"Please. Just tell me where he lives. Conrad said he wasn't feeling well, his phone's off, and I was stupid enough not to learn where he lives. We've only stayed in my place so far."
Ethan lifts a brow in question, but I don't have time for this.
I'm worried about Sebastian. A gut feeling tells me there's something wrong.
"Fine," he sighs. "I'll tell you where he lives, but if he's pissed off, you'll have to protect my head."
"Thank you."
He texts me the address. It's fifteen minutes away. I set the GPS and drive as fast as I can without breaking the law.
My hands grip the steering wheel as all kinds of scenarios run through my head. Did he suddenly get sick? Did he have a cold? But he looked fine earlier. Did I do something or say something I shouldn't have when we were with his father?
Fuck. I'm sick with worry.
It's not like Sebastian to leave without telling me. Especially since we had plans to go over to my place after our shift again.
When I reach his apartment complex, I hurry to the elevator. He lives on the top floor, and luckily, the security didn't stop me.
His apartment is the only one on this floor, and part of me wonders how he's able to afford it, but the thought is pushed to the back of my mind. I ring the doorbell and wait, but there's no response.
Hitting the door with a fist, I scream his name, "Sebastian. It's me. Open the door."
No answer.
What if he's too sick to get up and open the door?
My eyes drop to the keypad. Fuck it. First, I tried his birthday, but it's not that. I have probably two more attempts. I rack my brain for what Sebastian could possibly use as a code.
The thought of my birthday crosses my mind, and I almost dismiss it, but decide to give it a shot.
The lock clicks.
Fuck, little one. I can't believe you're using my birthday.
I tear inside, calling his name, "Sebastian?"
The living room is empty. His bedroom too. For a second, I think maybe he went to the emergency room until I hear a faint noise from the bathroom. My stomach drops, and adrenaline floods me.
With a few strides, I reach the door and twist the handle.
"Sebastian!" I scream his name as my heart stops.
The sight knocks the air out of me.
I lunge forward, grab him from the tub, and drag him up. He gasps and chokes, water streaming down his face. I hook an arm under his waist and another under his legs, hauling him out. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor with him locked against my chest.
"Sebastian," my voice cracks.
I scan his body frantically, bile rising in my throat as I see his once white shirt now painted in his blood. That's when I spot the cut on his thigh. For a minute, I'm just frozen in horror. What would have happened if I hadn't come on time?
I shiver and tighten my hands around him.
Now's not the time to lose my mind.
"I'm fine, Daddy," he rasps.
His eyes are startlingly clear.
