by B. Cranford
Declan folded his six foot-one frame—his height no more than an inch or two more than Sebastian’s—back into the chair where he’d been sitting, before replying. “Just got back in this morning, for Mom’s birthday. Leaving in a couple of days though. Got a lead on an up-and-comer out in Atlanta.” He mimed pitching a baseball, giving Sebastian a clear sign that he was on the hunt for MLB’s next big pitcher.
“Nice, going to sign him?”
“Gonna try, that’s for damn sure. Kid has a hell of an arm.” If Declan thought so, Sebastian believed him and he made a mental note to pry the name out of his buddy so he could watch as his career soared. But he wouldn’t get the name just yet—Dec made a point of keeping everything under wraps until the signatures were on the dotted line and notarized. His way of making sure there were no leaks.
Sebastian wouldn’t use the information for anything other than watching his friend grant success to yet another athlete who showed the right attitude and the right amount of potential. In years past, he would have used the information to lay some bets. Inside knowledge was frowned upon, but he’d made a point to always skirt the line between honest and dishonest, like that would make his compulsion to gamble forgivable.
“So, what brings you in? Taxes? Audit? Miss my pretty face?”
“Loose definition of pretty you have there, Figures.” A middle finger was Sebastian’s only response before Declan continued. “Nah, just wanted to check in, see how you were settling back.”
Sebastian ran his hand across his beard, a move he knew was his tell. He didn’t mind talking about his addiction but he didn’t want it to be the focus of every conversation he had. Declan had stuck by him as he’d travelled the path to recovery, though, so he owed it to his friend to answer, and answer honestly. “Been harder than I expected in some ways. Easier in others.”
He’d fallen back into the routine of his job with no problems. He’d worked for and with his father for a few years before and in that sense, it was like no time had passed at all. Except that the tax laws had changed again and Mrs. Miller, the receptionist who had been with Figures Accounting for twenty-something years, had retired and been replaced by her daughter, a young woman with bubblegum pink hair, a face full of freckles, three piercings in each ear and a mind like a steel trap.
They say looks can be deceiving, and it was never truer than when applied to Jade Miller.
“The numbers help, right? The logic and organization.” Declan looked pointedly at the nameplate, confirming what Sebastian already knew—that his friend had picked up on his impulse to make it perfect.
Sebastian nodded, knowing that hiding it wasn’t an option. “Yeah, the need for logic and order, for control, is one of the hallmarks of Impulse Control Disorder.” Jesus, he felt like he was reciting from a textbook. Instead he was just relaying what his therapist had told him—that impulse control, as a part of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, could potentially be to blame for his addiction. “I’ve, ah, been going to the gym a lot, too. The exertion, the repetition of the exercises—” He trailed off, confident that he didn’t need to give more information to satisfy his friend.
“Good, man. And . . .” Declan’s face took on a distinctly uncomfortable look before he steeled himself to ask the question Sebastian knew was coming and was, surprisingly, not worried about answering. “Have you seen Brighton?”
Sebastian smiled at the mention of her. She’d always had that effect on him, that ability to make him happy even as the world seemed to crumble down around him. “Today. Ran into her today with her ass hanging out, looking as fucking beautiful as ever.”
“Ass hanging out?” Declan tilted his head in question. “Where the hell did you run into her?”
“Panera.”
“Ass. Panera. Brighton. Ass.” Declan seemed to be stuck on the idea of Brighton’s behind, and it caused a tightness to rise in Sebastian’s chest. He was jealous. He knew that, he accepted it, and he even owned it.
“Focus, jackhole.” Sebastian stopped short of leaning over his desk and smacking his friend on the side of his blond head to jar loose the idea of Brighton showing off her assets to the lunch crowd.
He relayed their encounter at Panera and the follow-up at her apartment, before asking his friend the question he’d waited two years to ask—until they were face-to-face and he was in a position to hear the answer. “How bad was it?”
Declan might have been his best friend but for as long as he and Brighton had been together, Declan had been a friend to Bright, too. They hadn’t been as close as he and Declan had been, but Sebastian was sure that when he’d let his girl down, he could trust his closest friend to hold her together.
“You really have to ask?”
Chapter Five
Brighton stared at the blinking cursor on her blank screen. It had been taunting her since she’d first sat down to work that morning, after a restless night filled with Sebastian’s face and Sebastian’s apologies and Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. Its steady rhythm was making a mockery out of her racing heart. Her makeshift desk, which was really an old card table rescued from someone’s front curb and covered with a white and grey chevron print tablecloth she'd grabbed on sale at a craft store, was neatly organized and mostly bare. A small cup of pens, an open composition book with her scribbles inside, and a framed photograph of her with her mom. Head wrapped in a brightly colored scarf, smile affixed firmly to her increasingly gaunt face, her mom was one of the most beautiful women in the world. Of course, Brighton was biased but who cared? She'd had the best and most beautiful—inside and out—mother, and a daily reminder of what was gone but not forgotten was good for her.
A reminder that some things you can’t get back, no matter how hard you try.
Brighton pressed her fingers to her lips then ran them over her mother’s face, frozen behind the glass. “I wish you were here, Mommy. I miss you. I need your advice.”
