Sebastian studied the card and placed it on the nightstand. “Yes, I will.”
Henri held Sebastian until gentle rumbles announced his sleeping, then he got up to gaze out over the city. What good were fame and success without anyone to share them with—withoutSebto share them with?
And here was poor Seb, with no one to call his own, too proud to take the offered hand. Henri stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door. He had phone calls to make. No way in hell would he let Seb out of his sights again. Sooner or later, he’d convince the man to let him help.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Lucas growled. At least he answered the phone, though he sounded groggy. He still had a job.
“Your son was beaten black and blue. He’s in my bed.”
“What the fuck? I swore if you ever hurt him….”
“Save your threats for his fucking patron. Now, you have two choices here: you can tell Sebastian you’re his father and try to have a relationship with him, or I’ll tell him and he’ll hate you for not coming forward.”Walk through fire for love.They’d only been words strung together when Henri penned that song, meant to appeal to his teen and twentysomething fans who still believed in love and happily ever after. He meant those words now.
“You’re a real bastard when you want to be.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Bastard When You Want to Be” added itself to Henri’s mental “Songs to be Written” folder.
Some of the anger left Lucas’s snarl. “How is he? Will he press charges?”
“As well as can be expected, and no. Deep down, I believe he feels he deserves to be treated badly.”Please, let him call Dr. Worthington.
“Anything I can do?”
Anger brought bile up Henri’s throat. Anger at Charles, anger at himself and Lucas for not protecting Sebastian, and anger at his own dad for not being much of a father. “He won’t let me help him, why would he let you?”
“What have you offered?”
“Money. A place to stay.”
“Give him what he needs.”
“He needs money and a place to stay.”And me.
Lucas spoke calmly, the way he had the day they’d met, offering the voice of reason. “Those are the same things Charles offered. What he needs most is a career and a way to earn his own way in life. His dignity.”
“And how can I offer him that?”
Lucas’s harsh exhale wafted through the phone. “Remember how I told you I’d approached his mother with a project idea?”
“Yes?”
“She was interested at first, but in the end turned it down.”
“What was it?”
“A contemporary take onPhantom of the Opera.”
“Remakes are a dime a dozen.” Even Henri had seen one or two.
“This one’s placed in modern times, and based in an inner city.”
Oh, really? A mental image flashed through Henri’s mind of The Phantom in a high-rise office building instead of beneath a theater. “Go on.”
“The phantom is an aging rocker, disfigured in a car wreck. He hides out in his apartment all day, and only ventures out at night. A young singer moves into his building. He takes her under his wing, but never shows her his face.”
Phantom of the Opera, another secret obsession he’d never reveal to the world. Damn, but Henri had crushed on the latest movie phantom. Ah, the fantasies he’d had… which now coalesced into a clear image of him and Seb in the starring roles. “Can she be a he?”
