Ruined (A Barnes Brothers novel) (3 page)

One year later

The little red number on his machine was blinking.

He didn’t even bother to see how many messages he had—the count wasn’t right anyway.

He hadn’t answered his phone in days. Sometimes he picked up when it rang, but more often than not, it went to his voice mail and he hadn’t listened to those messages in quite some time.

He wasn’t totally lazy, though. Every couple of weeks, he went in and deleted the messages—all of them.

There was one person he didn’t mind talking to these days—no, make that three.

The pizza guy was fine because he took the tip, left the pie, and asked no questions.

The chick who delivered his food for him was good, too. She brought in the groceries, accepted her tip, and ignored the mess—although she had once politely left a card with a number on it for a cleaning service. He’d ended up using the cleaning service. They came out twice a month now, and he had to admit they were just as discreet and quiet as she was. They must like the tip, too.

And then there was Marin.

Sebastien wouldn’t have thought that Marin Lassiter would be welcome, considering that the first day she’d seen him with his shiny new scars, she’d passed out, but there you go.

His brothers, his parents, his sisters-in-law, his friends—all of them grated on his nerves. From time to time, he didn’t mind Zane or Keelie, although Zane would eventually try to get him to call the family. Travis would probably be welcome, but that guy was so buried in work, he never emerged for longer than it took to call and Sebastien didn’t do phones anymore.

Unless it was Marin.

When Marin called, he answered.

When she knocked on the door, he opened.

So today, when she appeared on his deck carrying a picnic basket, he disappeared into the house to shower and try to look presentable.

Now ten minutes into his hot shower, he figured he was about as presentable as he was going to get.

Well, save for the raging hard-on. But he’d grab some board shorts and a T-shirt. Half the ones he owned no longer fit. He’d put on nearly fifteen pounds during the past year and all of it was muscle.

The thought of going out there and seeing Marin . . .

“Get it together, Barnes,” he muttered.

Sebastien should have been able to put Marin out of his head once and for all after what had happened that day in the hospital, but he’d never been able to. She’d been there
every
day, often until the nursing staff kicked her out late at night, and she’d been the one who persisted in seeing him even when everybody else got tired of his foul temper.

Granted, he’d never really used it on her as much as the others. Even his family had tried to plan their visits around hers. He’d be an idiot not to notice that, and he’d felt like a piece of shit knowing he was pushing everybody away, but at the same time, he hadn’t cared.

He didn’t want anybody to be his cheerleader or his therapist. He was tired of his mom trying to clean up after him, and he was tired of his dad telling him that there was a reason for the things that happened.

Sebastien knew the reason this had happened—it had happened because he was an asshole and this was his punishment. Further proof of that fact was the long list of people who no longer wanted to be around him.

Trey hadn’t been out to see him ever since Sebastien had told his brother’s cute fiancée Ressa that if he wanted her opinion on something, he’d ask her advice on self-help books. Until that time? She could keep her advice for her patrons.

Trey e-mailed off and on, but Sebastien deleted them unread. Not because he was mad at his brother. Sebastien was mad at himself and he didn’t want to make things worse.

Zach still came out from time to time, but the last visit had been a month ago and Sebastien suspected he was about to give up, too. Abby already had. He’d let them both know that he’d be joining them on all those excellent VH-1 has-been shows sooner rather than later.

Abby had rolled her eyes but Zach had been pissed.

Zane and Keelie didn’t rub him the wrong way, but he had a feeling Keelie might knock his teeth down his throat if he pushed her too hard. And Zane would applaud. Travis might, too.

His father had called him a few days before Mother’s Day, and although Sebastien hadn’t answered the phone, he’d listened to the message.
I know you’re going through a rough time, son. We’re trying to be here for you, but it’s hard when you don’t want us. It’s . . . It’s getting hard on your mom, her seeing you like this. If you don’t come see her on Mother’s Day, we won’t be back up there for a while. You decide when you’re ready for us to be a family again, son. We’re here for you, as soon as you decide you’re ready
.

