Chapter Fifteen
“Shit.” Seb tapped the screen on his mobile phone. Dead. Nothing. He’d run the blasted battery down and still had a couple more phone calls to make. That last chat to Kenneth had obviously gone on for far longer than he’d realised. Might be time to fit a landline!
Since getting home from the Royal, Seb had focused all his energy on finding out if the Drops could be released from their Armstrong Records contract to be free to sign with someone else. A partnership with Sony would elevate him, and the Drops, right to the top. Mainstream, mass appeal. Amazingly, those at AR had agreed to let Seb out of their contract early, making it even easier to sign his rights over to Kenneth. An American tour looked ready to go. He just had to get the agreement from the other two, which would be easy enough. Wave a few pound signs under their noses and they’d be up for it.
He rummaged through the drawer in his music room, finding a charger and plugged it into the socket on the wall. Then he noted the time on the clock above the door. The timepiece that Jay had insisted on in order for Seb to realise how long he spent in there. Except, this time, it spelt more of a concern as to how long Jay had been missing. Could it be a good sign that he’d been at the club for most of the day? Perhaps even training with the squad? Or, it could be West Ham sending Jay on his marching orders, retirement at twenty-four. Which, actually, wouldn’t be the disaster that Seb had been led to believe. Without football in the way, both of them were free to live their lives the way they wanted, no constraints. But either way, Seb was buzzing to tell Jay his news.
Humming a tuneful melody, he danced his way across the hallway into the kitchen. He might as well get a start on the preparations. When he opened the fridge, the two bottles of Bollinger wedged in the door and nicely chilled clanged against each other. Seb smiled, floating on a woozy high. It seemed like everything was coming together. Finally. Tonight was a celebration. Not quite the one Seb had planned on using the champagne he’d ordered from Reg at the Court Yard for, but a celebration nonetheless. Not only had all the crap from his past been put into some kind of box with the lid firmly closed, and not only had Seb just landed one of the most lucrative deals of his musical career, but that Jay was stepping out with him. Okay, bad analogy, what with his injured knee and everything. But Jay had taken inches to brave the media with him. Their photo had been everywhere. Their relationship had been talked about on chat shows, radio programmes and online forums. Seb wasn’t being hushed anymore. And that meant more to him than anything.
He rummaged through the food contents; his brief flick through Jamie Oliver’s cookbook earlier had inspired him to attempt an actual dinner. Normally, he’d have suggested a takeaway and got the eye roll from Jay about it. So he figured a home-cooked meal would suffice in offering Jay condolences if his day at West Ham hadn’t been a successful one, and nothing said ‘I love you’ like a home-seared rib-eye steak. It seemed easy enough for even him to manage. Whack a bit of salad leaves beside it and Jay couldn’t complain. And if Jay came home with good news, all the better. They’d both be celebrating.
He’d got as far as taking the griddle pan out of the newly found hidden drawer when the front door clanged open.
“Hey,” Seb called out to the hallway. “You better be hungry, as I’m starting dinner. And, no, before you make the jibe, your boyfriend has not been abducted by aliens and replaced with an upgraded model.” He scanned through the other cupboards above his head for the herbs, spices, and other whatnot he needed, when Jay appeared at the archway. “Take a seat. We’re celebrating. I got some fucking awesome news. Have you been at the club all this time?”
When Jay didn’t move, Seb peeped out from behind the cupboard door. Oh shit. That look on Jay’s face meant that scenario one was obviously in play. Bad news was affront. Seb would have to try his damnedest to make Jay see that it wasn’t the end of the world. That there was more to life than football, and that he was going to offer him the chance of a lifetime.
“No.” Jay’s voice was deep, eerily so.
“Oh, right. Where you been? And you’re okay with steak, right? Rib-eye? I know it’s the fatty one, but it’s a top-quality cut from the butcher’s. And I’ve checked the Jamie Oliver recipe and apparently the man says it’s fool proof, so if a guy from Essex can do it, so can a public schoolboy drop-out from West Kensington. Of course, we all know that means I will now fuck it up. But you’ll smile sweetly and love me anyway, right?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?”
“Huh?” Seb ripped open the plastic butcher’s bags and prodded the tender meat. That was proper steak. Thick cut, locally sourced, and cost as much as the Bollinger. Let’s seriously hope I do not ruin this.
“I called you.”
Seb ground salt and pepper over each rib-eye, turning them over and slapping each on the chunky wooden chopping board. “You did? Sorry, I’ve been on that phone all bloody day. It’s just run out of battery. Did you need a lift? Rare or medium? And, what did the club say?”
