by B. Cranford
She shook her head just slightly. “I think we should focus on the now first.” Her whole demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, as acceptance of what had been and what was to come rolled over them both like a tsunami.
“The now?” He questioned her, blinking his eyes once, twice, three times in a fruitless attempt to follow her train of thought.
“Mm hmm,” she murmured against his lips, her palms warm against his skin and the soft hair of his beard. “What's to come in the now.”
Her eyes were lit with humor and a touch of mischief as he asked, “And what's to come?”
Boldly, Brighton dropped her hands from beneath Sebastian’s, coming to rest in his lap. She began to fiddle with the sheet he'd draped across himself for this serious discussion, before dragging it away and wrapping one hand around his growing erection. “Me. Then you. Then maybe me again.”
Chapter Eighteen
Brighton smiled as Sebastian’s name flashed on her phone’s screen, indicating a call. He'd left her late morning, having to go into his office to get some work done, but promising to call her later.
It was later, and her phone was ringing. Not only that, her body was still tingling from the after-effects of their love-making.
Leaning forward in her chair, she grabbed the phone from her desk, swiping the screen and answering before it rang out. “Seb.” She sounded breathless to herself, which made her wonder what he heard in her voice.
“Bright Star.” His voice was low, tone deep, a whisper that made her already tingling body electrify. “I miss you.”
She laughed, feeling the same but knowing it was ridiculous. “It's been,”—she paused to look at her watch—“four hours since you saw me.”
“Too long.” It was a simple reply, but one that said so much. It had been too long because they had years to make up for. “What are you doing later tonight?”
Brighton felt a surge of mischief as she lowered her voice to match his husky tone. “I was thinking . . . you.”
Sebastian groaned, a sound that Brighton felt everywhere.
Holy hell, that's sexy.
“Your place?” Strained. He sounded strained.
“Are you okay, baby?” Brighton giggled at the sound of Sebastian’s second groan in less than thirty seconds.
“No, I'm not okay. My dad is standing outside my office so we can go meet a new client for an early dinner-slash-meeting, and you have me as hard as a fucking rock.”
Down the line, she heard the sound of papers shuffling, a zipper that she assumed was his laptop bag and not his pants—though that visual almost had her groaning—and a distant knock.
“Shit, I have to go. Can I come over when we’re done?”
Brighton bit back her dirty response, not wanting to make the situation, ahem, harder for him, giving him a simple, “Yes, I can't wait,” in response before hanging up.
She clutched her phone in her hand as she fell back against the back of her desk chair, feeling a contentedness that she'd missed.
But not nearly as much as she'd missed him.
Her phone rang again, shaking her from her musings before she had the chance to get too lost. A good thing, since she'd daydreamed her way through the last few hours, reliving her night and morning with Sebastian instead of working on her new Patrick the Panda book.
“Hello?” She answered this time without noticing the name on the screen, and was pleasantly surprised to hear Jade’s voice answer back.
“Hey lady, I'm off early and in need of booze. Want to meet me?” She and Jade had made a standing agreement to do drinks and girl talk at least once a week, something Jade had instituted after running into her after their last foray into girls’ night and had gone with her when she'd had her version of Sebastian’s constellation tattoo impulsively inked on her skin.
Brighton was glad to have a new friend who pushed them to spend time together. She needed that outlet, an excuse to get out of the house, and a reason not to get completely and utterly lost in Sebastian again.
“Love to, but I have plans with Sebastian later, so I can't stay out all night.” She stood, making her way to her bedroom in order to change out of the ratty yoga pants and oversized tee she’d thrown on to walk Sebastian out that morning.
Jade laughed in her ear. “I bet you do. That must be why he walked out of the office with his father practically skipping. With a hard-on.”
Brighton choked on nothing but air, Jade’s blunt comment giving her pause. “Re-really?”
More laughter echoed through the phone. “No, oh God, NO. But shit, now I'm thinking I wasn't far off.”
“Ah, it’s, no,” Brighton spluttered, shaking her head in denial despite the fact Jade couldn't see her. “I have to change, I'll see you in a bit.”
She hurried to end the call, but not before hearing Jade call out, “We aren't finished talking about this.”
I'll be sharing more than just drinks with Jade tonight.
“What's going on?” His father’s question caught Sebastian off guard, his mind surprisingly still on the meeting and meal they'd just finished with a potential new client and not on his girl.
Well, now his mind was on his girl.
“What do you mean?” He shook his head in an attempt to catch up, not quite knowing what his father was talking about.
“I can tell you've got something on your mind, son.” Peter Figures turned his head briefly towards his son, a frown on his face, before concentrating back on the road. “Something to do with Brighton, I assume. Have you done something to upset her, something you need to talk about?”
“Why would you ask me that?” He asked the question but he knew why. His and Brighton’s history. A not-so-pleasant history, and one that they'd barely started putting to rest.
“You know why.” It was, of course, a reasonable question, but the concern laced in his father’s tone of voice grated.
