Ruined (A Barnes Brothers novel) (12 page)

The receptionist behind the counter was staring at him, her expression flushed, her eyes wide. For one moment, their gazes locked and then hers bounced to his scar.

The doors slid quietly shut and he tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling of the elevator grimly. The floors sped by, taking far too long and not long enough. When the doors opened with a soft chime, he took a deep breath.

Game on, Seb. Game on.

He strode inside, mentally rehearsing what he’d say to Ruth, the lady who’d manned the receptionist’s desk here for as long as he could remember. But Ruth was standing behind her desk, quietly talking to JD when he pushed through the doors.

Her polite smile froze for a moment as she turned his way and Sebastien braced himself.

Then, even as he tried to say something, a laugh exploded out of her, shattering her expression of elegant competence as she came rushing out from the behind the desk.

“Sebastien Barnes!” She caught him up in a tight hug as JD continued to stand there, watching him. “It’s about time you came back out into the land of the living!”

***

The colors were so brilliant, they all but set the skyline to flame.

Red and orange, yellow and russet, the leaves trembled in the wind that came whistling through the mountains.

Marin sighed with pleasure as she sank deeper into the hot tub.

Steam rose above the hot water and cool air kissed her shoulders. She had a glass of ice water on the ledge and the sound of a cello rippled on the air. She’d needed this.

Willing her brain to empty, she closed her eyes to the beautiful panorama all around and let the water beat at her tired body.

She’d flown in from LA late the previous night, had driven to her house roughly an hour from the airport, and by the time she’d gotten here, she had been too tired for anything other than a quick sandwich before bed.

She had no staff. Once a week, a lady came in to clean and a crew kept up the grounds, but when Marin came here, she came for privacy. Hardly anybody even knew this place existed and that was just how she liked it.

A few weeks of reading, relaxing, maybe some shopping if she felt like making the drive up to Nashville—that was all she had in mind for the foreseeable future. Thanks to the now-canceled project, she could do whatever she wanted for a while.

Unaware of everything, she let her mind drift.

She might have fallen asleep in the hot tub if the phone hadn’t rang some time later, startling her right into wakefulness.

She rubbed at her eyes with one hand and hit the controls for the tub with the other, looking around. The sun had set. She tried to figure out how long she’d been sitting in the water, but her mind was a muggy mess, so hazy she worried she might be getting sick.

When the phone rang again, she snatched it, mostly just to see what time it was, but seeing JD’s name, she sighed. Responsibility was something bred into her bones and if JD was calling her on vacation, then it was something important.

“Hello.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed to talk to me, darling,” her manager said, his voice jubilant. “After all, I call with good tidings.”

“It’s too early for Christmas tidings.” She reached for her water and frowned when she realized how warm it was. No wonder she was feeling light-headed. If she’d been sitting out here long enough that the water in her insulated cup had gotten warm, then she’d been out here
way
too long.
This is why they put safety warnings on hot tubs
, she told herself.

“Well, I still have a gift for you.”

“Let me guess . . . you finally got me a part in one of the Marvel films. You know I’m
dying
to play some badass superhero. Who do I get to be?” She eased herself over the side, dripping water and shivering. Hurriedly, she bundled into her robe and tried to one-handedly secure it.

“No.” JD snorted. “I’ll keep mentioning it, doll. Now stop the tart remarks. You’re ruining my intro here. You wouldn’t believe who showed up after you left yesterday. It was almost . . . karmic.”

Her heart stuttered for a brief second, but then she shrugged it off. “Yeah? You know I don’t believe in karma, right?”

“You should. After all, it was something
you
said that got him here. It was Sebastien, Marin. He read the script you left. He’s taking the part.”

“What?” The word came out in a hushed whisper.

Her head started to spin.

Her stomach, not wanting to be left out, joined in.

“You heard me. Sebastien’s coming back.”

So maybe he would wait for her to call.

After he and JD wrapped things up and JD said he’d get in touch with Townsend, Sebastien mentioned he was going to head out and talk to Marin.

But JD had said he’d get in touch with her instead—Marin was unavailable for the next couple of weeks.

Sebastien had been tactful enough, he
thought
, when he asked if everything was okay. JD had assured him everything was fine; Marin was just off decompressing after a busy few months.

That had just made him feel worse, because he knew—or he should have known—how tired Marin must be. She’d finished filming one project right on the heels of wrapping up some major publicity, and other than a couple of weeks here and there over the past year, she hadn’t really had any time to unwind.

She always made time to come visit him.

She always made time to call when she couldn’t visit.

And now that he was ready to pick up—or try—the threads of his old life, he felt a lot more stable than he had in a while and he wanted to tell her . . . something.
I’m sorry. Thanks
.

But she wasn’t calling.

I could call
her. It was an idea he tossed around in his head off and on, but in all honesty, he was afraid she’d hang up. Or worse, she’d talk to him out of obligation.

He didn’t want either, so he kept putting it off until he could see her.

And when he did talk to her, he had a shitload of things he planned on saying. Things like . . .
I’m an asshole and I’m sorry
.