That had been three months ago.

Just two days ago, Zane had texted him and told him that he and Keelie had decided to tie the knot—in Vegas—before heading out to Virginia for Ressa and Trey’s wedding.

From there, they’d leave for their honeymoon in Italy, while Trey and Ressa were headed to Australia.

Zane expected him to be at both weddings. Zane’s unexpected one in two days, and Trey’s planned one in four.

He had little doubt as to why Marin was there.

***

“I’ve already booked two tickets. First class. We leave for Vegas in the morning and then after that, we head out to Virginia.” Marin tried to pretend she wasn’t nervous as she poured sweet tea from a thermos into a glass for Sebastien, then poured some for herself.

It was damn hard not to be nervous, though.

She’d told Zane she’d get Sebastien there.

Come hell or high water, she was going to do just that.

This breach he had put between himself and his family was eating away at him and it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough shit doing that already.

Sebastien squinted at the glass and then at her. “What’s this?”

“Sweet tea.” She smiled as she pushed the plate she’d prepared over to him. She was in between projects—actually, she had absolutely
nothing
planned for the rest of the year. The other movie she’d thought she’d be doing this summer folded after the director was found in bed with a teenager—and her mom. Marin honestly didn’t even want to touch the project now, and it didn’t sound like anybody else did, either. The fact that it had been a kid’s movie was probably part of the reason she was so squicked out. The son of a bitch had been sleeping with the teenager who was the star of the movie.

Marin would have been playing her mother on the show, and part of her wanted to spank the girl and beat her mom.

The fall project had been pushed to the following year. Things were always getting shifted and rearranged in Hollywood, but she rarely had several months free at once and she planned to enjoy them to the absolute fullest. Come winter, she had to hit the ground running.

But while she was enjoying her downtime, she was being lazy and enjoying some good old-fashioned comfort food—and so was Sebastien. Even if she had to force it down his throat.

He made a face as he took a sip. “It would taste better with a little less sweet, a lot more tea, and maybe a few shots of vodka.”

“No vodka,” she said firmly. She pointed a fork at him. “Eat.”

He picked up the piece of fried chicken and eyed her narrowly. The left eye was no longer the pristine blue-green it had once been. It was slightly foggy and she knew the vision had been affected by the injury. There was an intensity to his gaze now that hadn’t been there a year ago, and combined with the overall sensuality—
that
hadn’t faded—Sebastien’s stare could almost be considered a deadly weapon.

“You realize this is a little different from your standard fare,” he said, pointing the drumstick toward her.

“I know. Eat. We need to get you sobered up and figure out if you have anything decent in your closet.” Lips pursed, she studied him. “Then again, we might have to go shopping. I doubt anything you used to have would fit.”

He already had a bite in his mouth. He managed to swallow before saying, “I’m not going.”

“Oh, yes. You are.” Marin gave him a serene smile.

“No. I’m not.”

She just cocked a brow at him and smiled coolly.

***

I’m not going.

Sebastien thought the words to himself.

Then, just to make sure he had them down, he
said
them . . . quietly. “I’m not
going . . .”
He thought he almost had the voice for Manny the mammoth from
Ice Age
. His nephew loved that movie. Or at least he used to. He hadn’t talked to the kid in forever. Scowling, he shoved the thought aside and then practiced the words again.

Yeah, they sounded right. Sounded like he meant them.

So why in the hell was he sitting in the back of a hired limo with Marin, on the way to the airport?

Marin took out the Bluetooth and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t I say,
I’m not going
?” He stared at her.

She looked amused. “You did. And yet . . .” She looked around the car, a faint smile on her pretty mouth.

Sebastien looked away so she wouldn’t see him staring at those lips, wouldn’t realize he still thought about kissing her. A lot. All the time.

