30. Seb

30

Seb

Oh my fucking god.

I’d known Marcus was haunted. I just had no idea the true extent of his ghosts.

The enormity of what Marcus has just shared crashes over me like a wave. A nine-year-old boy carrying the weight of his sister’s death. A teenager desperate for absolution, only to feel that his confession triggered his mother’s overdose. The pieces of Marcus that never made sense before—his self-destructive tendencies, his resistance to our relationship, his need to be anyone but himself, his drive to prove himself—suddenly click into devastating focus.

How is it possible that this man has functioned for so many years with all the grief and guilt inside him?

Marcus sits motionless at the table, like a statue carved from pain. His chest rises and falls in shallow, irregular breaths as if even the simple act of breathing is a monumental effort.

Marcus. My beautiful, broken man.

I’d do anything to take away his hurt now. The intensity of this desire frightens me—I’m always rational, the scientist who believes in measurable solutions. But there’s nothing rational about how badly I want to reach back through time and protect that nine-year-old boy, to tell him that one mistake shouldn’t define his entire life.

I want to gather all his broken pieces and hold them together until they fuse, until the cracks fill with something stronger than guilt and regret.

But this is so far above my pay grade I might as well try to cure cancer with a Band-Aid and some positive thinking.

“We need to go for a walk. Get some sea air,” I say abruptly.

Marcus looks up at me. The lines of tension around his mouth make him look younger somehow, more vulnerable, like the nine-year-old boy who made one terrible mistake that shaped his entire life.

“Sea air is packed with salt particles that can actually boost serotonin levels. And the negatively charged hydrogen ions can help neutralize free radicals and improve our ability to absorb oxygen.”

As if a scientific lecture is exactly what Marcus needs now.

“Okay, let’s go for a walk,” he says quietly.

We untangle ourselves from each other and get dressed. I pull on my jeans and T-shirt while Marcus slips into dark pants and a Henley that somehow manage to make him look even more devastatingly handsome than when he was naked.

The weather is turning after the sunshine of the day.

In the dull twilight, the beach stretches out as a somber canvas of gray sand and churning waves. The wind whips around us, carrying the briny scent of the ocean.

I twine our fingers together, hoping that my grip can anchor Marcus in the present, prevent him from being pulled back by the undertow of his past.

This part of the beach contains no fairy terns, but I can’t help thinking about them as Marcus and I walk on the damp sand in silence.

Camouflage is what the fairy tern specializes in to keep itself safe. And I’m beginning to think it’s also what Marcus specializes in.

The whole time I’ve known him, he’s hidden behind his looks and charm. He’s put a false front on and never let anyone see beneath. I’ve known for a long time that Marcus wears masks, but I never understood until now that they aren’t just for show—they’re for survival.

Marcus’s phone beeps. He looks at it and frowns.

“It’s just Jake,” he says quietly.

If only he’d been slightly less beautiful. Maybe then the world would have left him alone, given him a chance to heal, instead of squabbling over him like seagulls fight over scraps, pulling him to pieces.

My beautiful, broken man.

“I love you.” I whisper the words because I know now why Marcus doesn’t want to hear them.

The wind carries my voice into oblivion.

The waves continue to crash on the sand, each surge erasing our footprints.

It’s just Marcus and me on an empty beach, the wind whipping the sea foam into weird shapes, stealing the heat from our cheeks.

Dark clouds mass on the horizon, promising a storm, yet we tempt fate, remaining exposed on this empty stretch of sand even as the first fat raindrops begin to fall on our faces.

It feels reckless to stay out here with the weather coming in, when nature itself is warning with the wind and the rain that we should seek shelter.

But I know all about recklessness.

My heart has always been reckless when it comes to Marcus.

Saying goodbye to Marcus is always hard. But this time, it’s unbearable.

This time, I want to go with him in the car, climb onto the plane, glue myself to his side like a stubborn barnacle, and refuse to let go.