“I’d tell ya if you stop firing questions at me.”
Seb darted his gaze to Jay still hovering at the doorway. “Sorry.” He smiled and wriggled his shoulders, trying to ruffle out his antsy pants or he’d never let Jay speak. “I’m just a little psyched.”
“Why?”
“All in good time, baby.” Seb winked, then sprinkled the olive oil into the griddle pan. “What happened at the club?” He needed to know Jay’s outcome first in order to choose which way he was going to deliver his epic newsflash.
“Much the same. Light training by myself. Slow and steady. Build up to full fitness.”
“Okay, well, that’s positive, surely?”
“I guess.”
Seb washed his hands in the sink, shooting a concerned glance over his shoulder. That wasn’t the look of a man who had received good news. And Jay still hadn’t ventured into the kitchen. It made things a little awkward to figure out the best way to explain what Seb was so excitably restless about. “That took all day?”
Jay’s sudden burst of laughter bounced off the kitchen units and he scraped his cap off, ruffling out his hair and spun it onto the island. “No.”
“Okay…” Seb twisted, leaning back against the counter. Was there some joke he was missing out on? “Care to elaborate?”
“I met up with Riley.”
“Who’s Riley?”
“That old mate of mine who wanted to tap me up for the clothing endorsement deal.”
“You didn’t tell me he was an ‘old mate.’ How’d you know him?”
“Football.”
Seb tutted through a fond smile. “Naturally. Wait, does that mean you’re considering it?”
Jay shrugged. “I went to a studio. Did a few test shots.”
“Wow. My boyfriend wants to be a model. And what’s that?” Seb pointed to a bunch of papers Jay held in his hand.
“The contract.” Jay hobbled into the kitchen and slapped the papers down on the island.
Seb scraped his bottom lip. Jay’s non-conversational tones was making him edgy. “You want me to check over it after dinner?”
“Don’t bother. I signed it already.”
Seb leaped away from the sideboard and stumbled forward. “You what?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Seb tried to get a handle on his seeping annoyance. After everything. All the talks about staying away from the media, being careful what they said, or did, living in the shadows. Had Jay just gone and signed over his image? Without talking it through?
“Why didn’t you check it over with me first?” Seb aimed for keeping his voice calm, collected. He was sure he pulled it off. Until he met with Jay’s steely glare back at him.
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
Seb gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. “So you bring it home and I check it.”
“Couldn’t be too sure you’d be here, could I?”
“So you wait! Jay, for fuck’s sake! Do you even know what you’ve signed? Did you read it?”
“I ain’t a fucking imbecile, Seb. I can fucking read. No matter what everyone thinks of us footballers.”
Seb was a little taken aback by how Jay spat that at him. This evening was not going to plan, and it seemed, if Seb didn’t know any better, that Jay had been gunning for an argument from the moment he’d stepped into the kitchen.
“Are you all right?” Seb had to ask, regardless of any outcome.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jay folded his arms, and shrugged, a stance full of evasive ambivalence. What the fuck was going on?
“I don’t know. You’re all…tense.” Seb waved a hand over Jay’s rigid form. He didn’t want an argument. Not tonight. Not ever, really. But tonight had meant to go so differently. “Look, I’ll read it later, find a small print clause or something so they can’t use your image for certain things.”
“Like what? It was a few test shots, Seb. That was it.”
“Jay, baby, you’ve have no idea what you’ve just allowed them to do with your fucking image, do you? No-one signs something on the first show! You take it home, you consult your legal team, and you cross check. Surely, you know better than that! Fuck, Jay! What happens when your face gets plastered everywhere, nice little quote next to it slagging off something or other. ‘Vote BNP and fuck everyone who don’t agree’, Jay Ruttman, West Ham. Shitting, fucking, bollocks, Jay! How well do you even know this guy?”
“West Ham recommended him as my agent. But I knew him from back in the Academy.”
“The Academy?”
“Yeah. I played him a few times on the circuit.”
“Played him? Like, he was on your team?”
“No. He was an opposition. He got dropped same time as me.”
“Why’d he get dropped?”
Jay heaved a deep breath. “’Cause we had a fight.”
“We? As in the royal we? Or you and him?”
There was a brief pause where Seb couldn’t get his eyes wide enough and Jay stared back, those usually beatific blue eyes darkening with each passing moment.
“He’s the bloke I beat up. Over Tom.”
Seb’s mouth dropped open. “What the actual fuck?”
