“Shea,” he said again, his voice muffled and pleading through the door. “Shea, you don’t understand.”
No, I didn’t. Why couldn’t he have told me? Because this was too big. Too much. Too close.
He pounded once more, before he landed a punch against the wood. A tiny, startled cry escaped me, and I winced at his sudden burst of unmistakable fury. A violent display of frustration. I could feel the energy behind it. The resentment and pain. But there was no chance I could face him right now, not when I didn’t know how to make sense of this blow.
Not when I no longer knew if I’d still recognize him.
A heavy, resigned breath reverberated through the slight crack in the jamb. It was as if I could feel that tether of energy snap when he finally gave up and retreated.
Swallowing hard, I pried myself from the door. Every cell in my body shook uncontrollably as I staggered toward the cheap, worn desk that rested in the middle of the near-dark room.
I had to see. Had to know.
Tamar had left me with a vague impression of who he was—what he was—and a bitter ball made up of my own resentment wedged itself somewhere deep in the well of my chest. My chest that quaked and trembled, stinging with the urge to purge this overwhelming emotion.
All I’d wanted was a simple life. Someplace safe and normal, out of reach of the limelight and lies, away from the brutal backbiters and vicious slanderers.
And I’d been foolish enough to allow some piece inside me to cling to the idea that he could become a part of it.
No doubt, he was just like the rest of them.
My heart throbbed painfully and my head involuntarily shook at the thought.
No.
How could I believe that? This man who I’d come to know in the most beautiful of ways. Profound ways I’d never experienced before. In the best of ways.
I slumped down into the office chair. For a few moments, I sat there in the dark, before I lifted an unsteady hand and brushed it against the idle mouse, bringing to life the dated monitor. The bright screen pierced the darkness, at the ready to shatter this childish fantasy I’d been living and shed light on the harsh reality.
My mother would have laughed at me. Reminded me I was nothing but a fool.
Of course, that would mean she’d have to speak to me, and she’d had no desire to do that in years.
I guess I’d had the illusion that Sebastian’s secrets belonged to the past and weren’t very much in charge of his future.
Sniffling, I wiped my face with my sleeve and did my best to see through the bleariness as I opened the Internet browser and typed Sebastian Stone into the Google search bar.
It’s something I could have done a million times. Something I should have done. But I felt compelled to respect the privacy of his past, refusing to force him to bring it out into the open. There was always shame when he spoke of it in the ambiguous way he did, and now it all made so much sense.
Sex, drugs, and rock and roll happen in California.
That voice. That incredible voice and the way he played.
The guys who looked as if they’d been plucked right from a magazine.
All the warnings Tamar kept giving me.
“Shit,” I choked barely above a breath. She knew. The whole time, she knew.
More embarrassment flooded my veins, my mind spinning and my heart feeling like it might cave in.
And maybe it was foolish to allow it to affect me this way, because there was no doubt harbored in my mind that Sebastian was hiding something from me, and I’d given him that space because he’d so blatantly asked for it.
But why remained the question.
My eyes dropped closed as I tried to gather myself. Slowly I opened them and just as slowly pushed the enter key.
The page loaded and I was instantly overwhelmed.
On the left was a long list of links, but my eye was immediately drawn to the biography box on the right with the collage of pictures at the very top. His beautiful, rugged face framed in each one.
Hard.
Angry.
Fierce.
I read the bio.
Sebastian Stone is an American musician from Los Angeles, California. Stone is a founding member and lead guitarist and vocalist of Sunder.
Born: November 21, 1988 (Age 26), Los Angeles, CA
Music Groups: Sunder
God, I’d never even heard of them, secluding myself in my own private world—a world I’d established for my daughter, a bubble to keep us protected and safe.
Sebastian Stone had come crashing right through it.
And I hadn’t had the first clue.
I turned to the list of websites and article links running along the left and clicked on the first one—a recent article featured on one of those on-line celebrity sites.
That lump in my throat throbbed as I read through it. It was the kind of article that was snarky and filled with the writer’s own insinuations.