We aren’t ten anymore fucking around on the playground. I’ve fought for your life harder than you have, so don’t give me some bullshit about being jealous of a pompous ass or a flit. Pull your head out of your ass.”
Nate snatched his jacket off the couch’s armrest and stomped toward the door.
I rose from my seat as quickly as he moved. My pulse raced, and I got petty. “Are you seriously fucking leaving like this? Jesus, Nate, you’re worse than any melodramatic girl I’ve ever known.” I screamed out my front door and chased him down the sidewalk, insisting on having the last word.
He let me have it, never turning around, just giving me the bird over his shoulder. People stood on the street, staring. Embarrassed by my outburst, or maybe just having witnesses to it, I stormed back inside and slammed the door. Less than a second later, glass shattered as a recently framed picture hit the floor.
My shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh as I got the broom and dustpan. When I bent down to clean up the mess, I realized it was one of the last ones taken of Sylvie that I’d just had the courage to put out. The picture itself was of Nate and me, but Sylvie had photobombed the corner just as the image was taken.
That picture, that one shot, was tangible proof of happiness—my happiness. With the picture in hand, I discarded the broom and dustpan to sit in the shards of glass and cry. I had no idea how I’d gotten so far from that point in my life. The images of the two people I had loved most in my life wavered through the pools in my eyes. It had seemed like they’d be around forever, always my constants. A handful of years later, I’d lost one, and if I didn’t get my shit together, I’d lose the other.
The front door crept open, and I looked up to find Sera peeking her head around the door. She moved through the glass but hadn’t seen me on the floor yet. “Bastian?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I quickly wiped at my face, but I doubted it actually did anything to erase the emotion.
She closed the door and stepped toward me, careful not to get glass lodged in her feet. “What happened? And why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” I shook my head but didn’t meet her eyes. This was not the image of an alpha male—it was weak, and so was I. “I knocked down a picture and the glass broke. Just sitting here, reminiscing.”
Sera tiptoed through the mess and reached for the broom. I let her sweep up the pieces. I didn’t have the energy to argue or pretend like she shouldn’t do it. The broom nudged my ass as Sera indicated my need to move. I stood on shaky legs and brushed off my clothes.
When I finally lifted my chin enough to face Sera, I tried to give her a smile that I didn’t quite feel. “Hey, slim shady, why don’t you take off the glasses?”
She didn’t argue, much less prepare me for what was underneath. And when she lifted her bug-eyed sunglasses to the top of her head, I gasped so loudly that it startled me. Bruised, puffy, red, black, brown, and tinges of putrid yellow surrounded what looked like hamburger meat but was, in fact, her face. Once I got passed the six stitches under her left brow, my gaze moved to her eye, swollen shut.
I took the two large steps necessary to reach her and grabbed her arms. “Holy shit, Sera.” And that’s whe
n I realized my hand hadn’t landed on skin; I’d met with a cast hidden under an oversized sweatshirt.
She flinched when my face tensed, and I realized I had to tone it down. She’d come here for comfort, not a lecture.
Taking the broom and dustpan from her, I ushered her to the couch and helped her get comfortable. “Let me clean this up, and I’ll get you some coffee or tea. Are you hungry?”
Sera held my eyes, and I hated the pain I saw reflecting back at me. “Some tea would be nice. The pain medicine has pretty much killed my appetite.”
The few minutes it took me to boil water for Sera’s tea gave me time to collect my thoughts and reign in my anger. Yelling at her wouldn’t solve anything, nor would it change the fact that she’d allowed this to get so far out of hand. Again.
When I returned to the living room, I handed Sera a cup of tea and took a seat in the chair across from her. As hard as it was to appear relaxed, I crossed my legs and rested my elbows on the arm while sipping my tea. “When did it happen?”
“Last night. I just left the hospital and came here. I called my mom, but she didn’t answer, and she likely won’t return my call. I knew I’d find you.” Her voice was distant, as were her eyes. “Do you need to let Zane know I’m here?”
That one question, those nine words were a sucker punch to the gut. She didn’t mean it to be, but fuck, talk about emasculating. In Sera’s mind, she was being respectful of what I was doing, but in mine, she just handed me my balls and stuffed my testosterone up my ass.
What made it worse was that she was right, and I needed to. I didn’t try to hide the groan as I pulled my cell from my pocket. I hadn’t been in touch with Zane since I’d left Stone Ground and our workout session this morning. He didn’t know about Nate, either, but I chose to leave that part out. I didn’t have the energy for this shit.
I chose my words carefully as I typed out a quick message about Sera’s stopping by. It was a mistake not to ask for permission, but she was already here, so getting the green light was counterproductive. And she wasn’t leaving until she was ready to go, so nothing he said really mattered.
Sera waited patiently with a soft smile on her lips. I couldn’t imagine how she faked any joy when she’d been through hell and back in the last twenty-four hours.
Thankfully, I didn’t immediately hear back from Zane, so I set down my phone and focused my attention on Sera.
“How’s that going?” She pointed to my cell on the end table.
“Frustrating.” My face said more than I should’ve allowed her to see.
Her nose scrunched up in what would have been a cute expression if the left side hadn’t looked like a side of beef. “Not what you thought it would be?”
“None of it surprises me, but I’m not sure how well it’s working out. It’s starting to affect my painting.” I was probably offering her too much information, but I figured she’d understand as an artist and someone in the lifestyle. “I don’t do well with structure. When the urge to paint comes, I stop what I’m doing and paint. Having to report to someone twenty-four-seven stifles that.”
She curled her feet under her and formed a little ball on the couch with her tea in her hand. “Do you feel like you’re learning a lot?” Sera’s genuine interest reminded me of why I had started this in the first place.