Sebastian couldn't stop the sigh forming on his lips. He also couldn't fully answer his dad. “I know. I promise you, Dad, I haven't upset her. We . . . we’re trying again.”
“But you're scared.” It was a statement, not a question. His father knew him well—certainly better than he had two years ago when he, like everyone around him, had missed the signs that Sebastian was in trouble. “Why?”
Why?
He should be annoyed at the way his father was speaking to him, his why making him angry. And it did. But he also understood. His parents wanted to know what was happening in his life and if they could help, because they, like Brighton, still felt the weight of responsibility that came from being blinded to his problems once before.
“We’re just starting to figure it out, Dad. What if something happens, something reminds her too much of everything, and I lose her again?” He dropped his chin to his chest, heaving a sigh. “I can't lose her again.”
“Is there more?” His father asked as if he knew that there was more, but Sebastian couldn’t be sure. He hadn't even really known about his concerns until his father had drawn them out of him.
“No.” He shook his head, though, really, he was still trying to figure it out. Was there more? Maybe.
His father didn’t let that pass, or take his answer at face value. Like any good parent, he pressed a little more. “You don't sound certain, Seb.”
“Because I'm not. What if . . .” The thought hit him upside the head, the weight of years of failure, mistakes and regret crashing down on him in one fell swoop. “What if I let her down again?”
His father slowed the car, made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction. “You won't.”
Sebastian couldn't bring himself to look at the face of his father, a face so similar to his own. He ran a hand over his beard, his tell, and began reciting prime numbers in his head in an attempt to calm the storm that had begun to rage. “I could.”
He barely got the words out.
Shit.
Suddenly, coming back here, back to Brighton seemed more selfish than ever. Y
es, the day he'd seen her again was a bad one for her but, otherwise, her life looked good. She was happy. She'd moved on without him, and she was risking her heart on him, again.
He didn't feel worth it.
“You won't.” His father's voice remained steady, a reassurance that he needed to hear but couldn't bring himself to believe, though Sebastian’s question remained unanswered. They’d been nearly back at the office so wherever this detour was taking them, it wasn’t work related.
He didn’t think.
“How do you know?” How can he be so sure? “And where are we going?”
“I have something to show you.”
Sebastian recalled the conversation he’d had with his father, the day after he’d seen Brighton for the first time. When the time comes, when you’ve made the future bright again, I have something to show you. When you’re ready. Did his father think him finally ready?
“And I know because I've watched you work hard with a single focus for two years. Seven hundred and forty seven days of rehab, therapy, atonement, and all for one reason.” Sebastian wanted to laugh, because it was just like his father to know the exact number of days this drama had been affecting their lives.
“Brighton,” Sebastian whispered her name reverently. Brighton was the reason, and the reward. God, he loved her so much it felt like a physical ache. A part of him he couldn't deny.
His heart.
His home.
His North Star.
“Yes, Brighton. You know now what it's like to lose, don't you? Not a hand of poker. Not money. Something else.” Sebastian raised his head to meet the eyes of the man making it all clear. “Love. You lost love, and not everyone makes it back from that. That's how I know. That’s how I know you won't let her down again.”
Sebastian couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that his father—his logical, number-loving father—was talking to him so passionately about love.
And making so much sense while doing it.
He wasn't finished though. “You gambled away everything, son, and that included Brighton’s love. If you doubt yourself, then you're still gambling. Are you still gambling?”
“No, sir.” He was sure of that. He had the desire at times, like now, but it no longer overwhelmed him. Not like being near Brighton did.
Not like his love for her, his need to do right by her did.
He thought back to his trip to the toy store a day earlier, the poker kit that should have tempted him but didn’t. His attention hadn’t been strayed by cards, the chance to gamble even in a play setting.
It had been on Brighton.
“Then, I'll say it again, you won't let her down.” The conviction in his father’s tone was telling, and the knowledge that someone he loved and admired believed so unwaveringly in him hit him hard.
As his father led him down roads that were somehow familiar, Sebastian sat quietly, thinking.
He thought about risks.
He thought about bets.
He thought about gambling.
He recited prime numbers until the car slowed to a stop, in front of a house.
The house.
The one his Bright Star had fallen in love with at first sight.
The one that was supposed to be the foundation of their future.
The one he’d lost at the same time he’d lost her.
“Jesus, Dad, I—” He cleared his throat, ran a hand over his beard, turned away and then back again. It was hard being there, too hard. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“You are.” Sebastian watched as his father walked up the path to the porch before turning and calling, “Let’s go,” and climbing the two steps leading to the front door.
“I don’t understand. Why are we here?” He’d wondered what had happened to the house after the bank revoked their loan and the real estate agent told him, with no small amount of disgust in his tone, that the house would be back on the market by the end of the day.
Something tickled the back of his mind. Declan’s words from weeks ago giving him clarity.
