Page 89 of Kneeling for Them
“I shouldn’t even be alone with you right now,” he says.“What if I were to hurt you?What if something happened, fuck, I don’t even know what.What if I lost control?”
He’s not making any sense, and I’m not sure how to convince him of that.I need time to think, and space, and just…I don’t know how to handle this, at all.
“You don’t trust yourself,” I say.“And you don’t trustme.That fucking hurts, Sebastian.”I clamber out of the big bed and start putting on my clothes.
“Where are you going?”he asks.
“Home.I have to get ready for work, and honestly, I’m feeling kind of pissed right now.Please notice I’m not going to just fuck off to who knows where without telling you.”
He throws his phone down beside him on the bed.“That’s enough of that, young lady.”
I scoff.“You can only act like my daddy when you stop acting like a child.”
His eyes narrow.I don’t wait to hear whatever snappy retort he’s formulating, and I get the hell out of there, jamming the button of his elevator over and over until it opens and takes me away.
He didn’t follow me or try to keep me from leaving.
Did I want him to?
As the elevator lowers me to the ground floor, doubts begin to creep into my head.Maybe I was too hard on him.Is my pride hurt that my love isn’t enough to fix the aching bruises on his heart?Maybe that’s it—the whole “I should be important enough to save you” fallacy coming into the relationship.
Whatever it is, obviously my belief in him, my love for him, isn’t enough.
That’s it, then.
I’ll fix it another way.
I must get answers about that night.Sebastian isn’t interested in pursuing them.Kingston is too busy with work.
I’m not a detective.But I’m going to figure this out.
Twenty-One
Ella
Throughout my entire time cleaning at Dorado Terrace, all I can think is,I am not a detective.
Still, I have some information.The supposed assault happened after a show…after Sebastian’s last show, Trina said.And the woman’s name was Alyssa.As I run the vacuum cleaner over the hallway carpets, I begin to formulate a plan.
During my break, I take out my phone.And I do the one thing I’ve been resisting since finding out that my Sebastian is Bastian Crown: I do a search for his name.
The number of results is staggering.They come in the form of images and articles, videos, and links to his music on various streaming services.I’m not sure how I feel about seeing his face on my phone like this, the images grabbed by photographers and reporters and paparazzi.He’s given so much of himself over to the public.
I gaze at the top image in the search.He’s so freaking handsome, it shouldn’t be possible.And yet here he is, those hazel-eyes, that princely beard, those drool-worthy tattoos, plastered all over the world, for all to witness.
Lucky world.
And lucky me, that he’s mine.
Is he really going to share the story about Alyssa with this world that, up until now, has done nothing but adore him?What about Alyssa’s privacy?Surely if he tells everyone that it happened, reporters are going to start looking for her.Did he consider that?
With shaking hands, I send him a text.If you make a statement, everyone is going to go looking for the woman…please consider whether she would want this publicity.
He doesn’t write back immediately, so I return to my searching, narrowing down the results by looking for “last show” and “last concert.”The article that pops up is titled, “Where is Bastian Crown?”and references the last year he was active, although I can’t find the exact date of his last show.
It’s been almost seven years.All that time for Sebastian, a talented musician who seems to love performing, to hide from the stage?Seems cruel.
I’m not sure what else to do.While I stare at the search bar on my phone’s browser, Sebastian texts me back.That’s a good point.I’ll think about it.