Her eyes moved from the photograph to the delicate orchid and bottle of Grey Goose vodka that she’d placed on the little table that sat between her desk and rocking chair. She'd found them in a small box in front of her door when she'd made her usual Tuesday run to the post office to drop off and pick up packages. She had no doubt who'd left the box for her.
Sebastian.
Funny that he should leave it today of all days when, just yesterday, as they'd talked—he'd talked—about his competitive streak, she'd remembered the night she won a very close game of Yahtzee and he'd upended vodka on her (admittedly nearly dead) house plant.
Does he still know me so well?
He had to, since he’d clearly recognized that her mind had rehashed that frustrating-at-the-time, funny-the-next-day moment. It hurt even as it made her heart lift—knowing that after two years of absence and the lies that came before, he hadn’t forgotten. Not her. Not their life together. Not even her favorite brand of booze.
Except if he knew her so well, what did it say about her that she didn’t know about his gambling? More than anything, the knowledge that he’d been able to keep something so life-changing from her troubled her. Not just because he was back; it had been one of the things that stuck with her over 700-plus days of separation.
Yes, he’d failed her, but hadn’t she failed him right back?
Using the same two fingers that had gently caressed her mom’s cheek, Brighton brushed the soft petals of the orchid. “He’s back,” she spoke aloud, with no-one to hear her but the empty room. “He’s home again, and I think—I mean, he said he wants to win back my trust. And I don’t know . . .” She trailed off.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do, and I need you to tell me, okay? Just, a sign or something. Anything.” Brighton held her mother’s gaze as she spoke, a gaze frozen in time behind the glass of the photo frame. “Sebastian came back. He came back and saw me at my worst, and then told me he still wants me, and what am I supposed to do with that? I’ve missed him. Or, at least, I’ve missed the him I fell in love with. You remember, d
on’t you, Mommy?”
Tears started to form in Brighton’s eyes, a waterfall ready to trip over at any moment, her breath coming faster and faster as she talked to her mother, to herself, and tried to wrap her mind around Sebastian’s return.
“You remember the day I met him? I called you when I was leaving that library and told you I was bringing a date to the wedding. Driving hundreds of miles with a stranger I’d just met because he was so . . . so . . . He was so Sebastian. You laughed at me because it was so unlike me, but that’s the me that he made me become—made me want to be. Impulsive and spontaneous and fun. Playful. Better.” Pausing, Brighton drew in a long breath, her monologue tiring her, but somehow lightening her load. “More open to the world, more willing to step outside my little box. And I haven’t been her since he left, and even less so since you did.”
Brighton was close, so close to all-out tears, trying to explain to her mom why she couldn’t just hate Sebastian, let him leave again without—fuck, she thought, without what? Giving him a chance?
It was no good. She wasn’t going to find answers in a photo, or a flower or in her work. The beauty of working from home was that she wasn’t beholden to certain hours. Sure, she tried to keep a nine to five schedule for her sanity—it was too easy to find herself working at all hours of the day and night otherwise—but yesterday and today had messed not just with her head, but also with her schedule.
Standing from the simple desk chair donated to her by Declan on the day he’d helped her move into her new apartment, Brighton slapped her laptop closed. It was time she drew on some of the strength she’d always prided herself on. The strength that helped her support her mom and herself after her father had passed away—and even before that, when for long stretches it had been just her and her mom while her dad was away.
It was the same strength that she’d finally found in the weeks after the fallout with the house, that had allowed her to learn how to function again. The same strength that kept her going when she’d finally said goodbye to her mom, her best friend, her confidant. After a lifetime of moving around, losing people, being alone—a natural introvert with a nomadic lifestyle thanks to her father’s job—when she’d finally lost the one she’d thought she’d have forever, Brighton had somehow found a way to keep going.
Again. And with that in mind, she made a decision.
She was going to see him.
Sebastian stood in his office, looking at but not seeing the clear, organized top of his desk. He tapped his fingers against the smooth surface while his other hand was anchored in the pocket of his suit pants, playing with a little button he always kept there. He couldn’t wrap his head around all that Declan had imparted. Since they’d spoken, all through a sleepless night he’d been thinking about what Brighton had experienced after he’d checked out of her life and into rehab.
He hadn’t known that Brighton had lost her mother to cancer, just like he hadn’t known that she’d cut off all communication with his parents after she’d moved to her own place. That tiny place she still called home.
“Son?” His dad approached with a wary look on his face. He hated it; hated the way his parents still pussyfooted around him, like at any moment he might make a break for the nearest casino and they’d have to tackle him to the ground. Just like he didn’t want every conversation to be about or come back to his addiction, he didn’t want to be reminded that he’d disappointed his parents. “Are you okay?”
He stilled his fingers, and shored himself. He might not want to talk about it, but he still had questions. “Why did she stop talking to you and Mom?” He didn’t have to explain to his father who she was. Brighton. Always Brighton, since the first day he’d met her in the library.
That day he’d been cursing his brand-new printer for crapping out but when she walked in, suddenly it wasn’t a big deal. In fact, that expensive piece of crap became his new favorite appliance.