But I can’t. My job is here. My family is here. My whole life’s purpose, saving New Zealand’s endangered bird species, is here.

And Marcus has explained why he can’t ever offer me more than what we currently have.

He doesn’t want to build a home with me, a future with me. He doesn’t believe he’s capable of proper love.

So this is what we have. A relationship where he’ll leave me again and again.

To avoid Marcus being mobbed at the airport, avoid having images of us together splashed across the internet, Marcus suggests we say goodbye in his suite.

I think I would have preferred the airport. At least I would have had the incentive of social embarrassment to stop myself from latching on to Marcus’s knees and begging him not to leave me.

Now, I can’t guarantee it.

But just as I’m trying to hold it together, my hands clenched so tight my nails are leaving crescent moons in my palms, there’s a knock on the door.

Marcus opens it.

Saskia’s there, her perfectly styled hair and designer outfit at odds with her hesitant expression. She looks like she’s teetering on the edge of fight or flight.

“Hey,” Marcus says softly.

“I got your message that you’re leaving,” she says stiffly.

Marcus runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah. I gotta head back for a shoot.”

I find myself unconsciously moving closer to Marcus, as if my body is trying to steal a few extra seconds of closeness.

“How is everything with Tom?” Marcus asks Saskia.

“Well, I talked to him like you advised me to. And at the end of the conversation, I threw his entire wardrobe onto the lawn and set fire to it. That should give you some indication of how everything is.”

Marcus’s eyebrows fly up. “You’re giving the term ‘burning bridges’ a whole new meaning there, huh?”

Saskia smiles a brittle smile. “I guess I’m going to be divorced by the age of thirty. That’s one to add to the milestones, isn’t it?”

“Probably not the kind of milestone they make greeting cards for,” Marcus says.

She looks between us.

“I’m still incredibly fucked off with the two of you for keeping secrets from me,” she says. “But you know, you didn’t fuck your colleague Talia at a corporate retreat and then continue to hook up with her twice a week when you claimed to be working late, so you’ve slid down my hit list.”

“I can promise you I will never, ever fuck Tom’s colleague Talia,” Marcus says as he gives Saskia a hug.

She leans into him for a few seconds before pulling away.

Marcus looks at his watch, his jaw tightening.

“I’ve really got to get going.”

He glances over at me.

Shit. Despite wishing for an audience only minutes ago, I’d prefer not to have my sister watching this right now.

“I’ll see you in London, okay?” he says because we’ve already lined up the fact I’m going to a conservation conference in London in three months. He’ll be filming in Amsterdam, so we’ll snatch a few days together.

“Yeah. London,” I manage.

He pulls me to him, and for a few seconds, I just cling to his chest, breathing in the scent of Marcus.

Tears prickle my eyes, but when he pulls away, his expression is smooth, a small smile quirking his lips.

“Remember, if you miss me too much, you can always watch one of my movies.”

Marcus’s mask is on. For a second, I want to scratch at it, pull it away, so in these last seconds together, I get to see the genuine Marcus.

I let go of him.

“See you guys. Don’t drink and eat all of the minibar.” There’s a quick flash of Marcus’s smile, and then he’s out the door.

I wrap my arms around my torso, trying to hold myself together.

Saskia heads straight to the minibar and pours herself a glass of whiskey.

I raise my eyebrows at her.

“What? He’s the one who put the idea in my head. Besides, I think he owes me a couple of drinks.” She pours a second glass and holds it out to me. “And you look like you could use one too, little brother.”

I go over and plonk myself on the couch opposite her.

Saskia takes a sip of the whiskey, her perfectly manicured fingers white-knuckled around the glass.

“I’m still getting my head around you two. It’s like pairing a Gucci handbag with a pair of crocs,” she says.

“He’s…”

He’s not like you think. He’s so much more than what he’s ever shown you.

But I don’t think Saskia wants to hear that.

And it almost feels like a betrayal of Marcus to say that to her.

I need to change the conversation fast.

