Page 139 of Flipping the Script

He met my gaze, his eyes so full of hope that my breath caught, and another of those little flutters tore through my chest.

“I don’t want to either.” He put his cup down and turned in his chair so he was facing me. “I have no idea what you want, what you’re thinking, but I can’t pretend like things aren’t different. I can’t pretend that didn’t mean anything to me because it meant everything.”

I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. It did.”

“So what do we do about it?” he asked tentatively.

I knew what I wanted, and I was pretty sure he wanted it too, but it was still hard to get the words out.

“I was at your show last weekend,” I said instead.

“You were?”

I nodded. “Adam told me about it. I got there about ten minutes after you started and left after you performed ‘Cellophane.’”

“That bad?” he joked. “You stayed for less than fifteen minutes.”

“That good.” I huffed out a laugh at that. “You were…incredible. And that song…”

“Song?”

“Cellophane. That song hit me hard the first time I heard it. Seeing you perform it live was when things really started to change for me.”

“They did?”

I nodded. “It helped me see past my own bullshit and really see you. For so long, you were just Sebastian, the guy who drove me crazy and confused the fuck out of my dick. But that night I realized you’re so much more than that.”

The shy smile that tilted his lips shook something loose inside me.

This was the real Sebastian. The sometimes shy, sometimes sassy man who was so much more than I’d ever given him credit for.

The man I’d fallen for without even realizing it was happening.

“I’m sorry I called you a failure,” I said, needing to make amends.

“It’s fine.” He waved dismissively. “You’re not the first. I’ve been hearing that my entire life.”

“It’s not fine,” I insisted. “You’re amazing, and I’m sorry I ever diminished your accomplishments or made it seem like you failed because you chose to leave the business.”

He cleared his throat softly. “Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.”

“Can I ask why you retired?”

He studied me for a second. “It’s not much of a story. I just stopped enjoying it. The touring, performing, chasing the dream. It was fun for a while, but it’s not where my passions are.”

“Is that songwriting?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t built for the road, or for the spotlight, and the last few years were really rough for me, mental health-wise.”

I kept quiet, letting him tell me more if he wanted.

“The constant tours, bouncing from time zone to time zone, always planning for the next tour, next album, next show. It stopped being about the music and was all about the money.” He let out a little laugh. “Money is great, and I’ll never say no to more of it, but I wasn’t happy. It didn’t matter how much we made or how many side projects I did. I lost my spark.”

“Spark?”

“Inspiration, creative drive, whatever you want to call it. Music has always been my therapy. It’s how I process things and work out issues. It’s like a living thing inside me, a compulsion and an obsession, but also the only real outlet I have. I’m not explaining it right.”

“You are. I get it. I’m not an artist or anything, but I’ve heard other people talk about similar things. Quinn, and Asa.”

---