His father shrugged, shaking his head at the same time. “I don’t know. We gave her a few days, let her process, and when we went to talk to her, she was gone. The apartment manager wouldn’t tell us her forwarding address and Declan said she’d contact us when she was ready.” Sebastian didn’t need to hear it to know that Brighton had never contacted them. Even knowing they could help her dig herself out of the mess he’d made for her, she’d cut herself off. But why?
“Are you working on something right now?” His father’s question wasn’t unexpected. He’d come into Sebastian’s office for a reason. Nevertheless, Sebastian took a moment to look at the man standing in front of him, a near mirror image of himself. Blue eyes, dark hair on both his head and along his jawline, though his father’s was now peppered with grey, and dressed in black suit pants and a white business shirt. But for the black-framed glasses that partially hid his father’s eyes and the blue tie he knew his mother had chosen, they could have been brothers. With an age difference, of course.
Sebastian looked down at his desk, two neat stacks of work; one stack due immediately and the other was due by week’s end. One part of his mind told him his schedule couldn’t—shouldn’t—be interrupted, but the other part told him that whatever his father wanted was important. “No, not right this second.” He grabbed his phone and slid it into the pocket that held the button he’d been worrying before his father walked in. “I have time.”
“Good. Let’s go.” His father pulled a set of keys from his own pocket as he headed for the door. “Jade, we’ll be back in an hour or so.” He didn’t wait for a nod or confirmation that she’d heard him before he strode out the door to the navy-colored SUV parked in front of the building.
“Where are we going?” Sebastian asked, jogging to catch up to his old man. Who knew that he could move so damn fast still?
“Just to grab a bite to eat. Talk a little. I hardly see you anymore, we’ve been so busy.” His dad smiled congenially, like it was no big deal, but Sebastian felt different. This conversation, whatever it was, was going to be important.
Of course he’d choose Panera, Sebastian thought wryly to himself, the image of Brighton’s skirt tucked haphazardly into her tiny little panties giving him a thrill. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of it, that moment that had embarrassed her so clearly, but . . .
In his mind, Brighton was still his girl and, damn, his girl still had it.
“Grab a table, I’ll go order,” his father instructed, nodding as Sebastian rattled off the first thing he read off the overhead menu and walked over to a free table.
The same table he’d seen Brighton sitting at a day earlier.
“Here you go.” A soda was put down in front of him, his father taking the seat opposite and settling his arms on the table. Sebastian recognized the pose from high school. It was the let’s have a serious talk pose.
He braced himself for a chewing out; instead he got something that surprised him.
“Your mother and I are proud of you, son.” A nod in acknowledgment of the compliment, one he’d longed to hear from his parents in the days and weeks after he entered rehab. “You’ve come a long way in two years, turned it all around. You’re keeping your nose clean?”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t elaborate, knowing this was time for his dad to talk and him to listen.
“I thought so. I know it’s been a rough few years, but the future is bright.”
Bright. His girl. Always his mind went there, to the green of her eyes, the chocolate of her hair, the warmth of her smile. Not that he’d seen such a smile from her recently, but he was working on it. He had a plan.
“The future is Bright, yes?” This time, the emphasis on bright made Sebastian realize his father was, in fact, talking about Brighton. It wasn’t just his mind taking him to her, but his father, leading the conversation. “I hear you saw her yesterday.”
Declan. Jesus, his friend had a big mouth. He intentionally did not elaborate in his message to his father the day before, wanting to see how things played out before involving his parents.
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He should have known they'd find out.
Sebastian cleared his throat before answering, looking around the room as if watching the scene from yesterday play out in front of his eyes. “Here, actually.” He tapped the table with two fingers. “Right here.”
“How was she?” Peter Figures was, and always had been, a family man, his wife and his son the most important things to him. When Sebastian had brought his girl home to meet his parents the first time, it was clear that his father was enamored of her. Naturally—the girl could make anyone fall in love with her. “We’ve missed her.”
The words felt like some strange combination of soft and sharp. The sweet sentiment of a family that’s lost a member and the harsh reminder that it’s because of the actions of another that she’s been absent.
“You haven’t talked to her at all?” Sure, that was what Declan had implied, and his father had all but confirmed it, but still Sebastian couldn’t help but hope. Hope that somehow, some way they’d managed to find her, and give her the care she’d so desperately needed.
Deserved.
“No. Like I said, we gave her some time and by then, it was too late. She was gone, Declan passed on her message.” He shook his head. “We wanted to make sure she was okay, to let her know she wasn’t alone, but—” The sound of his name over the loudspeaker, announcing that their meals were ready caused his father to stop, rise from the table and grab the two trays that were waiting for them.
Sebastian stared at the food in front of him, waiting for his dad to continue, which he did once he was settled back in his seat. “We didn’t blame her for cutting us off like that. She was hurting, but she always had a good heart—the best heart. I don’t doubt that while it was easier for her not to see us, a reminder of you, she thought it was easier on us, too.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” He’d said it before, often. To his parents. Declan. And, most recently, Brighton. Yet, it didn’t feel like enough. “I broke us, didn’t I?”