I smiled at her. “What do you do when you’re not hanging out in airports, hovering over people and feeding them?”

Her smile fell, and she looked away. “I’m kinda between things.”

I took another sip of my coffee. “I know that feeling.”

“Where are you headed, Sebastian? Where’s home?”

It was my turn to frown. “I don’t think I’d call it home, but I’m heading to Vancouver.”

“You don’t look very happy about that.”

I shut my eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I’m not.”

Her voice was gentle. “Why are you going, then?”

I opened my eyes and looked into her soulful, patient gaze. I was about to tell her it didn’t matter, but suddenly I wanted to tell her the truth—because, to me, it did matter. It mattered a lot.

“I’m a musician. At least, in my heart I am. I’ve been traveling, trying to get a break, get someone to listen to my music. Things had been looking up, and I thought I’d finally gotten what I needed. I spent all my savings recording a CD. I put everything I had into it—in fact, I borrowed money to finish it.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. A big fat nothing. The guy I worked with got a better offer and walked away. My so-called manager told me he was done and moved on. So, I’m left with a bunch of CDs I can’t sell, no money in the bank, and not even enough to find a place to live.”

“Oh, Sebastian, that’s terrible.”

“My friend Chris loaned me enough to get me here so I could try to start something back up. But it’s not happening. So, now…” I sighed heavily. “I had to call my father, listen to his lecture and his lists of ‘I told you so’s’ and accept his offer of a job.”

“Well, maybe it won’t be so bad. You can work and save some money for your music, then try again.”

“Uh, no… My father’s offer came with conditions, Maggie.”

“What sorts of conditions?”

“No more music. No more chasing a ‘stupid dream’ that will never pan out. He told me it was time to grow up and act like a responsible adult, and the only way he would agree to help me was if I gave him the next five years. He paid off my debts, paid for this flight, and he’ll find me a decent apartment to live in.” I smiled sadly. “At least he didn’t insist I live at his place. Not sure I’d survive constant criticism twenty-four seven.”

Maggie gathered both my hands in hers, squeezing hard before releasing them. I found her touch oddly comforting. “You don’t get along well with your father?”

“No. I’ve never been the son he wanted. My head and heart have always been too filled with nonsense—according to him.”

“What kind of job will you be doing in Vancouver?”

“My father owns an insurance company.” Just the thought made me shudder.

I regarded Maggie for a quiet moment, then the words starting to come faster. “Knowing I’ll be spending my days behind a desk—pushing papers, attending meetings, issuing policies, dealing with claims, and be stuck doing it day after day, weeks on end—until the five years are up, makes me nauseous.” I paused. “I hate insurance.”

She nodded in sympathy.

I hung my head. “I know I should be grateful. Lots of other guys would be happy to have a job to go to. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I know, Maggie. I know that once I’m there, I’ll never get out. I’ll be there the rest of my life, growing old behind that desk, turning into a gray-haired old man like my father—angry and bitter at the world because life passed me by while I processed bits of other people’s lives.”

“You don’t have anything else you can do?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I have a hundred bucks in my wallet that I forgot to bring with me. Not a cent left in the bank. I sold or pawned everything I had, except for my guitar.” I glanced at the case reverently, then continued. “I spent the last three weeks pounding the pavement, looking for a job—anything that meant I didn’t have to go back there. I tried to go back to construction, but I couldn’t find anything permanent or even make enough to live on. I found nothing, and I can’t keep living on Chris’s couch. So I had to agree to my father’s terms.”

My head fell back against the seat. “I haven’t slept much since then.”

“Oh, Sebastian.”

“Pretty pathetic, yeah? A twenty-five-year-old guy going home to Daddy. A real loser.”

“You’re not a loser!” she hissed vehemently. “Life has dealt you some bad breaks. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in asking your dad for some help.” She sniffed. “He sounds like a pompous ass, though.”

I chuckled. “He is.”

“What about your mom?”

“She died when I was a kid.” I stroked the top of the guitar case. “This was hers. She loved to play, and she sang like an angel.” I paused and swallowed. “I don’t remember him being so disconnected or mean when she was alive, but once she died, he cut himself off from life…and me. We seemed to do nothing except butt heads after that—it’s one of the reasons I left.”

Tags: Melanie Moreland Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net