Page 20

SEBASTIAN FELL WAS silent and still.

So was I.

The chaos below us grew louder as the cheers from the audience became desperate, calling for an encore.

Their cheers echoed up into the rafters, rebounding around like supersonic pinballs.

I was glad for the noise—if it was any quieter, I was sure the world would’ve heard my heart slamming against my rib cage.

God knows that was the only thing I heard.

Sebastian Fell was Sasha.

And he was in my head.

This man— this man, in sleek dark clothes that made him look thin and pale in the sort of aesthetic that screamed tortured artist , was the man who stayed up with me last night, who pulled me down from my spiral, who was thoughtful and bittersweet?

How could this man, who had belittled me and joked about my career—

How could he be Sasha?

They were nothing alike, and yet …

And yet here he stood.

“Not quite who you expected, then,” he said finally.

He’d heard my thoughts. I felt my ears redden with embarrassment. “No,” I admitted, because there was no use denying them. They were true. “The opposite, actually.”

“Ah.” He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Maybe I should go?—I should go—”

“Am I?” I interrupted, studying him.

He gave me a questioning look.

“Am I who you expected?” I clarified. I felt my heart racing in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the answer. If he’d been so glaringly opposite in my head, then who had I been in his? How short had I fallen?

Sebastian Fell stepped closer. So close that there was impossibly little space between us, and in another step there would be none at all. “Yes,” he replied truthfully, catching my gaze and holding it. “You are exactly who I expected.”

On the surface it was flattering, but I could hear the thoughts in his head.

It wasn’t a compliment; he knew it was me before he’d ever walked into the Revelry.

In all my effort to keep him anonymous, I’d somehow shown my full hand without even knowing it.

I reeled at the idea—all the small things I’d told him, when I revealed my phone number and area code, my hometown, the Rev.

“So you knew the entire time? That’s not fair. ”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, apprehensive.

“Not the whole time. I didn’t know exactly until I saw you tonight, but I had a good idea.

I made such a bad impression. During the concert.

When I realized it was you in my head, I just …

I couldn’t believe it. I thought in our heads maybe … ”

“I could make a better one,” he thought, his voice soft and sincere in my head.

“By betraying my confidence,” I surmised. “You hid who you were and used your knowledge of who I am to help you.”

His eyebrows furrowed, because apparently, he hadn’t thought that it’d been a betrayal at all. “I—I didn’t …” He frowned. “You asked for a nickname. Not my real name, so I thought … I thought you wouldn’t have wanted it.”

My shoulders slumped a little, because I did distinctly remember saying just that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m sorry,” he thought, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, and I could hear the shame there. “I really am.”

When he glanced over at me again, I held his gaze. I was searching for something, but I didn’t know what at the time. Sincerity? Or more half-truths?

He added, hearing my thoughts, “I can’t lie with you in my head.”

But omission made me feel just as foolish.

As I searched his face, I came to the conclusion, at least, that Vogue was incorrect—his eyes weren’t cerulean, but a shade of blue so distinct there wasn’t a word for it.

They were the color of bluebird wings flashing in the sunlight, of the vivid shade of acrylic paint smeared across Monet’s water lilies, of smooth azurite rocks found at those beach stores perpetually going out of business, of an endless end-of-summer sky.

I quickly cut my gaze away, swallowing thickly, feeling like there was a rock lodged in my throat. I remembered the way he had kissed me, the taste of his lips, how his long fingers wove into my hair—

You didn’t like it , I chastised myself.

He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a lie.”

“Eavesdropper,” I accused, my cheeks reddening. “It doesn’t mean anything—”

The walkie-talkie on my hip buzzed and Dad asked, “Sweetheart, are you lost? Did you get taken? Caw-caw twice if you need help.”

To which my brother replied over the walkie-talkie, “Rumor is there was some famous guy in the lobby. She’s probably too busy mooning over him to answer.”

My eyes widened. If my cheeks could get any redder, they did. It felt like they were glowing from how hot they were. For a second, I was thankful that it was too dark for him to see, but then the houselights came on.

Sebastian smirked.

