12

sebastian

 

“I can’t believe you asked her about her lack of children,” Tabby groused from beside me. The woman sure loved to complain and suck the fun out of everything.

“Why is that so hard for you to believe? I was curious, so I asked.” It was perfectly reasonable to me. How was anybody supposed to learn about anything or anybody if they were too afraid to ask simple questions?

“Because it’s rude! A woman can do whatever the hell she wants without having to answer to some man she doesn’t even know!”

Her shrill tone rang above the Foo Fighters’ “Learn to Fly” and without a moments hesitation, I pulled to the side of the old country road. Nothing but fields and a small cluster of trees surrounded us on both sides. Tabby looked around with curiosity and panic mingling on her features.

“Okay,” I began, resting my arm over the back of her seat, “first of all, if you ever yell over Dave Grohl again, I’m kicking you out of the car and making you walk the rest of the way. Hell, maybe there’s a Holstein around here you can hitch a ride from, but you’re not riding with me.”

Tabby only blinked her incredulity. A fine line formed between her shaped brows, and I touched the spot with my thumb, rubbing it away and surprising her with the touch. She responded by backing away toward the window.

“Second, how exactly was it rude? It’s not like I said, ‘Yo, Mrs. W., I have a deep-seated issue with broads who don’t procreate the way the Lord intended them to. So, what the fuck’s the deal with that?’ No, I asked a genuinely honest question, and she chose to answer.”

Shaking her head, Tabby scowled and folded her arms over her chest. “It’s inappropriate to ask people things like that about their personal lives. Maybe she had an illness that prevented her from conceiving. You don’t know.”

“Then she was free to use her own discretion and not answer,” I replied in a low, graveled voice. “How else are you supposed to get to know everybody you meet?”

“You don’t have to get to know everybody,” Tabby countered, her tone sharp and challenging.

With consideration, I tipped my head. Maybe she was right about that. Maybe my desire to know everybody, to loosely befriend everybody, had diminished all want to learn everything about only one. But wasn’t that what made so many people like me? My uninhibited interest in everyone I met? Wasn’t that what made me the most popular member of the band, next to Devin?

“Maybe not,” I nodded thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t make you less lonely,” she added, and when I cocked my head at the statement, she snickered with triumph. “I’m observant too, Mr. I Want A Chinchilla.”

“Hey!” I shouted defensively, gripping the steering wheel and pointing a stern finger at her. “That thing was really fucking cute and soft, okay? Nobody said a damn thing about being lonely.”

“But you did. With all that crap about having someone to come home to.”

Fuck. I did say that.

She leaned across the center console toward me and I swallowed. “And the next time you shout over Dave Grohl, I’m kicking you out and stealing your fancy car.”

Satisfied with having the final word, Tabby fell back into the seat, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her chest. If I had turned all of my attention to putting the truck back onto the road and driving to Greyson’s school, I might not have noticed the crimson flush splotching over her cheeks. I might’ve missed the lick of her lips, or the fluttered palpitation in the base of her throat.

But I didn’t.

I picked up on every one of those hints that this was more than just a heated dispute between two opposites. This was a dance. Flirtation. I wasn’t sure she could honestly acknowledge it for what it was yet, but the evidence was written clearly in every nervous twist of her fingers and every bite of her bottom lip.

She wanted me. Or at least her body did, and whether or not I’d give it to her …

Well, I hadn’t decided yet.

 

***

 

“Where’s your car?” Greyson asked, scanning his eyes over the Range Rover.

“Sebastian is too gargantuan to fit into my very normal-sized car,” Tabby explained with a sarcastic bite.

“Your car is pretty tiny,” he disputed, and I held my hand up to him.

“High five, kid. I knew you couldn’t sit comfortably in that thing.”

To my surprise, he didn’t leave me hanging. Acting as though it was an inconvenience, his hand clapped against mine, while his lips twitched with a smile.

I opened the back door for him as he asked what we were doing for the night. I could only shrug, because, well, what the hell do you do in a town called Hog Hill, anyway?

“Any suggestions, Thumbelina?” I looked to Tabby, raising an eyebrow and flashing her a lopsided smile.

She hesitated, her attention occupied by weaving her long hair into a neat braid. The auburn rope hung over her shoulder, glistening under the sunlight in tones of copper and ruby, and it took every ounce of my willpower to not pull the rubber band from the end. To not let it cascade in waves against her back and shoulders. To not thrust my fingers into it, tangle it around my hands, and mess it up.

“Um, well, maybe Sebastian wants to see your drums,” she offered to Greyson as she then climbed into the car.

His drums. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Was there a better way to bond with him than the thing I knew best?

I ran to the drivers’ side and glanced into the backseat. “Uh, yes. Let’s do that.”

“Sure,” Greyson grumbled, painting his face with indifference.

I drove Tabby to her car, where she and Greyson left my truck to drive themselves home. I followed, once again finding myself alone and realizing how nice it was to have other people drive with me.

