Right. The job offer.“Mom already mentioned the opening in your company. I appreciate it, but I have my training.”
“What?” David blinked. “Oh, the business analyst position? Well, there’ll always be a job for you when you’re ready, but we can talk it over another time. No, this is about your mother.”
“What about her?”
“Don’t you think she’s lost weight? She looks tired, too.”
Seb studied Celeste as she said goodbye to the minister. She did look tired, but then the woman had worked eighty-hour weeks his entire life.
“Are you stopping over long this time?” David asked.
“No, I fly back to England tomorrow night, then to Vancouver for training at the end of next month.”
“Maybe check in with your mom more often. There’s something … going on.”
Before Seb could press his uncle for more details, Celeste approached and their car pulled up to take them back home.
David bent awkwardly to air-kiss Celeste’s cheek and said goodbye, his parting look to Seb one of concern.What the hell?Seated at the back of the car, Seb considered David’s words as Celeste gazed quietly out of the window. His mom did look slimmer, and her eyes were bloodshot.
“England must agree with you, Sebastian,” she said, as the car pulled out toward Blair Street. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”
The last time being at his father’s funeral, two days after the Vegas shitstorm, when Strive had threatened to terminate his contract and Seb had still been struggling to cope—sick, tired and disgusted—at how his father had died. A few hours after the funeral, Seb had flown back to Vancouver, and a couple of weeks after that, had jumped on the flight to England. Those few strained phone calls were the only contact he’d had with Celeste since.
“I’m back on track,” Seb told her. “Strive have renewed my contract and the Get Living Campaign has gone really well.”
“Are you still with Helen?”
“Yes.” Seb blinked, studying his mom as she continued to gaze out of the window. He hadn’t mentioned Helen’s name before. “Have you been reading up on me?”
“A little. She seems nice. Hopefully I’ll get to meet her before you move on to the next one.”
Seb didn’t know what to make of that, unsure what surprised him most; his mother’s assumption that he’d inevitably break up with Helen, or the fact that she’d taken an interest in his life. Uncle David had a point … something was going on, though Seb couldn’t think what.
Focusing on the familiar streets back to his childhood home, Seb’s thoughts turned immediately back to Helen. What would she say about Celeste’s odd behavior?
Would he even tell her?
A warm feeling settled inside him.Yeah. He could imagine telling Helen all about this trip. He could imagine her listening, imagine her soothing words. Her acceptance and understanding. That shaky platform seemed to steady a little, but when the car stopped outside his parents’ home, Seb lost balance again recalling his lifelong vow that he’d never get attached. Never get married. Never be tied to one person.
He looked up to his old bedroom window.Man, he’d been a miserable child living here. God knew what would’ve happened to him and his mental health if he hadn’t had his swimming to keep him focused and disciplined.
Waiting for Celeste to unlock the front door of the house, Seb steeled himself against the memory of the last time he’d visited. The day he’d walked into the last argument his parents would ever have. The day he’d been too hell-bent on escaping the bullshit that had always corroded his soul to have spared a few minutes to check on his father.
Seb followed his mom inside. Other than there being no raised voices and no heated discussions, the house had barely changed since he’d lived here as a boy. The smell of coffee still hung in the air. The walls were still beige, the doors still white. The same paintings of nineteenth-century peasants harvesting crops were still on the wall and the door to his dad’s study was still shut.
“Your father’s office returned some of his things. They’re in that box.” Celeste nodded to a plastic crate in the hall as she headed to the kitchen, her heels clacking briskly on the tiled floor.
With a brief glance at the crate, Seb followed her. “What’s in it?”
“I haven’t looked.” Celeste pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and reached up into a cupboard for a glass. “Would you like one, Sebastian?”
He watched Celeste fill hers to the brim. “No, thanks. I’ll make coffee.”
Nothing had changed in the kitchen either. He knew his way around. Every sound echoed clinically—so unlike where he’d been living these past two months, surrounded by Helen’s clutter and trinkets.
Celeste sipped her wine. “Your father didn’t die alone, Sebastian.”
Seb spilled coffee on the pristine marble worktop. “What?”