“I can’t believe Tom did that to you.”

My voice is gentle, but Saskia reacts like I’ve slapped her. Her face does the same thing it did when we were kids and I accidentally broke the music box Grandma gave her—a flash of hurt quickly masked by anger, but not quickly enough to hide the pain underneath.

“Yeah, well, neither can I,” she says. She takes a big gulp of her whiskey.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask, then immediately second question myself. Am I doing this for Saskia’s benefit because I’m a good brother? Or is this me simply trying to distract from my own heartbreak because the man I love just walked out the door?

She shrugs. “What’s there to say? I thought he loved me. But apparently not enough to forgo sticking his cock in someone else.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Remember how you used to say I had terrible taste in boys back in high school? Guess some things never change.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Yeah, so am I.”

She looks at the bottom of her whiskey glass contemplatively.

“For so long, I glided through life, thinking I was immune to crap. I didn’t realize how fragile happiness can be.”

Her eyes glisten, and she looks so vulnerable I can’t help moving from my couch to hers, slipping my arm around her so she can rest her head on my shoulder.

Your siblings are the people you will have the longest relationship with in your life, outlasting the relationship with your parents, enduring longer than any relationship with a partner or your children.

Saskia and I have never been close, and that’s partly on me. I’ve never challenged the status quo of being her quiet, nerdy brother, content in her shadow. I’ve never looked to extend our relationship beyond the superficial.

Saskia wipes a hand over her face, smearing her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Marcus?” she asks, her voice soft. “That’s what really hurt about this whole thing, you know? The fact you didn’t think you could trust me.”

I sink farther into the couch, my fingers picking at a loose thread on my jeans. It’s easier to focus on that small destruction than meet her eyes.

“I honestly thought you’d try to make him choose between me and you,” I say.

She lets out a shaky breath as my words hang between us.

“Well, your worries were for nothing because he’d have chosen you,” she says finally.

“I don’t think he would have at the beginning,” I say quietly.

Saskia sets down her glass with deliberate care, smoothing her skirt. “I want to say something, but I don’t want you to get offended. But I’d be remiss in my big-sister duties if I didn’t say it.”

My shoulders seize up. “What is it?”

Saskia bites her lip for a second before plunging on. “Marcus… He’s not like other people, Seb. There’s something broken inside him, something dark that I’m not sure anyone can fully reach.”

I exhale deeply. I now know exactly how broken Marcus is. But I would never betray him to Saskia.

“I’m worried he’ll break your heart,” she continues.

“He’s already broken my heart,” I say. “But somehow, he managed to stitch it back together again.”

She’s shaking her head. “I just don’t see how things can work out for you guys long-term. Are you planning to leave New Zealand? You’ve got your dream job, right? And Marcus is so focused on his career. I can’t see Marcus ever wanting to leave Hollywood and basing himself in New Zealand.”

Saskia is right on both accounts. I don’t want to leave, especially not after what just happened to Dad. And I can’t see Marcus ever being happy living in New Zealand, so far away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Besides, Marcus has made it clear that progressing our relationship isn’t on the agenda.

I stare at my hands, unable to defend against the logic of her words. But Saskia’s not done delivering hard truths.

“He’s taking too many pills at the moment,” she continues.

I snap my head up. “I know! I know this. Don’t you think I’m trying to help him? I’m trying my hardest!” My voice cracks.

Saskia looks at me. “You can’t fight someone else’s demons, Seb.”

I quite like that metaphorical image, actually. Armed with a sword, standing in front of Marcus. Slaying every demon that comes toward him. Protecting him.

But demons don’t play fair—they slip through cracks, hide in shadows, whisper in voices only Marcus can hear. They’ve had years to build their fortress inside him while I’m just standing at the gates, desperately trying to find a way in.

“I know I can’t,” I say quietly.

“Please don’t think I’m saying this out of jealousy or because I’m trying to sabotage things between you. But after everything with Tom… I couldn’t bear to see you get hurt like this too. I honestly just want the best for you.”

