25. Marcus

25

Marcus

Seeing Seb upset and hurting is more than I can bear. I’m used to him being quirky and upbeat, the guy who makes me smile with his random animal facts and nerdy science jokes, the guy who I have an inexplicably intense sexual connection with.

He’s the counterpoint to my life in Hollywood, the reality check I desperately need.

But now, seeing him in pain, I realize how deep my feelings for him run. All those text messages, phone calls, the stolen rendezvous have added up to much more than I thought was possible for someone like me.

Because I want nothing more than to take the burden of his pain, to make everything right in his world, no matter the cost.

I would prefer to be in pain myself than to see Seb hurting like this.

And that thought stuns me. Terrifies me.

I push it away now because I need to focus on Seb. On doing everything I can to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I croon softly to him, cupping the back of his head.

My words are token, and we both know it.

My other hand moves in slow circles on his back, trying to soothe some of the tension I feel there.

Seb pulls back to look up at me with those big blue eyes.

“My whole life, I’ve never felt like I was the son my dad wanted,” Seb says. “So, I gave up trying. I never tried to meet him halfway, you know? Never tried to find any point of commonality between us.”

“Seb…” I say.

“What if he doesn’t recover? What if I never get the chance to make things right?”

His words are like a knife through me.

My chest constricts, and I can’t breathe.

Because I know only too well how some wounds never fully heal, how regret can haunt you for a lifetime.

I don’t want that for Seb. I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening to him.

“You can’t think like that,” I manage to say. “There’s no point in torturing yourself with worst-case scenarios.”

Seb lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always.”

The word falls automatically from my mouth, but I instantly know it for the lie it is. Because it’s impossible to promise someone always.

Especially someone like me.

That thought is what has me pulling away from Seb.

“I better get these coffees to your mum and Saskia,” I say.

“This sucks,” he says, wiping a hand across his face.

“It really does,” I agree. “We need to tell Saskia about us.”

“We can’t do that to her now,” he says.

“I know.”

I lean in to kiss him, finding his soft lips with my own. The kiss is different from the usual ones we share. This is tear-stained and sweet.

I press my forehead to his for a second before I retreat, scooping down to pick up the tray of coffees.

“You go first,” he says. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

I make my way back to the room, my mind racing. The coffees are now lukewarm, a dead giveaway of how long I’ve been gone. I rehearse excuses in my head—I got lost, I had to take a call, I ran into a fan.

But when I arrive back in the room, the question of where I’ve been is the last thing on Saskia’s and her mother’s minds. Because Alistair has demonstrated improved cardiac function on his latest ECG. His heartbeat is stronger and his blood work shows decreasing levels of cardiac enzymes, indicating less stress on his heart.

When Seb slips into the room two minutes later and hears the news, his whole body sags with relief.

As the initial wave of relief subsides, I become aware of a lingering awkwardness between Saskia and Seb. They’re avoiding each other’s gazes, and there’s a tension between them that wasn’t there earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Saskia finally says to Seb. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“It’s all right,” Seb replies.

My gaze flicks between them. What the hell happened? What did Saskia say to him?

If she said something to upset Seb, I’m not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself.

But before I can clarify anything, the door opens and Tom comes in.

Saskia straightens, her demeanor changing like she’s putting on armor.

“How is he?” Tom asks in a low voice.

“We’ve just found out he’s improving,” Saskia says stiffly.

“I came as soon as I could,” he says, his voice strained.

“I’m sure you did,” she replies.

“Saskia…” he begins, but she cuts him off. “Don’t worry. Marcus has been here.”

He glances around the room, doing a double-take when he sees me.

“Marcus. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Fuck. Saskia has alluded to things not being great in her marriage, but this is worse than I realized.

I’m almost relieved when my phone starts to buzz, cutting through the tension.

Although my relief is short-lived when I see the name lighting up my phone.

Jake.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” I say as I quickly step outside.

Unfortunately, the hostile tone in Jake’s voice when he greets me indicates this conversation won’t be any better than the one I’ve just escaped.

“What the hell is this message? You have to pull out of the Gucci campaign?”

“Yes.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I had to fly back to New Zealand. Family emergency,” I say.

“I thought you didn’t have a family.”

His words hit me like a sucker punch, leaving me winded.

“I have people who matter to me,” I say quietly.

“Fuck, Marcus, this is not a good look to pull out at the last minute. Do you think Gucci is going to wait around for you to sort out your personal life?”

As he talks, a familiar dizziness washes over me. The fluorescent hospital lights suddenly seem too bright, too harsh. I lean against the wall for support as I fumble in my pocket to extract my bottle of Xanax.