I shrugged. “I get that Zane’s instilling discipline and wants me to understand the role a sub would have under me and the responsibilities of a Dom, but there are parts of my life he’s not taking into account. I’m trying to work through it and around it…but who knows. I can’t sacrifice my hands for my heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t give in to everything he wants if, in essence, I lose who I am. If I tie my hands, I can’t paint. In turn, I’m losing my heart, my love, passion. Blocking my creativity is effectively tying my hands.”
“How is it hurting your creativity?
“Stopping everything I’m doing to ask for permission, it’s demoralizing. It makes me feel like less of a man. It isn’t building my confidence. It’s stripping it away.”
“I see.” She didn’t, but whatever.
I took a deep breath and tried to pause long enough to change the subject without doing so midsentence. In the most sympathetic voice I could muster, I asked, “What happened, Sera?”
“It was an accident.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
She shook her head. “It won’t help anything. It won’t change how you feel or what you think. It will just put a name with a couple of incidents.”
“Do you really believe these are accidents? That normal people routinely end up with this type of damage? A cast and stitches are not typical lover repercussions.”
She tilted her head to the side and huffed what was meant to be a cute laugh that fell short. “I don’t live a typical lover lifestyle, either.”
“I’m not going to fight with you. I’m not trying to make you unhappy.” I wished she believed the truth in those words. “It hurts me to see you in pain. It makes me want to find the motherfucker and gouge his goddamn eyes out with a spoon. I want to keep you safe, Sera. Surely you understand that.”
Her little giggle got louder until it erupted into full-blown laughter.
“What are you laughing about?”
“You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Bastian. It’s just funny to hear you go all Billy badass.”
I’d absolutely die trying to bring that fucker to his knees for every touching Sera, but her words shot right through me. Nothing I’d done had any impact on her perception of me. I was still just as weak to her as I was the day we’d met.
It cut like a dull blade.
I was no closer to her acceptance in her world than I ever had been. The only difference was that now I’d spent a few thousand dollars to answer to someone, had a personal trainer who irritated the shit out of me, and felt like a child all over again.
“I’m not as innocent as you believe I am, Sera. I’m protective, passionate, and fiercely loyal. It might just be wrapped up in a package you aren’t used to seeing.”
She pulled back like I’d slapped her, and she was clearly offended by my self-defense. I wasn’t trying to put her in her place, but if she believed I’d let anyone I loved be hurt by someone else while I stood idly by, she didn’t know me at all. Sera knew the written-for-television version of me, the CliffsNotes edition, but not me.
I hadn’t been around in six years, so Sera hadn’t seen the healthy me, the full-length version, the extended edition. She’d only seen broken, mending, abridged Bastian.
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
I didn’t need some mentor; I needed to pull my head out of my ass and remember my roots and who I was, where I came from, the person I loved being. That person may not have been a typical asshole, dominant male, but he was self-assured, confident, fearless, and bold.
Yeah, I had an artistic flair; I was a fucking artist. But I was also a pure, unadulterated man. Sera didn’t recognize that because she hadn’t seen it.
“If you think I wouldn’t protect you at all costs, you don’t know me well. I’d do the same for Nate. That’s who I am.” I’d die to keep either of them from ever feeling one lick of pain.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Bastian. I just mean you don’t have any need to get all gruff and mean. You’re a nice guy, and people like you.”
People liked me.
Nice guy.
Kiss of fucking death with any woman, especially a woman who had a penchant for bad boys and an alternative lifestyle.
Fuck me.
Sera stayed for several hours, talking mostly, but she didn’t impart any information regarding what had happened. She’d come for comfort, not pity. She wanted reassurance, and I guessed I should be happy that she believed she had that with me.
I learned several things during storytime with Sera, but I’d let them pass as insignificant. But one thing I couldn’t let slide was the
information Sera’d slipped out about her mother. I’d believed they were close based on the posts I’d seen on Facebook, but the truth was they rarely talked. That wasn’t Sera’s doing, but rather her mom’s, who had chosen her Dom over her daughter. Sera’s dad had passed away when she was younger, leaving her mom to raise her on her own.
Shortly after Sera became interested in the lifestyle, she happened upon her mom’s devotion to a Dom who didn’t care for Sera. Her mom chose the man. This happened around the same time that Sera met her current Dominant. Ironically, she lost her mother to a bad man and found shelter in the arms of a man just like the one for whom her mother had abandoned her. Sera didn’t put the story together like that, but that was what I had surmised from the pieces.
I had learned more about Sera in the last four or five hours than I had in all the months we’d known each other. Sadness had filled her life from the time she was fairly young, and since she’d been searching for something, too, although I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. As I stared at her, watching the way her lips moved and how she pushed her hair aside, every detail and nuance that made Sera who she was, I wondered if she thought that deeply about me. I wondered if she recognized my endless search for love, happiness.
I was a hopeless romantic. I believed that was out there. I’d found it once. Surely, a loving god wouldn’t make his people live life without finding it twice, even if that journey were long. That shred of hope is what had kept me holding on for years—that and the fear of enduring more of the same shit on the other side.
Sera was as broken as I was, though I doubted she realized it, or if she even knew what it was she chased. Maybe she truly believed she was happy, that her glass was half full. Her eyes glimmered like everything around her was alight with magic.
I hadn’t heard a word she’d said as I contemplated how resolutely the mind could deceive itself. People could mentally trick themselves into believing that misery was the paradigm of happiness. If Sera were lying to the outside world about her headspace, she did a damn good job. If I hadn’t seen the physical evidence, I would have never believed she led anything other than a good life. But in light of the truth, I worried about her safety, not that she’d let me get close enough to fix anything. Hell, she’d never even let me into her house. The few times I’d been over were simply to drop her off. She always came here.
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