“So I said I wasn’t going. I meant it. Yet I’m in a car with you and I don’t really want to be. I think this could count as kidnapping.” Arms crossed over his chest, he glared straight ahead. He suspected she was about to start laughing and if she did, he’d probably smile and he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to go to Vegas or see his family. He’d fucked things up with them, but he wasn’t ready to fix things, either.

He wanted to go back to his house on the beach, get drunk, and just . . . be.

When it was just him, or him and Marin, he didn’t have to think about what an asshole he was. He didn’t have to think about what a failure he was.

“Seb . . .”

It wasn’t until she touched his hand that he realized she’d slid across the wraparound bench seat to sit closer. She covered his hand with hers, and in that moment, he turned his around and grabbed hers, clinging to her desperately. There was understanding in her eyes. Like she got it. Like maybe she understood what it was to mess up . . .
everything
.

He wanted a drink, needed it, even. But while there might have been something stashed in the built-in bar, he wasn’t about to look. He couldn’t do that. Not with Marin here. It wasn’t like he was
hiding
anything. There wasn’t much
to
hide from her. But he didn’t have to show that much of his weakness, either.

So he battled the urge down and let all the words come spilling out instead.

“I fucked up, Marin. I . . . Shit, I hurt all of them. I can’t look at them now. Not yet.”

“If not now, then when?” she asked softly, laying her hand on his cheek.

For a second, his brain went all fuzzy and blank and he couldn’t think about anything except how nice that felt, having her touch him.

Then he noticed how nice she
smelled
and he closed his eyes, his head drooping forward a bit as he breathed her in.

His brow bumped hers and he tensed, ready for her to pull away.

She didn’t, though.

For a few seconds, neither of them breathed and Seb wondered what she’d do if he kissed her.

Really kissed her, gorged on her the way he wanted to gorge on booze. He could get drunk on her instead, and he thought maybe that might help even more than the buzz from a few drinks. Maybe . . .

Then he wanted to smack himself. She’d probably let him. Let him kiss her, at least. Because she felt sorry for him. Why in the hell else was she always coming around?

He was pathetic.

And he felt even more pathetic because every time she showed up at his door, instead of pushing her away, he did the exact opposite. As soon as she was gone, he was missing her again.

Gut burning, he pulled back and turned his head to the side. In the windows, made darker by the privacy tint, he could see his face. It was just a vague reflection but it was enough to see a rough hint of the scar. That fucking scar.

It made him think of how she’d seen his face a year ago, then passed out.

Absently, he reached up and traced the scar with his fingers.

When he lowered his hand, Marin caught it with hers. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.

He looked over, met her pretty blue eyes. Even now, knowing she was here only because she felt bad for him; those eyes made his heart swell up in his chest. He tightened his fingers on hers. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Liar.” She laughed and tugged her hand free, reaching up to brush his hair back. It had gotten long and was hanging in his face and brushing his collar. He’d thought about getting it cut, but now decided there was no way that would happen. She’d done that twice, pushed his hair back. If he cut it, she’d have one less reason to touch him.

“What am I lying about?” he asked.

“You’re not glad you’re here.”

He almost pointed out that he’d been talking about her—he was glad
she
was here.

But he figured that might make her uncomfortable. “I’m not
not
glad I’m here.” Shifting on the seat, he looked over as the limo merged with the traffic on the exit ramp. “If I have to go and face the family, it’s best that I do it now.”

Just . . . get it over with, then he’d go back to wasting what was left of his life.

“Sebastien?”

He looked over at her.

“She wouldn’t want this.”

He tensed, but before he could look away, Marin slid closer and cupped his face in her hands. “Don’t shut me out. You know I’m right. Monica wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this . . . and you know it. Sooner or later, you need to face that.”

***

Sebastien was willing to admit when he was wrong—at least to himself.

And he was doing that very thing now.

He’d been wrong.

He hadn’t voiced it to Marin, but he’d hoped if he slouched his way in with her at his side and did it at something like a wedding where there was craziness abounding, then he wouldn’t have to worry so much about dealing with his family