“Don’t start.” Jay turned away and if he felt guilty about what he’d just admitted, it didn’t show. Instead it was pure frustrated anger flickering across his pale features. “I ain’t in any mood for it.”
“I will fucking start!” Seb flapped his hand, irritation surging through him. Fuck trying to be calm and defuse the situation. What Jay had just done was beyond dumb. And he couldn’t fathom why Jay would have done all this without consulting him. “You just signed an Image Rights contract, a fucking Use of Likeness legal binding fucking document that allows a man access to use your face for his goddamn, fucking pleasure and then you tell me it’s the homophobic wanker that you beat the shit out of, earning you both a place on the dole queue.”
“I was seventeen. It earned me a place back at school.”
“Details!” Seb’s voice hit higher decibels than his professional standard amps would have and he couldn’t control his rage. “Did you not think this bloke might want some kind of retaliation? Get back at you for not making it as a professional? Because of you, queer boy, he might have a fucking vendetta! Like that arse hole who fucked up your knee? Why the shitting, fuck did you not tell me all this before you fucking went?”
Eerily calm, Jay stepped forward. A breath away from Seb, he asked, “Do we tell each other everything, then?”
“Of course we fucking do!”
Jay cocked his head. “Where were you today?”
“Here. Sorting out my deal with Sony.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I was going to tell you all about it whilst we ate this fucking romantic dinner that you have subsequently ruined, FY fucking I.”
In a childish sulk, Seb grabbed the steaks and threw them slap-bang into the swing bin. He paced the end of the kitchen, his chest ready to explode, all while Jay’s blue glare followed every vexed stomp. How had this gone so fucking wrong? This morning, everything had seemed rosy, golden, bright rainbow colours floating around them both as their unified image had been seen in every tabloid. Now this clusterfuck of epic proportions, and Seb had no idea what had brought them here.
Seb paused, hands on hips. “What’s happened? Is it because of the picture in the paper? Did the club tell you it was wrong? Did they say you need to ditch me? Is it because of your knee? Because you can’t play football?”
“You tell me, Seb.” Jay stared at him. Challenging him. And he might as well have slapped Seb around the face.
It was the picture. It had to be. So Jay hadn’t been happy about stepping out in the media? That had all been a front. Football was clearly still more important to him than their relationship was. One day back at the club and Jay was, what, running back to the closet? Fucking aces! That’s why he’d gone and done the photo shoot. To get him back in the football limelight. To segregate himself from Seb. From who he was and had made inroads to being. Jay could be a fucking icon! Instead, he shied away. Didn’t talk about it, didn’t include Seb. Hurt didn’t even begin to describe this one.
Jay opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell cut between them.
“Ignore it.” Seb stared at him. He needed this argument over and done. He had to know where he stood, if being swept under the carpet would be his entire life.
“Like everything, huh?” Jay pushed away from the counter and headed toward the front door.
Seb followed him and was about to yell a dozen more obscenities at Jay’s back, but after Jay had yanked open the front door, a sobbing Ann collapsed onto Jay’s chest.
“Hey, hey.” Jay hugged Ann, stroking a hand through her hair. “What’s up? What’s happened?”
Seb staggered closer and met Jay’s concerned stare back at him. Breathing out his annoyance, Seb shut the door behind Ann.
“I told my mum.” She sniffled. “I told her I was keeping the baby. I can’t get rid of it, Jay, I can’t.”
“Shit.” Jay tugged Ann away to look her in the eye. “It’s all right. It is.”
“Is it?” Ann hiccupped.
Jay raised his chin toward Seb and mouthed the word ‘tissue’. Seb ran off, then returned with a bunch of toilet paper from the downstairs loo and handed it over. The trumpeting blow of Ann’s nose put things between he and Jay into some kind of perspective. Perhaps her intrusion might smooth things over for them? Make them realise there were bigger problems to have.
“How am I going to manage?” Ann shook her head and her brown eyes filled with tears. “My mum said I was stupid. That I’d never cope on my own. That I was going to end up like her. She wanted much better for me, not to live in some rundown council estate in east London, single with child, like she had. That I should have stayed with Lucas as he could’ve given me a right, proper life. She’s right.”
“She ain’t right.” Jay gripped the top of her arms. “And you ain’t alone. You got me.”
“And me.” Seb ran a soothing hand across Ann’s back.
Jay’s blue eyes over her head were filled with something Seb couldn’t place. Was it remorse? Regret for their stern words earlier? He couldn’t tell, and ached to find out, but Ann had to come first right then.
“Come on.” Jay slipped a hand around Ann’s shoulders and steered her through to the kitchen, setting her down on one of the island stools. “What about the dad?”