I wondered if I pushed him off the balcony, would that solve my problem? My luck, he would just come back to haunt me.

“I’d be a pretty sexy ghost,” he agreed. I glared.

“My only daughter?” Dad gasped, his breath making the radio crackle. “ Never! ”

But my brother was already singing, “Joni and Dude-Bro sitting in a tree, S-E-X-ING-I-N-G—”

“My little girl, all grown up.” Dad sighed.

Before this could become any more mortifying, I grabbed the walkie-talkie and snapped, “I AM NOT .”

“Methinks my sister protests too much,” Mitch commented.

“Daughter! There you are!” Dad cried. “I’m sorry to interrupt your little game of hide the chicken—”

“Sausage,” Mitch corrected.

“I will kill you both and hide your corpses so well that not even the worms will find you,” I threatened, turning away from Sebastian, who had already started to laugh. Of course he thought it was funny—me and him? Hilarious.

“Sorry, sorry, you were missing and I tried calling you with a caw-caw, but you didn’t answer,” Dad explained. “So, naturally, I assumed you were either kidnapped—”

“Or K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Mitch sang.

“Or a secret third thing called doing my job ,” I bit back. “What do you two want?”

“Show’s done,” Dad said, finally losing his bluster. “People are wrapping up their bar tabs, but Mitch has gone to help Sexy Beaches load back up.”

“I’ll be down in a sec,” I replied, and turned the radio silent so that neither of them could sneak in any last remarks. I clipped the walkie-talkie to my back pocket again and turned to Sebastian Fell. “Mr. Fell—”

He scrunched his nose. “ Really? ”

“Sebastian,” I corrected.

This time, his mouth twisted in disappointment, as if it was still the wrong name. Sasha , I remembered, but now that name felt too intimate for whatever this was.

I pushed through it. “I have to go do my job. I’m sure you can find your way out yourself.”

“But what about our problem?” he asked.

I didn’t know, and I didn’t have time to decide—my feelings felt too complicated. “I … I have to go.” I excused myself, and escaped the balcony—and Sebastian Fell—as quickly as I could.

A DOZEN OR so patrons lingered at the bar until last call, when I rang out everyone’s cards at the ancient till with the Elvis bobble-head glued to the top.

By then, Mitch had returned with the lockbox from the office and started counting out the night’s money at the corner of the bar.

After the last person left, I shoved the credit card receipts and petty cash into a cracked plastic envelope and gave it to him to add.

Dad had wheeled a mop and bucket out into the middle of the floor, sashaying to the sound of Pat Benatar on the old jukebox. The music would skip occasionally, or get caught on a scratched groove, but he’d just go over to it and kick it once or twice, and the jukebox would right itself again.

I leaned against the counter, cleaning a glass. Mitch licked his thumb and started counting out the tens. “So …” he began, “is that guy really Sebastian Fell?”

“Yeah. He’s here on vacation,” I lied, glancing up at the darkened balcony. I hadn’t seen him come down since the show ended, though just as I began to wonder if he’d left without me knowing, I heard his thoughts float through my head.

“I wonder if there’s a side exit. How many people would recognize me this late at night? It’s not LA, so maybe I shouldn’t worry …”

Did he think about his escape routes often? That was … a little sad, actually.

You can go out the side door , I suggested. I’ll make sure the coast is clear if you want.

“You—you would?”

I set my mouth in annoyance. Why do you sound so surprised?

Meanwhile, Mitch was going on about the man in question. “You were up there for a bit. Do you know him?” Then he perked. “Do I need to pick out a tux for the wedding?”

I threw the rag at him. It smacked him on the side of the head and flopped to the ground. “Maybe that’s what I should be asking you ,” I said, grabbing a new cleaning rag from under the bar.

“What about?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the bills in his hands.

“Mom told me. That you asked about the ring,” I said, abandoning my chore as I slunk over to him and jostled his shoulder. “So, when are you going to pop the question?”

He realized he’d miscounted, cursed under his breath, and started over again. Aw, he was embarrassed. That was sweet.

Naturally I egged him on. “I mean, now’s as good a time as any.

Imagine it: you can pop the question, then take over the Revelry instead of having it close—save it, you know?

