Page 101 of Heart of a Rebel

I shove Sebastian in the arm. “Loudmouth.”

“It was an accident, I swear.” He holds up his hands.

“Does that mean you’re selling your house?” Merry asks.

We talked about moving into my house since it is bigger. But his house felt right once I add a few hundred plants to it. After all, he has the recording studio and the better view.

I shake my head. “No, for now I’m going to rent it. I found some dancer who was looking for a place to stay near Denver while she preps for an upcoming show.”

“Did someone say dancer?” Rome perks up with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Don’t get any ideas in your head, Rome.” I step toward him, intent on cutting off wherever his deviant mind is trailing off to. “You will not be defiling my house or that poor girl. Besides, she’s not your kind of dancer.”

“My kind?” He throws his hand over his chest, pretending to be offended. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“She means a girl who has goals in life beyond using your dick as her own personal stripper pole.” Merry smirks.

I point a finger at his chest. “I’m warning you. She’s too good for you, don’t even try it.”

“Is that a challenge?” Rome smirks, facing off with me.

I cross my arms over my chest. “No.”

“I heard a challenge, princess.”

I turn around, giving up. I might not know much about the girl who will be making my home her own, but one thing was clear, she doesn’t seem like the type who would go anywhere near a guy like Rome.

At least, I hope not, for her sake.

“El, I want to talk to you about something real quick.” Sebastian throws an arm around my shoulder, and we take a step away from the group. “I’ve been thinking about Wicked Heat, and I think you should sing it.”

“That’s the next song.”

“Yep.” He nods, looking down at me. “It’s new so the fans won’t know the difference. And with things up in the air about when we’ll be recording again, it might never make it to an album, anyway. So, take it. It’s your song.”

“Our song.” I correct him.

“You wrote most of it.” He holds the microphone out. “We both know this is your song.”

I slip out from under his arm and turn to face him. Sebastian sober is different from how he was for years, and sometimes I still get whiplash from it. He’s goofy again, thoughtful, caring. And with the microphone hanging between us, I feel all those sentimental things he’d make fun of me for if he could listen to what’s going on inside my head.

“You need to sing this one. It’s all you.” Sebastian pushes the microphone into my hands, and I take it so it doesn’t drop when he lets go.

He plants his hands on my shoulders and for a second I forget there are tens of thousands of fans screaming for us right now. He’s simply my brother who’s two minutes older. I see us as children, surviving times that still make my stomach hurt to think about them. I see someone who might look like my dad if we had ever gotten to know him. I see the only stable family I’ve ever known, and I can’t help the tear that slips out.

“My voice isn’t warmed up,” I argue.

Sebastian brushes away a rogue tear. “Stop making excuses and get out there.” He turns back to the group. “El’s got this one, guys.”

“Really?” Noah grins. “That’s awesome.”

“You’ve got this, princess.” Rome nudges my shoulder as I near him. “And don’t worry, I’ll carry us on the guitar, so no one hears how shit Sebastian is on bass while you sing.”

“Fuck off.” Sebastian flips Rome off before slinging the bass guitar around his shoulder.

Even if Sebastian rarely plays an instrument on stage, he knows how to play almost as many as Rome does.

“Time.” Adrian stops in front of us, letting us know break’s over.

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