She’s saying it sincerely, and I believe she’s being genuine despite the complicated feelings she must have toward Marcus and me together.

“I know you do,” I say.

I go through the next few weeks of my life on autopilot.

I’m living for the moments when I get to video call Marcus, when I get to see his face, hear his voice.

Unfortunately, those moments aren’t frequent because Marcus is so busy. It’s like Jake is trying to make up for every second Marcus was away. He’s squeezing in all the promo stuff for his upcoming release around filming scenes for his next movie.

One Friday night, he’s scheduled to appear on the show of the TV chat darling Samatha O’Reilly. It’s Saturday in New Zealand, and I’m spending the day training fairy tern volunteers at Mangawhai. As soon as I arrive home, I track down Marcus’s interview on YouTube.

But when I watch the clip, my usual “holy shit, I get to touch that man” pang of disbelief is tempered by something else.

Samantha leans forward in her chair, her eyes twinkling. “So, Marcus, I hear you had a close encounter with a llama on set. Care to share with us?”

Marcus grins, his dimples on full display. “Oh, you mean Dolly? She was quite the diva. Apparently, she didn’t get the memo that I was the star.”

The audience laughs, and Marcus continues, “There I am, trying to deliver this heartfelt monologue, and Dolly decides it’s the perfect time for a snack. She starts munching on my very expensive, very period-accurate coat that took the wardrobe department two weeks to create.”

“No!” Samantha gasps in mock horror.

“Oh yes.” Marcus nods solemnly. “I’m pouring my heart out, and all you can hear is her munching. I think she gave a more moving performance than I did, to be honest.”

Samantha and the audience laugh, but I don’t.

Seeing Marcus as his charming, witty self makes my heart ache, knowing the pain beneath the polished exterior.

Marcus spends so much of his time pretending, playing the part.

And I know that it costs him, deep down.

He calls me that evening. I have my usual thrill of seeing him, but then I see how tired he looks. The exhaustion etched into his face reminds me of how much energy it must take to play the role of Marcus Johnson, Hollywood Star.

“I saw you on Samatha O’Reilly,” I say as I settle back in my bed.

“Did you like my llama story?”

“I think you should insist on a no-snacking clause in your co-stars’ contracts.”

He smiles, and I marvel at the brilliance of it for a second.

But I don’t want this conversation to descend into fun quips and flirting, which will undoubtedly end in epic phone sex.

Instead, I summon my bravery.

“I’ve been thinking about everything we talked about in Mangawhai,” I say. Marcus’s smile flees, but I plunge on.

“I really think you need some professional help.” My voice is tentative, but I push my glasses up on my nose and continue, trying to steady my voice. “You need therapy. The guilt you’re carrying, the belief that you don’t deserve love—these aren’t things you can just push down and ignore. They’re not character flaws, Marcus. They’re wounds that need proper care to heal. No one can go through what you did and be okay without help, Marcus.”

“I don’t need fixing. I’m coping fine.”

“You only cope by working ridiculously long hours and taking too many pills,” I say.

Marcus stiffens, his jaw clenching.

His shoulders hunch forward slightly, and he turns his face, the angle change causing the light to catch on the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “I also have you,” Marcus retorts finally. “You help me too.”

His words make my chest tight. Is our relationship just another form of numbing, another distraction to make him avoid facing his past?

“Thanks for putting me in the same category as working yourself to death and drugs,” I say.

Marcus’s eyebrows pull together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Part of loving someone is wanting what is best for them,” I say, and Marcus’s face twists.

And somehow, seeing his expression, unexpected anger flares inside me, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t love you? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t want the best for you?”

“You don’t have to pretend anything, Seb,” Marcus says stiffly.

We stare at each other for a few heartbeats.

Marcus finally looks away, running his hand through his hair.

“Listen, it’s been a long day, and it’s late here. I gotta go,” he says.

I blow out a breath. “Okay.”