—and get married right here … maybe even before the end of the year!

” I liked the sound of this more and more.

Yes—this felt so natural. Mitch proposes to Gigi.

They take over the Revelry. Mom and Dad retire.

It was perfect in my head. “And Mom could even be here for it—”

“I’m not taking over the Revelry, Joni,” he said seriously.

That perfect future already started to crack. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion “You … don’t?”

He shook his head. “No. I really don’t.”

My chest felt tight. I shook my head—I didn’t understand. “So instead we’re just closing a place that’s been in our family for seventy years ?”

And my brother replied without so much as a moment of hesitation, “Yes.”

“ How? ”

“Because when Mom and Dad told us a few days ago, all I felt was relief. And I wouldn’t feel that way if I wanted to stay.”

“And Gigi? What does she want to do?”

“I wish I knew,” he replied cryptically. “I’m going to go count these in the box office, where no one can bother me.” He piled the money into the lockbox again and tucked it under his arm like a football. “Good night, Jo,” he said, and left for the box office.

I watched him go.

He’d felt relief ? All I’d felt in that moment was panic.

Panic over losing something that kept me tethered to the ground like the string of a kite.

Panic over something else changing in a world that was already changing too fast. It would have been easier if the Rev had been in the red, if it’d been too expensive to maintain, too many loans, too many leaks in the roof.

But the truth hurt worse—that the Revelry was fine.

We were the problem.

Maybe I could convince Mitch to change his mind. Maybe I could work out an agreement and come back for six months out of the year and split the responsibilities. Maybe I could—

A shadow slid up to the side of the bar and asked, “Too late to order a drink, I guess?”

Startled out of my thoughts, I glanced over my shoulder at—

Sebastian.

I deflated a little, and put the last glass on the shelf.

“Last call was ten minutes ago,” I said, turning to him, my hands on my hips, because I could make myself a little taller, and that was all the clearance I needed to meet him at eye level.

It didn’t matter, though, he still held himself like he was a giant.

Or, maybe, he held himself like he didn’t care about the histrionics of tall men.

And I hate that it kinda turns me on , I thought bitterly.

The edge of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. “Does it now?”

I blanched. “No. Not—it wasn’t—that—whatever. We’re closed,” I quickly added, coming out from behind the bar to show him to the door. I walked fast, but damn his gait, because he caught up with me in two strides.

“So, when are we going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” I led him into the lobby.

“This,” Sebastian said.

“It’s late,” I said, tugging on my braid. The curtains were closed on the box office window, so at least I knew my brother wouldn’t be able to see us.

I’d kept my professional life and my personal one so distant, so carefully distant, that this sudden merger felt like a head-on collision.

A small, egotistical part of me was afraid of showing a peer that I was burnt out, but a bigger part of me was simply cautious of a stranger seeing this private, imperfect life of mine.

I was afraid that he would judge it. I was afraid he wouldn’t like it.

Why did I care so much what he thought?

He massaged the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly closed, like he’d just been hit with a sharp headache.

“Your head’s so busy I can’t understand anything,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowing.

Then he frowned, a thought occurring in his head.

I heard it echo in mine before he said it aloud: “You’re scared of me. ”

No—no, that sounded wrong. I shook my head. “Not you, promise,” I clarified, twisting my fingers around my braid nervously. “I just—this is—”

I don’t know how to talk to you , I admitted.

That caught him by surprise. Then, in relief, his tense shoulders melted, and he barked a laugh. “Then don’t,” he said. “Luckily, I’m in your head.”

Despite myself, I felt a smile crawl across my mouth.

I couldn’t stop it, even as I bit the inside of my cheek.

“I’ve got to help Dad finish closing up while Mitch does the money, but give me ten?

And don’t talk to anyone, especially not an old guy in an ascot,” I warned, leaving him in the lobby.

I’d hate for Dad to embarrass me by regaling Sebastian with stories of when Roman Fell played at the Rev.

Or any stories, really.

Especially if they involved me.

“What—what’s an ascot?” he called after me, but if I could intercept my dad on his way to locking the front doors, hopefully he’d never learn.