Thinking it best to leave them to it, Seb slid the contract from under Jay’s arms and leaned on his elbows to read through. Might as well look for some hope within the right to privacy clause.
“I have to tell him, I know.” Ann sniffled into the tissue and grunted. “I just don’t want to be that bitch who ruins his life as well.”
“Why would it ruin his life?” Jay reached for the kitchen roll, tearing a piece off and handing it to her.
“Because he won’t want this. Me.”
Straightening, Seb rested his hip on the island and folded his arms. “I think you might be surprised there.”
“About what?” Ann peered up, her puffy brown eyes glistening.
Seb felt for her, he did. He knew a little of what she must be going through. Perhaps without the added pressure of a baby. But he knew what it was like to feel unwanted. “You never really know what someone wants.”
Ann snorted. “Cryptic.”
Jay twisted, facing Seb. “That a fact?”
“Seems to be.” Seb didn’t falter his stare.
“Have I interrupted something?” Ann darted her bloodshot eyes from Seb to Jay.
It looked like Jay was about to respond, and Seb would have quite liked to know what that response would have been. But the doorbell sang out again and Seb decided to go answer it this time. It wasn’t like he was needed where he was.
“Why are you not answering your fucking phone?” Noah demanded after Seb had opened the door.
“Sorry, dude.” Martin poked his head above Noah’s. “We’ve been trying to call you all day.”
Seb ushered them both in. “Phone out of battery and in the other room. I said I’d call you back.”
“I know, but Noah needed to talk to you. Like, stat.” Martin hopped his gangly legs into the house.
Noah had already made strides toward the kitchen and Seb slammed the door, following them both through the hallway before practically bumping into the back of Noah hovering at the entrance archway.
“Maybe we should just go into the next room?” Seb suggested, waving his arms to get them both to move away from the desperate scene in the kitchen.
Ann stood and brushed down her crumpled top, then addressed Jay as she spoke. “Don’t worry, I’ll go. I’ll speak to you later.”
As she tried to slide past, Noah grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.” He focussed wide, pleading blue-grey eyes on Ann. “Don’t leave. I know.”
Ann swallowed. “What? How?”
“Him.” Noah nodded to Seb behind him
Seb’s mouth hung open for the second time and he tried to find some words, but was oddly fascinated at the scene in front of him. So he shut up, and listened.
“I’m guessing I’m your only bit on the side, so the baby is mine?” Noah rubbed his thumb along Ann’s wrist.
“What?” Jay stood, brow furrowing.
Ann spun back. “Jay—”
“He’s the father?” Jay flapped a hand at Noah. “Him?”
Ann pursed her lips, nodding with a shameful hang of her head.
Jay directed his attention back to Seb and Seb was hard-pressed not to flinch at the sight. “And you knew?”
“No.” Seb shook his head. “No. I suspected. I didn’t know for sure.”
“And, what, you kept that from me?” Jay’s glare was hard, to the point Seb thought daggers might spring from each eye.
“It wasn’t my place to tell you. It was a suspicion. That’s all.”
Jay snorted. “How long have you suspected?”
Seb shrugged. “A while. When the dude said he didn’t have her number back in New York. He only deletes the ones who dump him. He keeps the others just in case.”
“New York? That’s two years ago. My best mate, fucking about behind her boyfriend’s back with your drummer? You didn’t think that would be something I might wanna be clued in on? That I might wanna help her with?”
“She’s a consenting adult, Jay.”
“She had a boyfriend!”
“Love and sex are two different things.” Seb couldn’t believe he’d let that slip out. It hadn’t even sounded like his own voice that had said it. Stephen’s. Seb shuddered.
“Is it now?” Jay glared at him, face reddening.
“Jay—” Ann wriggled her wrist free from Noah’s grip. “Calm down. I’m sorry. It ain’t Seb’s fault. It’s mine. And now I have to face the consequences.”
“We both do.” Noah grabbed her hand and held it to his lips. “I want this, Ann. All of it. I always did, but you never let me prove myself. You always went back to him. That’s the only reason I ever went with those other girls. To make you jealous. So that’s why I’m here. To tell Seb I can’t do this American tour. I don’t want to leave you and not be here for our baby for two years of its life. It just ain’t right.”
“What?” Jay stumbled back.
“Hang on, hang on.” Seb held out his hands to calm the situation down. This was racing forward so fast he had a bigger head rush than when he’d downed a bottle of Jack before a gig. Could do with some of that now. “We’ve not even discussed the US tour. Not the details.”