Marcus has never played the time zone card on me before.

Shit. I should have known this conversation wouldn’t end well.

What does it say about our relationship, the fact I’m scared to talk to him about important things like this? I’m fearful things will unfold exactly as they just have, with Marcus shutting down and pushing me away. It’s like trying to approach a wounded animal—one wrong move, and he retreats to lick his wounds alone.

How can I convince Marcus that he’s worthy of love and healing when he won’t even let me try?

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Doubt has entered my head, and I can’t get rid of it. It’s grown roots in my mind, spreading like poison ivy through every thought about Marcus.

One night after soccer practice, the guys get into a discussion about relationships.

It starts off hassling Tim and Jamie for being so obvious about sneaking off early so they can screw each other’s brains out, and morphs into a discussion about who in the group wants to be in a relationship. Scott declares he’s not the relationship type and never will be.

“What about you, Seb?” Declan asks. “Are you the relationship type?”

His words remind me of what Marcus told me back in the beginning, in Queenstown. How I was the most boyfriend type of guy he knew.

Am I still like that? I mean, I’ve managed to entice the most reluctant man possible into a relationship with me.

But just because I’m in a relationship with Marcus doesn’t mean everything is roses and daffodils. It doesn’t erase the challenges of loving someone who struggles to love themselves.

It currently feels like I’m walking a tightrope between pushing Marcus to get help and pushing him away entirely.

I suddenly realize all the guys are waiting for me to answer Declan’s question.

“Maybe,” I say finally. “It depends on how healthy the relationship is.”

“I want a relationship that’s healthier than a green salad,” Declan says.

“Yeah, you might want to leave that description off your Grindr profile,” Scott says. “Not sure guys are looking to be compared to lettuce.”

“And on that note, I think we’ll head off.” Jamie stands, giving Tim a meaningful look.

Declan smirks at them. “Enjoy playing with cucumbers and tomatoes.”

“Fuck, there are some places you just shouldn’t go, Declan,” Jamie replies. Tim’s laughing as he follows Jamie out of the pub.

I watch them go, and it’s hard to tamp down the jealousy. Tim and Jamie’s relationship seems as natural as breathing.

Being with Marcus often feels like I’m holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Meanwhile, Felix, the new guy Jared has brought along, decides to continue the sexual innuendos around vegetables.

“You know what they say about guys who like big zucchinis…” he says with a twinkle in his eye. With his slight build and shock of platinum hair, Felix could easily pass for a teen heartthrob. But his face is like a canvas split in two, one side flawless and beautiful, the other marked by angry red scars that curl from his temple to his jaw.

“What do they say?” Jared asks indulgently.

Felix throws him a cheeky grin. “That they’ve got very ambitious meal plans.”

“Maybe guys with ambitious meal plans should just start with baby carrots and work their way up?” Jared says, and Felix laughs loudly.

My breath catches at the look in Jared’s eye as he watches Felix laugh. Because it’s obvious Jared finds both sides of Felix’s face beautiful.

Shit. Yet another set of guys on the team that I’ve got to watch fall in love, knowing I can never have the same thing.

The thought catches me.

When did I turn so bitter, so jaded? I’ve always been an optimist, the one who sees the glass as half-full. When did I start seeing it as half-empty and probably contaminated?

The conversation about healthy relationships has unsettled me.

Is Marcus and my relationship healthy? It doesn’t particularly feel that way at the moment.

This leads into an extension question—are Marcus and I actually good for each other?

We support each other, and we have an undeniable connection. But is that connection positive, or am I just another unhealthy addiction for Marcus?

My stomach hollows as another question pops up in my mind.

Am I part of what is driving Marcus to self-destruct?

I made him keep a secret from his best friend for so long. I want more than he is prepared to give me, which makes him feel guilty. I know all this, yet I keep hoping my love for him will change things. That he can heal if I love him enough.

But that’s an absolute fantasy.

No matter how much I love Marcus, I can’t help him unless he wants to help himself.