No one was after Seb. Or me. The night was still and calm. A perfect spring evening.
This still seemed dangerous. I could almost hear the opening orchestral notes warning of impending doom and bad choices ahead.
So naturally, I got behind the wheel and revved the engine to life.
“I’m going home. Not to a bar or nightclub or another party. Just home.”
“I don’t care where you’re going.” He buckled his seat belt and shoved his hand through his hair, shifting to face me. “I just…want out. And here you are. Like some kind of superhero.”
“Are you high?”
He chuckled as if remembering the last time I’d asked him that. “Fuck, I wish.”
The shadows set his handsome features in relief, making him into a caricature of himself. His nose looked longer, his chin pointier. His mask had slipped again, leaving him wild-eyed and exposed. This powerful man was a little broken. Maybe even a little unhinged. Yet, he was still so fucking beautiful.
“Okay…let’s go.”
We didn’t talk much. Seb fiddled with my radio station and made an off-the-cuff comment about how much he hated sappy love songs, but otherwise he was quiet. He typed a few messages on his cell and stared out the window at the city lights. He sat up taller in his seat when I veered east on the 101.
“Geez, I can remember when that was the Galleria,” he said in a low voice. “It was pretty popular in the eighties. Remember the movie Valley Girl?”
“Yeah, it was terrible.”
“It was cool in the eighties.” He tapped the window. “The Valley was cool back then too.”
“Were you cool?”
Seb gave a humorless laugh. “I thought so. To a degree. As long as I ignored my one glaring flaw, I could convince myself I passed for hip.”
“What flaw was that?”
“I liked boys.”
“Oh.”
We were quiet again.
I sensed a building storm and wasn’t sure how to approach it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure about anything. This wasn’t like the first night we met, driving across town, cradling burgers and milkshakes. We still didn’t know each other well, but we weren’t strangers anymore.
And I had a suddenly clear idea that he’d chosen to come with me for a reason…and it had nothing whatsoever to do with sex.
“What street do you live on?” he asked when I exited the freeway.
“Magnolia. By the junior high school,” I replied, turning right.
“I went to school there.”
I sneaked a sideways glance his way. “Really?”
“Yeah, we lived down the street from Notre Dame. My dad wanted to send us there…like good Catholics, but we couldn’t afford it,” he said softly. “Hey, do me a favor and turn on Greenbush.”
I obeyed, slowing to a stop at his instructions in front of a small box of a house with a gigantic tree in the front yard set far from the street.
“Your old house?” I guessed, fascinated by the direction my night had taken.
Standing on the fringe of greatness one second and peeking through windows in suburbia the next.
In this case, though, there was only one window and the drapes were closed to Peeping Toms. The nicely-tended home had a Leave It To Beaver sitcom feel. You know, the kind of wholesome neighborhood aura where parents let their kids sell lemonade on the corner and play catch in the streets without worrying they’d get hurt.
“Yeah. We moved here when I was ten.”
“So this was where the infamous paper route took place.” I leaned forward and peered out at the darkened street.
Seb nodded. “I had four blocks to cover. Rain or shine. The house looks the same. I don’t know why I thought she’d change anything.”
Huh?
“Who?”
“My sister.” He twisted to face me. “I paid the mortgage off for my parents years ago and handed over the title so they could do whatever they pleased with it. They left it to my sister.”
“She lives here?”
“Yes, she rents it now. You know…we haven’t spoken since Dad died six years ago. She’s just like him. Bitter and mean. It’s weird because she wasn’t that way when we were kids. She was funny and sweet, and protective. But she started buying religion like junkies buy drugs. Some people take solace in faith, others use it like a weapon. They judge what they don’t understand. Take sides and draw lines. It’s odd to know she’s right there”—he gestured wildly at the house—“and I’ll probably never see her again or have a real conversation with her. It’s like she died when he did.”
I furrowed my brow. “I thought you said both of your parents died before Oliver was born.”
Seb smiled. And I have to admit…it wasn’t a pretty smile. “Oh, you were listening.”
“I’m a very good listener.”
He fixed me with his signature intense stare as he reached for the handle. “Thank you for the ride. I’m gonna get out here.”
Wait.
What?
Seb was gone before I could ask what the fuck he was doing. Sure, he was a grown-ass man with the means and smarts to get around without assistance, but he wasn’t himself. He was edgy and shaky and filled with a kind of hate that spelled trouble. I couldn’t leave him here.