“You said two years.” Noah nodded to Martin for confirmation.
“Yeah, dude, your phone call said a two-year round tour.” At least Martin had the decency to cringe a little. “I had to tell him, ’cause he’d told me about Ann.”
“Yes, okay, I did.” Seb stuttered. This was not how he had wanted to deliver the news. “The finer details haven’t been planned. That’s the next stage. Once we sign.”
“But you didn’t discuss it with us.” Martin gained an inch of confidence to match his height to deliver that. “You should have asked us first, if we wanted to leave AR and go with Sony. I mean, I’ve got Leah. We’re going good, y’know? I’m not sure about buggering off for an extended tour of the states. And Noah’s now got a baby on the way…”
“And, so?” Seb rammed his hands on his hips. “That means we shouldn’t tour? We shouldn’t aim for the top? We were going nowhere fast with Armstrong. This is our meal ticket to everything we ever wanted.”
“We were doing all right as it was, weren’t we?” Martin asked rather than stated. “We had creative control. Like you wanted. We had the yay or nay on stuff. We took it easy. The Drops were never mainstream appeal. We never wanted to be, right? We wanted to stay true to ourselves. The outcasts, the misfits, the drop-outs!”
“Exactly,” Noah piped up, his hand still stroking the small of Ann’s back. “We’ve followed you wherever you wanted. Done everything you ever wanted of us. From that fucking death threat Winchester gig to the New York shit to V Fest. Now it’s time to listen to us, let the band be a democracy. And my life, right now, is here. With Ann and the baby.”
“And mine’s with Leah right now.” Martin flinched, obviously not feeling as confident as before. But he continued nonetheless. “Why do we need to do this right now? We just got established. Let’s ride the wave for a bit? Why do you always have to climb higher, go one better, be bigger?”
“Because that’s me, Martin!” Seb punched his chest. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He was sure Martin and Noah would have been up for the tour. How couldn’t they be? Why wouldn’t they want to be the best version of themselves that they could? Why wouldn’t they want the ultimate success? “I’m a Saunders!”
The kitchen hushed into a silence and Seb glared at each so-called friend individually. His gaze landed on Jay, and it was as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He begged for Jay to understand this, and why he needed to do this, and how it meant so much to him. But the look on his face said otherwise.
“And what does that mean, Seb?” Jay was calm, but his clenched fists trembled.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fucking off for two years? To the US? And you hadn’t even told me that, either? Déjà fucking vu, Seb!”
“I was going to!” Seb exploded, unable to keep himself in check. This had all gone horribly wrong. All of it. And he still had no idea why. “But you came in pissing and moaning about some shit or other and didn’t give me a fucking chance.”
“So that’s what you did today.” Jay’s blue icy stare delving right into the pits of Seb’s resolve. “Made sure you’d be all right while you’re out there?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Hanging his head, Jay mumbled to the floor. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe you’re being such a passive-aggressive bitch! What the fuck is up with you?”
Jay looked up, blue eyes sparking. “What were you doing at the Royal, Seb?”
Acid burned in Seb’s chest and up to his throat, bubbling over his skin. So that was what this was all about. He had no idea how Jay could have known he’d been at the Royal earlier. Maybe Jay had seen the message on his phone and been stewing about it all day, thinking Seb had gone to meet Stephen. But then instead of actually asking Seb about it, he’d fucked off and got his kit off for another bloke! Seb wasn’t even sure if he would have mentioned the meeting with his father to Jay at all. The whole thing was so insignificant in his life right then that it hadn’t made it passed the forefront of his brain. There hadn’t been anything to tell!
Seb heaved a deep breath. This was because Jay thought Seb had been going behind his back. Doing what Ann had done to Lucas? And yet he hadn’t the decency to just ask Seb the damn question. That look on Jay’s face said it all. He thought Seb was a cheater, a man-whore, someone who would risk their precious relationship that had meant more to him than anything in his entire life for a quick fuck. Or even that he would think Seb could bounce back to an utter arse wipe like Stephen Coles just because he hadn’t been getting some for a while. After everything, Jay didn’t trust him.
Storming past, Seb couldn’t look at him. He yanked open the glass liquor cabinet at the end of the units, grabbed a bottle of unopened Jack Daniels, then bundled past all the bastards who just stood there staring at him. He’d made it to the front door when Martin’s yell made him stop for a miniscule moment.
“Seb! Don’t be a dick. We need to talk about this!”
“Go fuck yourselves. You all take me for a fucking bastard. I’ll go it alone. All of it. I should have remembered my motto—everyone, always, buggers off in the end!”