Then he’d move on to
You were right
and
I don’t know if I’m going to come back all the way, but I realized I’m not going out just because of what happened. One more project, then I’ll decide
.

And he’d finish with the pièce de résistance—whatever the fuck that meant. He heard Zane use it all the time. Of course, Zane had studied two languages and picked up at least one or two more during his travels. Sebastien had barely managed to keep up with German, between juggling that, the part time job his parents insisted he get if he wanted a car,
and
all the parts he had constantly been auditioning for.

But he had an idea what pièce de résistance meant—something big.

He planned on letting Marin know where he’d driven as soon as he left JD’s that day.

Straight to San Francisco. He’d spent two weeks there, and then he’d gone to Tucson and spent a week with Zane and Zach. After that, he’d gone out to Virginia and spent a few days with Trey and Clayton—and his new sister-in-law.

If he could have pinned down Travis long enough, he would have visited his other brother as well, but that was like pinning Jell-O to a wall. It wasn’t happening.

He’d started mending fences.

And right now . . .

Hell. He really wished Marin would have called by this time, because he was doing the one thing he’d kept putting off hoping she’d call so he could apologize, so maybe they could get level . . .

So maybe he wouldn’t have to do this alone.

But she wasn’t here.

Sebastien had told himself he wasn’t going to keep putting it off, so as the sun started to sink toward the horizon, he made his way toward Monica’s marker. Her parents had erected a memorial stone at a cemetery, although she’d been cremated, her ashes scattered when they went on a trip to Yellowstone—it had been their favorite vacation spot. He could remember some of the stories she’d told him.

There were a few lines carved into the stone and he reached out, tracing them with his fingers.

Don’t cry for me . . .

He didn’t want to. Marin had been right—again—back all those months ago when she’d told him that Monica wouldn’t want this. Guilt wasn’t the only thing that had shut him down, but it was a huge part of it.

“I’m trying to let it go,” he said. His voice came out too low, too rough, and he had to clear his throat.

He’d hoped he’d find some echo of her here.

But there was nothing.

“I wish you would have come to me, said something. I would have helped you.”

Still nothing.

But he couldn’t base his need to say good-bye, to let go, on whether or not he thought she might hear him. Shit. What a joke that was. Tipping his head back, he stared off at the sky. The sun had mostly set now and the lights, strategically placed around the stately, elegant memorial garden were slowly coming to life. His gaze landed on the horizon and he found himself thinking about that dress Monica had worn.

So pretty, pale orange-gold. Caught right between those two colors. Like a sunset.

Almost the colors he was seeing now. But even that didn’t make him feel any closer to her.

He looked at the single flower he’d brought—a calla lily. She’d always loved them. Laying it down in front of the stone, he rose. “Good-bye, Monica.”

He almost said he was sorry, but he stopped himself.

He was sorry. He still choked on guilt most nights.

Maybe he’d say he was sorry one last time when the guilt didn’t threaten to swallow him whole.

Maybe it
wasn’t
his fault. Marin had told him that a hundred times. More. His parents had told him, his brothers—his mother was the one who’d suggested he come here when he saw her not too long ago.

So many people had tried to tell him and logically, he could
get
that, but he’d never let himself consider it.

But he was going to get there.

***

Another couple of days came and went.

Still no phone call—not from Marin, at least.

“Yes, Mom. I’m fine.” He would have rolled his eyes, but he thought she’d hear that somehow. It didn’t matter that it was a silent action. She was a mom—and more, she was
his
mom.

“How are things going for the movie?” she asked as he bent over the counter, studying the script with an absent eye.

She knew all too well that it wouldn’t matter to him that production wouldn’t start for months. He’d be gearing up for it already—and the fact that he’d been out of the game would make him that much more nervous.

“It’s going.”

“You’re awful talkative.”

“I’m still half-asleep,” he said. “I didn’t . . .” He stopped, not wanting to tell her about the nightmares.

She delicately changed the subject and he suspected he didn’t
have
to tell her about them. When he’d gone to visit, he’d stayed at their place. He’d almost wished he hadn’t after the first few nights, because his dad had come in to the home gym the third day after he’d been there, asked how he was sleeping.

Sebastien had lied through his teeth.

His father had let him.

Then he said, “Sometimes, it helps to talk, son.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” he lied.

And again, his father had let him.

He wasn’t fine . . . but he was getting there.

He talked with his mom a few more minutes. Then she hung up, claiming it was time to call and pester her grandson. He doubted that was the full truth—it seemed early for that yet, but Sebastien also knew her calls were mostly her way of checking on him. That didn’t bother him much, because he probably needed it.

No, he wasn’t fine, but he was getting there.

He felt more like himself than he had in a long while—better, really. He saw something more than the spotlight now and he understood what Marin had meant a year ago when she’d told him how lonely it could be, living there—right in the spotlight. Once it had been gone, Sebastien had been damn lonely.

He was going to find a new focus and once he did, he’d be better for it and he knew that.

He felt . . . decent. Good, really.

Except for one thing—those broken pieces between him and Marin.

