Nineteen
“Why didn’tyou tell me?” They sat in the music room—Seb at the piano, Henri in a nearby chair. Oh how he’d come to love the time they’d spent in this room. Not now.
“Why should I have told you? This isn’t your problem.” Seb idly stroked the piano keys, avoiding Henri’s scrutiny.
“How about because I’m your lover?”
“Are you?” Sebastian met Henri’s gaze and quickly glanced away again. “I thought you were a spoiled rock star who needed guidance. Sex was a bonus.”
Anger rolled back through Henri. “I’ve about had enough of your insults. Yeah, I’m a rock singer. No, I didn’t have years of training. No, I didn’t pay my dues your way. No, I don’t take care of my voice. But I’m sick and tired of you condemning me for being a bad person without knowing me first. Yes, I screwed up in the past, but have I ever,evermistreated you?”
“No.” Seb didn’t look up. “Not directly.”
What? “How have I hurt you indirectly?”
“Every time you leave. I knew you wanted me because I was the only one available. And while you’re here, I can dream. Whenever you leave, reality returns. Each time you leave and come back confuses me more. I’m nothing to you. Could never be anything to you.”
“You’re wrong.” Henri crossed the floor and stooped down by the piano bench. He cradled Seb’s face gently in his palms to avoid his bruises, and lifted. “You mean more to me than you realize. At first I thought it was the music. But now it’s more.” He shifted one hand down to Seb’s chest. Thethumpa-thumpaof the man’s heartbeat thrummed against his skin. His Seb, so warm, so alive. “You don’t have to put up with Charles. Leave. With me.” He hadn’t intended to make the offer, but now couldn’t do otherwise.
“And do what?”
Henri only meant to lighten the mood. “Let me be your patron.” He found himself on the floor while six-plus feet of pure fury stalked away.
Sebastian threw his hands into the air. “Ah, you’d be my pimp now, huh? And I’d still be the kept man. Tell me, would you at least make promises you plan to keep, or like Charles, will you offer me the world on a platter, only to snatch it back?”
Henri bolted to his feet. “Look at you! You’re one hell of a tenor. You don’t need him. You can go anywhere and sing.”
“Can I? Do you have any idea how many in the opera world have their hands in his pockets? A word in the wrong ear and I can come crashing down. All my hopes, all my dreams, crushed on one man’s whims. My own mother appointed him my guardian, and for years he’s guided my career. If I dared to tell the truth, no one would believe me. Either way, his word or mine, I’m ruined.
“I’m trapped. If I had any sense I’d kick you out, not risk him finding out you were here.”
“Why do you let him act like he owns you?”
“Because he does!” Sebastian stared out the window. Heavy snowflakes began to fall. “This house, my car. My lessons. All paid for by him. He makes sure I have to use enough of my pay to keep me broke and dependent. And he constantly reminds me that one wrong move and he’ll throw me out. Tenors are a dime a dozen.” He didn’t yell. He never raised his voice. Too easy to damage vocal chords.
“How long has this been going on?” Henri regretted the question the moment the words left his mouth. Did he honestly want an answer? He might have to give up his lucrative singing career to make license plates in prison if his “he needed killing” defense failed in court.
Sebastian whispered low. Henri strained to hear. “Since I was sixteen. About a week after my mother died. But this is the first time he let his temper get the best of him to the point I couldn’t hide the marks.”
Oh dear God, no. Henri closed his eyes for a moment, shutting his hand into a fist. Sixteen. Younger than Jenni. Younger than Henri when he’d made his first record deal. And no telling how old asshole Charles had been. At least thirty years older. An unreleased song languished on Henri’s mental hard drive: “He Needed Killing.” Mama Unger, or whatever her last name was, might not have known at the time, but she’d left her son in the worst possible hands. And Lucas should have fought harder for his son. Henri couldn’t change the past, but the future remained open. “Why did you sleep with me?”Give me something to work with here.
In a more authoritative tone, Sebastian replied, “Because I wanted to.” He scrunched his eyes closed. “Selfish of me, I know, but just once I wanted to know what it felt like to be with someone I chose of my own free will.”
If letting Henri past his guard, even a little, was intended to be selfish, Henri would never fault the man. They’d shared something precious—at least to Henri. “I have money. Let me help you.”
Folding his arms across his chest announced Seb’s decision loud and clear even without words. “I’m not letting you spend your money on me.” He focused on Henri, a stubborn glint in his eyes.
“Why not? If I don’t spend it on my friends, I’ll only blow it on hookers and cocaine.”
Sebastian’s mouth fell open. “Wha….”
Henri tried to force a grin that said,I’m joking—maybe.“How do you think my old band got its name?” The joke had grown old a long time ago. People weren’t supposed to believe the hype.
Sebastian dropped down onto the settee, face buried in his hands.
Oh crap. Open mouth, insert foot. “Sorry, Seb. Bad joke. But really, let me help you?”
“This isn’t your fight. I can’t allow you to rescue me. I have to get out on my own.”
