Thorned Heart (Cash Me Outside 2)

The only time I see the real him is when he’s too drained and exhausted to hide it. I’ve seen him in some emotional states over the last few years that have made my heart hurt for him.

He’s an artist.

He’s a songwriter.

He creates emotional music.

But all of that is wrapped up in a fuckboy rock star who doesn’t give a shit about anything but performing and getting laid.

I knock on his door, and a small voice answers.

“No.”

I huff a laugh. “No?”

“I don’t want to let you in.” He knew it was me.

That makes me happy even though it shouldn’t.

This is vulnerable Seb, not rock star Seb, and I just want to get in there so I can hold him and assure him everything’s okay.

I place my hand on his suite’s door. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The door cracks open and Seb’s dark eyes meet mine. His long brown frizzy hair is messy, his beard untamed.

“Can I come in?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I push my way inside the hotel room.

Seb’s shirtless, the bedsheets are crumpled, and the lighting in the room is dim. I can picture Seb’s big body in that bed, naked and writhing. The leaked image pops into my head, and I wince. I shouldn’t be thinking about Seb that way, but the photo doesn’t help me remember that.

Okay, time to get to business. “So, that text you sent.”

“I had no idea he took photos.” He has this panic to his voice I hate hearing from him. “If I did—”

“Hey, shh.” I step forward and rub his arms, but he refuses to lift his head to look at me. “I meant why do you think you fucked up when this is not your fault? Wait, how did you even find out about it? I’m usually the bearer of bad news when it comes to everything tabloid related.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was on my socials, and my phone started lighting up with tags.”

“I told you to delete those.”

“I get bored when insomnia hits.”

“There are healthier apps to go on than social media. You know that.”

Seb sighs. “I do. But it’s addictive.”

I can’t even fault him. When you’re a public figure, all those likes, shares, and comments are like crack, but there’s the ugly side to fame too, and Seb faces more than his fair share of bigots expressing their toxic opinions.

That might be another downfall to this—the comments about him being a gross gay guy who clearly has just finished having big bad gay sex with a man in the pictures—but it won’t be much different to the comments he usually gets on that front.

He hasn’t looked at me yet, so I lift his chin.

“Seb?”

Those almost black eyes pierce through me.

“It’s not your fault. What this guy did—whoever he is—he is responsible. Who is he?”

He steps out of my hold. “That’s where I fucked up.”

“You didn’t get a name.” There’s an edge to my voice, but shit, Seb’s not a regular person. He can’t do regular people hookups, and this is exactly why.

I don’t ask him much. If he’d caught the guy’s name, I could track down the source of the original photo and sue the fuck out of him.

“I got it,” Seb says sheepishly. “I just … forgot what it was.”

I pull up the photo again. “When was this?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Can you remember the exact date or venue?” I try to match the photo of the hotel room to my memory of what damn city that was, but we’re on the tail end of the US tour and have seen the inside of sixty venues in the past few months. They all blur together after a while. “San Antonio maybe?” I think I remember that particular headboard in Texas.

“I’m sorry, Thorne.”

I plaster on my smile that I give the guys when I don’t have great news. “Hey, this is not going to affect you or the band. I’m more worried how you’re taking it.”

Seb shrugs with a trademark smirk. “I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I have an amazing cock.” And there’s the fuckboy everyone thinks he is.

“You don’t have to do that with me, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Deflect your feelings with that armor of yours.”

Seb holds strong, but it doesn’t last. When he sees how serious I am, he deflates faster than a balloon. “You really want to know how I feel? Fuck that guy. Fuck everyone who has already shared that pic. Fuck all of them.”

I want to make this better for him, but I can’t. “Maybe look at it like that photo shoot you did for Out Artist magazine before the tour. You were naked for that.”

“That was tasteful, and my junk was mostly covered. I also consented to that. I don’t care about the image. It’s how it got out there that I’m pissed about.”