Give him a chance, why don’t you?Maybe Lucas sent those CDs to familiarize Sebastian with Henri’s work. Made perfect sense. Or perhaps Sebastian didn’t want to come across all fan boy. What if he didn’t like the CDs?
Honesty. If Henri wanted honesty, he had to give it. He put the CDs back and slipped from the room. If Sebastian wanted to tell him, he would.
* * *
Henri staredat his “might read” e-mail folder. After weeding out the hundred or so he had no intention of opening, only a few remained: twenty-two from his mother, several from the rejected managers, and only one worthy of his attention.
Hi, Henri,
I really wish you and Mom would patch things up. I miss you and I’m tired of us not getting to talk.
Love,
Jenni
Damn. Sebwas right. Sooner or later, Henri would have to work things out with his folks, for his sister’s sake. He whooshed out a sigh and opened an e-mail from his mother long enough to read the words “selfish” and “spoiled.” He deleted the message and its twenty-one brothers and sisters.
Fuck, but he couldn’t get his life back together fast enough.
He tiptoed downstairs to get a drink, not wanting to disturb Seb if he was sleeping.
“Put me down every minute, and I gotta say good-bye.”
What the hell? Henri crept to the kitchen and peered through a crack in the door. Sebastian alternately swept the floor and used the broom handle for a microphone.
“I’ve got a date with a bullet, got a date with a gun.”
Well, that solved the mystery of whether Seb liked Henri’s music. And damn did the man know how to sing.
Henri ducked when Sebastian turned around. Oh shit. Maybe he didn’t like the song.
Tears streamed down his face.
* * *
The mountainpath seemed lonely without Sebastian, but Henri needed to clear his head. For all they’d shared a house and much time together in the past three weeks, he still knew very little about the guy. Parents gone, grew up in opera, yet listened to Henri’s music. He knew Lucas, but they couldn’t be close—Sebastian didn’t talk about him much—or anyone else. No personal photos adorned the walls of his home, and quite frankly, the pictures Henri found on the Internet of Sebastian Senior didn’t resemble Junior. The man had inherited his mother’s curls and eyes, though. He still reminded Henri of someone. But who?
And last night he’d been crying alone in the kitchen. Not going in and finding out what was wrong was possibly the hardest thing Henri had ever done. Even harder than giving up cocaine. And hookers. But Sebastian was a private man and likely would have clammed up and not shared what bothered him. Hell, Henri’d been there.
Sebastian Unger remained an enigma. And isolated. In the past three weeks, Henri’s voice mail would have chimed constantly if he hadn’t set his cell phone to silent. And each evening he triaged hundreds of e-mails. To Henri’s knowledge, the house phone had only rung twice, and Sebastian didn’t often carry a cell phone. What kind of desolate life did he lead?
Control. He kept a tight fist on control. The only time he let loose was when Henri coaxed him to go for a ride. On the Harley the man was free, and never more beautiful than in those moments glimpsed in the Harley’s rearview mirrors: tousled hair peeking out from under the helmet, smile as wide as the Colorado sky.
It dawned on Henri—here he was free too. Here he’d been just himself, not Henri the rock god. Except for a few investments made online in the wee hours, he’d not touched his money. He’d been a mere man, enjoying time with another man who wanted nothing but to help him perfect his craft. Sure, Sebastian got paid, but the attention he gave to Henri, the extra touches, couldn’t be for hire. And certainly not the kisses.
Time to show some appreciation.
Sebastian was known in town—Henri might be recognized as well, meaning a night in public wasn’t going to happen. Especially since Lucas’s warning. If Sebastian hadn’t been kissed much, chances were he’d not been properly romanced either. Before Henri left to return to LA, he’d remedy the lack. He never wanted to see tears in the man’s eyes again.
* * *
“How’s thingsgoing, Henri?”
“Fine, Doc.” Henri stretched out on his bed to gaze at the mountains. So serene. Life moved at a slower pace here, which suited him fine. “I haven’t had to take any emergency pills, just my normal meds.”
“Good. Have you thought about your future?”
Henri pictured his counselor, back home in LA, with the noise, the traffic, the smog. Much better to stare out the window at the blue Colorado sky. “You know I’m gay, right?” Might as well lay the cards on the table.