Jake started me on Ambien for sleep, but it quickly became not enough. The anxiety that gnawed at me during the day needed its own solution, which led to the Xanax prescription. It’s a slippery slope I always swore I’d never go down, but Jake reassures me that prescription drugs are simply a necessary tool to cope with the crazy pressures and lifestyle that come with celebrity.

I dry-swallow a tablet, trying to quiet the storm raging in my head.

When I finally manage to extract myself from the conversation with Jake and go back into the room, there’s still awkwardness hanging in the air between Saskia and Tom. They’re not looking at each other.

I take a deep breath.

Time to bring out some of my Hollywood charm.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my camera roll until I find what I’m looking for.

“Hey, Sask, want to see what your best friend looks like as a medieval court jester?”

I hand over my phone.

Her laughter, when it comes, feels like a victory.

She passes the phone around to show her mother and Seb.

Seb’s already seen that particular photo, but he refrains from mentioning that fact.

The hours blur together as I continue to entertain them all with funny tidbits from Hollywood. I’m as tired as shit with jet lag, but I don’t stop. I’m worried the tensions in the room will boil over if I don’t provide a distraction.

And if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s how to be a meaningless distraction.

Around eleven p.m., a nurse bustles into the room, her scrubs rumpled but her smile bright. She checks the monitors, jotting notes before turning to us.

“Mr. Kleggs’s vitals have continued to improve. His blood pressure is stabilizing, and his oxygen levels are up. It’s looking positive. You should all go home and rest.”

“I want to be here when he wakes up,” Seb’s mum says.

“With the sedatives in his system, he won’t be waking up tonight. And it’s going to be a long road to recovery. It’s important you look after yourself.”

We all unfold our bodies from the chairs, looking like a group of rusty robots coming to life.

“Do you want to come stay with us?” Saskia asks as we shuffle out of the room and into the hallway.

Fuck. The last thing I want to do is deny myself the chance to touch Seb and drop myself in the middle of whatever is happening in Saskia and Tom’s marriage.

Luckily, I have a good excuse. “Erica’s already booked me the Royal Suite at The Langham.”

Saskia gives a low whistle. “Fancy. You need a ride there?”

“No thanks, I’ve got a hire car. But I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Saskia gives me another hug. “Thank you again for being here.”

“You’re very welcome.”

I wait until Saskia, Tom, and Seb’s mother are safely down the corridor before I turn to Seb.

“You want to come to my suite?” I ask in an undertone.

Seb nods. His face is creased and lined in a way I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, okay. But I’m not sure what they’ll say at the Langham when I turn up for the valet service in my Toyota Corolla.”

“Just tell them you’re going for the incognito celebrity look. It’s very trendy right now.”

Seb lifts the corner of his mouth. I can’t help bending forward to press a light kiss on his lips.

“See you soon.”

The Royal Suite of the Langham is a masterclass in understated luxury. The rooms are bathed in a warm, golden light that makes everything look soft and inviting.

But I don’t pay any attention to the décor. I’m far too concerned about the man in front of me.

Seb’s exhausted. His eyes, normally bright with curiosity, are dull and unfocused.

“You need to sleep,” I say.

“I’m so tired, but I don’t know if I can sleep right now,” he mumbles. “I don’t know if I can shut down my brain.”

“How about I run you a bath?”

“Okay.”

The bath is decadent, all marble tiles and gold taps. I sprinkle in some bath salts that promise stress-relieving properties. I get the feeling Seb could use them right now.

Then I help Seb out of his clothes, gently peeling off his shirt and jeans. He’s pliant under my touch, too tired to do much more than lift his arms when I ask.

My heart clenches when I slip off his nerdy science pun T-shirt. I run my hands soothingly down his arms and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I better get in too,” I say.

He rustles up a half-smile. “Okay.”

Seb is naked in my arms, and it’s been months since we’ve been together in person. But nothing sexual is happening right now. Seb’s weight settles against me, his back to my chest. He melts into me, trusting me to keep him afloat.

My arms encircle him, palms flat against his stomach. Our legs tangle together in the warm water, his bony knees bumping against mine.

The rise and fall of his chest syncs with mine, a steady rhythm in the quiet bathroom.

I kiss his temple, his damp hair curling against my cheek. I nuzzle closer, breathing him in deeply.

He closes his eyes, and the furrow between his brows disappears, his lips parting slightly. The relief I feel at seeing the tension leave his face makes my chest tighten.

Is this what love is?

I’ve never thought myself capable of love.

You are everything to me , I want to whisper to him.

But I can’t.

Because that would be promising him more than I’m capable of giving.

I can be reckless with my own heart. I refuse to be reckless with his.