Page 39 of The Lodge

“Sometimes I can’t sleep because I feel so guilty about it. How much better my life is now that Jason doesn’t have a hold on me anymore—how I have the life Jett always wanted, but it took him disappearing for me to get it. Was he, like, rotting in a ditch somewhere while my own life got better? Sorry, I know that’s graphic.”

Sebastian hassurvivor’s guilt.

This I can write about. I hate it for him—but people won’t hate him for it.

I try not to show how reassured I am by his confession. I definitely don’t want to tell him I was worried he was a heartless egomaniac there for a bit, especially not when he’s given me such a raw, honest look inside who he really is.

“That all sounds really complicated,” I say. “Totally understandable, though, all of it.”

I jot down a couple of quick notes before I forget them. Sebastian’s quiet on the other end.

“I’ve got one more quick follow-up question, if that’s okay?”

He nods.

“Was there ever a part of you that felt relief that your biggest rival was gone? It had to have created a wide-open lane for you when you launched your solo career.”

“I mean, who wouldn’t be at least a little relieved?” he says evenly. “But it felt like bad luck to think that way, you know?”

“Hey, Seb,” a woman says from somewhere off-screen. “Can we go get breakfast now? I’m starving!”

He glances past his phone’s camera at what is probably a gorgeous woman in a tiny string bikini, if she’s wearing anything at all—it could be either, judging by how he’s looking at her right now.

“Yeah, almost done here.” Sebastian looks back to me. “Sorry, Alix, gotta go.”

And just like that, his pop star façade takes over again, pushing out all hints of his former vulnerability.

I have more questions, but this is plenty to work with for now.

“Sounds good,” I say. “Thank you for—”

He ends the call before I finish my sentence.

“Your time,” I say to no one.

Forgot to mention, I text Sebastian a little while later,let me know when might work well for us to meet up in person here in Vermont?

No surprise: it goes unanswered.

I indulge in room service for my extremely late brunch, take it and my laptop out to the expansive balcony off the living room to get started on writing while our call is fresh on my mind. I may or may not have picked this particular balcony because it’s the one that borders Tyler’s, the two separated by a waist-high railing—but if I do happen to see him this morning, I’ll most definitely say I chose it for the mountain view.

I certainly didn’t choose it for its warmth. Thankfully, the heater is easy to figure out, and so effective I have to move farther away from it only a few minutes after I sit down. The outdoor couch is incredibly comfortable, too—my only fear is that I’ll spill coffee or the raspberry compote from my granola yogurt all over its plush white cushions.

I get to work crafting Sebastian’s relationship with Jason into a narrative that roughly reflects the conversation we just had, typing furiously until the chapter starts to take shape. This revelation—survivor’s guilt—will make Sebastian seem like an extremely sympathetic character to the reader, especially given how public his rivalry with Jett was and what a contrast these lingering feelings are to all of that.

I write about the hold Jason had over him, and how it took Jett’s disappearance to break the spell. I try to fill in the gaps I didn’t get to ask about—the timeline of his eventual solo album makes me think he’d ditched Jason by that time, and a quick internet search tells me I’m right.

I’m not sure I’ve ever listened to that solo album all the way through, now that I’m thinking about it. I pull it up on Spotify. The first track is just as mediocre as I remember: though catchy, it’s nothing groundbreaking. The second track is similar but with better lyrics, and the third track is somewhat forgettable.

All of this gives me a false sense of security, because I am not prepared for the fourth track. Track four is almost unlistenable—I think Sebastian was going for sexy, but it’s more reminiscent of a cat in heat. Awoundedcat in heat, maybe?

I can’t yank my earbuds out fast enough.

“Must’ve been a terrible song,” a familiar voice says as I throw my AirPods on the table.

I whip my head up and see Tyler, mug of steaming coffee in hand, standing at the railing of his own balcony.

He is, once again, shirtless. Flawless.

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