 

***

 

Tabby’s house was exactly what I would’ve imagined. Neat. Orderly. A Pottery Barn catalogue had thrown up all over her kitchen and living room, and the air was lightly scented with Fresh Linen and Seaside Escape, as proven by the candles on her coffee table. But with a watchful eye, I hunted for little hints of the secret parts of herself. They were well camouflaged, buried within the makings of a Better Homes & Gardens spread, but they were there. The leopard print pillow on the easy chair by the window. The multi-colored collection of Chucks hidden on a low shelf in the front entryway. The leather jacket hanging in the closet, just noticeable through the barely jarred door.

Tiny pieces that she couldn’t quite let go of from a previous life.

“Greyson’s room is upstairs,” Tabby told me, catching me perusing the shelves of records in her living room.

“Ah, right.” I nodded, sliding one out, checking the title. “Quite a collection you have here.”

She had a bit of everything, from Marley to U2 to The Clash, all in alphabetical order. Her record collection was kept like everything else in her life I’d seen so far—neatly. But unlike her arsenal of Converse, or the leather jacket in the closet, she kept these on proud display. They were dusted and treasured, kept on shelves that encompassed an entire wall of her living room.

“Thanks,” she quickly said, taking the record from my hands and putting it back in its place. “I’ve been collecting for years.”

“Obviously.” I grinned, taking another from the shelf. Nirvana’s In Utero. “This is a great album.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, plucking it from my grasp and sliding it back with her other Nirvana albums. “Greyson’s waiting for you.”

“God, you really don’t want me looking at these, huh?” I teased, grabbing another and turning it over. Metallica’s …And Justice For All. “God, I haven’t listened to this in forever.”

“I just don’t want Greyson thinking you don’t have an interest in him.” She took the record from me and held onto it. Maybe thinking that if she didn’t put it back, I wouldn’t grab another.

“Maybe I have multiple interests,” I countered, teasing.

Clutching the album to her chest, she pinched her lips and lowered her gaze to the beige carpet. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“What it means, Tabby, is that maybe I want to get to know Greyson and you.”

“You have absolutely no reason to get to know me outside of the bare minimum,” she stated wryly, sliding the record back onto its shelf. “You should be more focused on getting to know your son.”

Leaning my hip against the shelves, I folded my arms and shook my head. “You know, here’s the thing; I refuse to believe you’re as reserved as you’re making yourself out to be. I’ve seen enough to know that at the very least, you and I could be friends, so why you’re resisting that so much, I have no idea. But something you need to know about me is, I don’t give up easily.” And as though I were setting out to challenge her and her protests against being my friend—or otherwise—I grabbed another record. The first album my hand landed on and pulled it out.

The cover pushed me to cock my head, to draw my brows together and narrow my eyes. Mask the Raven, the first album of the first band I was ever in, Saint Savage. We were a metal band comprised mostly of a few guys from Scranton. A friend of mine had hooked me up, and we’d gone on to do some great things before splitting up and moving on. It was the band I was in when I met Greyson’s mother, and before Tabby could snatch the record from my hands, I held it up out of her reach.

“You were a fan?” I asked the question as another piece of information registered. We’d only sold the vinyl records at shows. Realization lit like a bulb as I eyed her suspiciously. “Were you at that show?”

She knew the one. That was made apparent by the sudden streak of red blossoming against her cheeks as she jumped, attempting to swipe the record from my hand. The fragments of information clicked into place, and although some parts were still hazy, some things were starting to make a little more sense.

“Take it easy, Thumbelina,” I said gently, handing the album to her. “So, can I take a guess at what happened?”

“Oh, well, it’s not like I can stop you anyway, so go right ahead,” Tabby mumbled, putting the album back. She stared at the shelf, unable to look at me, but why? Embarrassment? Shame?

“Okay.” I bobbed my head once, and turned to pace the living room floor. “So, you and your sister were both big fans of music. Maybe it was something you bonded over and you’d go to shows together. You went to enjoy the music—hell, maybe you both did, but your sister preferred the other perks of being a groupie. Like, hooking up with band members.” I glanced over my shoulder to find she’d turned to watch my back. “Stop me if I’m wrong.”

With a quick shake of her head, she croaked, “Keep going.”

Hmmm … “Everything was fun, everything was great. Until one day, you go to this metal concert. You like the opening act and you buy their album. They’re super approachable, because they’re small and just the opener, but you don’t meet them. Your sister does. She gets pregnant, and all of a sudden, everything that you thought was fun isn’t anymore. You don’t want to be her, so you force yourself to grow up, because—”

“Are you coming up here or what?” Greyson called from upstairs, interrupting my spiel.

Before I responded, I turned from my pacing and eyed Tabby. I took in the furrowed creases between her brows, the rapid movement of her throat as she swallowed, and the strength of her arms as they tightened around her middle.

Bingo.

Maybe I wasn’t spot on. Maybe I had missed something. But for what it was worth, I’d figured her out.

“Yeah,” I called back, heading toward the stairs as I pointed a finger at her. “Can we continue this later?” I gave her a few seconds to respond. I didn’t think she’d accept my request, but then she faintly nodded.

I smiled reassuringly at her, even though she didn’t look much like smiling herself. Because the thing was, despite how much her body might’ve wanted me and mine her, I really did want to genuinely know her. We were going to know each other for a long time, as long as Greyson wanted me in his life, and at the very least, we should get along.

Understanding her was the first step in the right direction, as far as I was concerned, and I hoped she’d grant me the privilege.