“She seemed to be fine for the first few days. She asked me to help her move into a small apartment she’d found in a building not too far from your old one, and I did. I still have a box of things in my storage room that she said you’d want if you came back. But then, she just sort of shut down. Didn’t answer her phone, the door, any questions. I got a message from her the night we moved her in, saying that your house—the house—had sold, and then nothing for more than a week. Your parents asked after her, said they had something for her. But she asked me to pass on the message that she’d contact them when she was ready. As far as I know, she never did.”
“Dad.” He stormed up the path, stood toe to toe with his father, questions forming one after the other in his mind. He asked the most important one first. “Who owns it now?”
“Do you remember the day you called to tell your mother and me that you two had bought a house? You were excited; I could hear it in your voice. And Bright was in the background, calling out all the things you missed as you described it to us.”
Sebastian didn’t remember. The day they’d signed the paperwork to put in an offer was a blur. It was the second time they’d walked through the split-level, ranch-style house and Brighton loved it just as much—if not more—than the first. With its quaint front porch, red door with two inlaid rectangular windows, and what she’d called “stunning hardwood flooring,” his girl had been smitten with the house.
It’s everything I ever pictured, Seb. It has to be ours. You agree, don’t you?
She had worked hard to save money to add to his, to make a down-payment for a place that fit them perfectly, scrimping and saving and cutting back on non-essentials. He still remembered arguing that Wi-Fi was an essential, a fact she knew but didn’t want to admit. She wanted a house, she’d told him, which they’d never want to leave.
And the house he was currently looking at, regret piercing his chest, was the one she’d set her mind on.
“I don’t want to move from place to place, Seb. Not like when I was little. I want to find the home that we’ll grow old in, then never leave.”
“Never leave?”
“Never.”
He smiled sadly at the memory. After growing up in a military household, and moving from base to base all over the country, what Brighton wanted more than anything was to put down some roots. And it was here that she’d thought she’d found it.
It was a looming reminder of all he’d done to lose her trust, and how hard he’d worked to earn it back.
“Dad,” he repeated, “who owns it now?” His voice had taken on an edge, he knew, but he was suddenly desperate to know. His father seemed to be holding back—first, not telling him this is where they were headed and, now, not telling him who owned the house.
“I was so proud of you both. You could have asked us to help, to give you the money, and we would have. Your mother and I, we loved her as much as we loved you. But you were both so insistent that you make your own way and, honestly, I couldn’t have been prouder.”
They had decided early in their relationship that they would do it on their own. She made him want to be better than the clichéd rich boy who relied on his parents for everything. He wanted to prove himself to her, show her he could support her. Take care of her. Not that she’d needed it. Her nomadic childhood had made her tough, strong and more than capable of taking care of herself. But he didn’t care. He loved her, so he wanted to do it.
And not just with money. With encouragement. Support. Love.
“Dad . . .” He was sure he knew where this conversation was headed, he just didn’t know why his father was drawing it out. He spoke each word clearly, as calmly as he could as his mind tried to make head or tail of the situation, looking his father in his matching blue eyes to indicate he wasn’t in the mood for games. “Who. Owns. It. Now?”
Answers. He was in the mood for answers.
“Brighton.”
>
The drive back to the office was mostly silent. His father, Sebastian assumed, was giving him time to process, to plan, to think.
That’s exactly how he used it.
Before climbing out of the vehicle, Peter Figures—not just his father, but the man handing him the final piece of his dream, of Brighton’s dream—said one last thing. “I know you won’t let her down, I know you’re ready. I said I was proud of you then, and I am still now. More so. I don’t doubt you, and I have never doubted you and her together.”
He said nothing more, leaving Sebastian alone in the vehicle after placing a key on the dash in front of him, following it up with a warm hand to his shoulder. An encouraging pat. A loving touch. That’s what his parents were, and that’s what he wanted to be. He sat in the car making plans until the sun set and the moon rose.
And when he finally climbed out of the car, he knew he had a long night ahead of him, but was sure, for the first time in a long time, that he was headed in the right direction.
He'd told Brighton she was the biggest gamble he'd ever taken, when he'd walked away to get better. And it was true. Loving her, being with her again, was all he wanted. What he'd worked so hard to achieve. And now, he had her back—his gamble had paid off.
He knew what it was like to lose, and this time, he would not let that happen.
He was confident. He wouldn't let her down, he would raise her up.
He’d give his Bright Star her dream.
Chapter Nineteen
Brighton spotted Jade immediately, her hair a beacon in the bar which they'd agreed was going to be their spot. She was perched on a bar stool, a half-drunk margarita in front of her, a good-looking guy in a suit beside her.
Making her way through the crowd, Brighton thought about how much she wanted to share with Jade. In such a short time, this pink-haired ball of sass had become someone she felt she could confide in. Jade hadn’t judged her for wanting to get a tattoo to match Sebastian’s, or for dilly-dallying—there’s that word again—about what to do.