He couldn’t help it. Every time he thought about her, that fight jumped up to bite him and he thought about her
a lot
.

Especially because of the dreams. He was sleeping better most nights now, but that was because the nightmares came less and less. The nightmares were slowly being replaced by something else—dreams of Marin.

Hot, torrid dreams where he had her body wrapped around his, or was under his and he learned every damn thing about those elegant, sleek curves. Dreams where he fisted his hand in that golden hair and explored that mouth in ways he’d never been able to do in front of a camera.

They were dreams he had no right having about a friend, and they were dreams he couldn’t stop thinking about.

That meant he thought about them a
lot
and when he thought about those dreams, he thought about her . . . and the fight, and the friendship he’d ruined.

He had to fix that.

So while he waited for her to call, he spent his time studying the script, committing lines to memory.

JD stayed in touch, let him know they were just about done casting and most of the preproduction work had been nailed down before the project was stalled the first time around when Townsend’s wife got sick.

But he liked feeling . . . useful. Liked feeling like himself again.

And he’d like it even more if the damn phone would ring. Calls from Mom, Dad, his brothers . . . calls from JD, even a couple from Abby.

But no Marin.

She would call, though.

She would.

It had been just over three weeks since she’d left for her
“downtime”
and while she might go totally silent when she was taking time off, he knew she wouldn’t ignore him forever.

So he waited.

***

Marin eyed the glass next to her table.

Then she closed her eyes and smothered a pitiful moan.

It was already morning.

She didn’t like morning.

The sun cutting in through the blinds told her that it was a typical California morning, too. Beautiful and sunny—well, it might have been
a
typical. She had a feeling the air was clear and bright. No smog to soften the glare of the sun.

She didn’t like the sun, either.

Of course, after the night she’d had—the nights, the past few weeks, why should she like the sun?

Or anything else?

The buzzer on her phone went off and she sat, glaring at it. Her head didn’t spin around too much so she guessed the worst was over, but she was still tempted to pick it up and hurl the damn thing across the room.

Her mood, to put it short, was toxic.

It had been for a while. A few weeks, to be exact.

She couldn’t say it had been JD’s call about Sebastien that had set her off. It had come not long after, though.

As time passed and she came to figure certain things out, she realized she had to make a decision.

She’d called JD last night and told him.

He’d almost lost his mind and demanded she get her ass into his office this morning.

She’d said no, and then he had threatened her. Not with severing their contract or anything. No, he’d said he’d show up on her doorstep and that was ten times worse.

So
fine
.

She’d go see him and
explain
herself.

He might not like it, but he’d just have to deal with it.

The phone rang just as she was settling down for what might have been another thirty minutes of sleep and she could have whimpered. The sight of her best friend’s name on the screen caused a mix of emotions to rise up—one was sheer irritation. She’d needed that thirty minutes of sleep.

The other, though . . .
need
.

For the past couple of days, she’d resisted the urge to call Abigale and unload
everything
. Abby would listen—she might die of shock, but then she’d recover and listen.

But Marin wasn’t quite to the point where she could tell her yet.

As the phone rang, she huddled into the blankets and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the burn of tears.

***

He’d looked a little pissed himself when she stormed into his office not too long ago but now he looked . . . calm.

Calm and clear-headed as she told him
again
what her decision had been.

“No.” Tapping his fingers on the desk, he stared at her shrewdly.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Marin demanded.

“I did.” He was already reaching for his phone and she gaped at him as he held up a hand to shush her while he buzzed his assistant. Her voice came on the line and JD said, “I need Sojo and Townsend on the line. Pronto. Tell them both it’s about
Torn
and it’s urgent.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Marin pointed out. “You aren’t going to be able to change the circumstances.”

“Some circumstances? No. But others?” He shrugged.

She huffed out a breath and got up to pace. Now that she’d woken up, had time for her head to clear and her body to settle, she wasn’t so cranky, but that didn’t mean she regretted the call she’d made to JD.

She was doing the responsible thing here, even if
he
couldn’t see that.

“JD, this just isn’t going to work. It’s not possible.”

“As long as you’re professional, as long as we keep our heads and think around the problem, everything is possible. Come on, Marin.” He flashed her a smile. “It’s Hollywood, after all.”

She rolled her eyes at the absolute corniness of the statement but before she could argue, Sojourne Torré—the director of
Torn
—came on the line. It wasn’t more than a minute before she was joined by Michael Townsend.

Sojo, as always, was blunt to the point of rudeness. “I don’t have time for chitter-chatter, Rutherford. If your boy Barnes has flaked out, then I’m going to find my
own
man to play Rand.”

“Sebastien doesn’t flake out,” Marin said, irritated. “If he’s committed, he’s committed.”

There was a humming kind of pause, and then Sojo said, “Well, Marin Lassiter. Please tell me that
you
aren’t the matter of utter urgency.”

Her stomach clenched as she looked over at JD.

“Everything is fine . . . for the most part, Sojo. We just had something . . . unusual come up.” JD flicked his eyes toward her.

Marin averted her own and waved at him.

This wasn’t going to work.