Page 6 of Almost

I think it ranks up there pretty high as one of our worst fights. Sometimes I still try to tell myself that I imagined Sebastian thanking me for saying no and that I was the worst thing to almost happen to him. It becomes more awful when you think about all the shitty things he’s dealt with in his life.

Sometimes I drive all the way back to Greensboro to visit her grave, but it’s not the same as when she was alive.

I’ve dated a little bit, my most recent ex is Eric, who played football with Bash and Owen in college. We got together during one of my spurts that I spent in the States, but he didn’t want to do long distance, and I didn’t know when or if I was ever going to be ready to move back. We broke up a month before I got the call that Mimi’s health was declining. I never called to let Eric know I was back.

I have been trying to use this time to heal the parts of me I never took the time to heal initially while Penelope and I work on opening our gallery in Charlotte. I wanted to be close to Blake and Owen, and Penelope agreed, taking a sabbatical from her job in Paris and the next flight here.

She was my call after the funeral, but I didn’t tell her what he said. Sebastian would cease to exist if Penelope found out. We’re currently renting a house together that’s a few miles away from the gallery.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to heal when I’m exposing myself to further pain and heartbreak, but I guess I’ll have to figure it out.

I should have picked a different city. One where pictures of my ex aren’t on a building or billboard everywhere I look.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

CHAPTER THREE

Sebastian

“WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM? You’ve been in a mood since we got here,” I ask Owen, finally tired of his silence. I thought I’d enjoy the day he’s silent, but I have a feeling I can’t shake that it’s because something’s wrong. Normally he can’t shut up.

He rolls his eyes, picks up his station, and walks away from me to go to the locker room. There’s a good chance this is definitely about Thalia.

Our friendship since the breakup has evolved into this unspoken agreement where we don’t speak of his sister. It hasn’t been a problem until now, but I guess it was bound to happen at some point.

Owen doesn’t say anything until we’re in the privacy of the locker room. He immediately turns to face me, a fiery rage burning in his brown eyes. “Thalia asked me not to say anything, but why the fuck can’t you leave her alone?” he asks, glaring at me, and I rub my temples as I try to think of an explanation. I’d hoped she’d give me a few days before telling Owen so I could talk to him about it myself.

“I didn’t have a choice.” I scratch the back of my neck, fully aware that Owen has every right to be pissed. Hell, I’m pissed at myself, but I didn’t make her answer the phone or agree. Thalia’s a big girl; she can make her own decisions. That’s been made very clear.

“No, you don’t get to play that card because you had a choice. Hire someone else and leave her alone.” Owen glares at me, shaking his head. “Is this your version of a sick joke to punish Lia for saying no when you proposed to her?”

My jaw tightens and I try to find the right words before I make this any worse. “No, I wouldn’t do that to her. Kiera has been begging me to ask her and—”

“And what, Bash?You…I don’t even have the words for why you thought it was okay to call her. It’s not my fucking fault you won’t tell Kiera the truth about your relationship, but it is not fair for you to ask this of Thalia. I know that you know that too!” If Owen were an animated cartoon, he would have smoke coming out of his head. Scratch that, I’d be surprised if his head hasn’t exploded.

“Thalia’s an adult. She can make her own decisions, just like she has in the past. It’s not my fault she has to live with the choices she’s made.” I let my opinion slip, and his face reflects his anger. Yeah, definitely not the point to be making right now. “I’m sorry you don’t like this, but I didn’t make her agree. You have no business getting pissed at me for her decision to say yes.” And he doesn’t. Owen made it clear a long time ago that he wouldn’t get between me and Thalia, but that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.

“Except I do, and I am pissed at you because she’s my sister! You cause her physical pain, Sebastian.” Owen’s voice rises as he grows more upset. “I thought by now you knew that you’re not good for each other, but even asking her inthe first place to memorialize you getting married to another woman is cruel. Thalia only told me what you promised her in return because she was drunk on wine and tequila with my wife at five thirty on a fucking Tuesday! For everyone’s sake, I hope you keep your promise and leave her the fuck alone after this,” Owen snaps harshly to me, and the guilt I already felt last night over asking Thalia to photograph the wedding is renewed.

At least last night, Kiera’s happiness was infectious. It helped assuage my guilt last night, but right now, I feel awful.

I don’t know how to make this better for anyone involved.

Owen grabs his bag, shaking his head at me. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think you need to look at the choices you’re making, and think about whether they’re the right ones.”

~

When I get home, Kiera is taking notes over one of her textbooks in the office she’s turned into her library and study area. I smile and hover in the doorway as she pushes her glasses further up her nose. Her dark hair is pulled back in a braid.

It’s funny how just looking at Kiera can make me feel at ease after my argument with Owen. She has this calming presence that makes me want to be around her, but I can’t shake what Owen might have meant by the choices I’m making and if they’re the right ones. Could he have been talking about Kiera?

Zeus must have been sleeping on the ground next to her, but he lifts his head to look at me, the jingle of his tagscatching Kiera’s attention as well. “Hey there,” I greet, stepping into the room as she takes her glasses off and sets them on her book. A smile peels across her face, lighting up the room.

“Babe, I am so happy to see you. This class is frying my brain,” she complains as I take a peek at the text. It doesn’t make sense to me, but my degree is also in psychology, not nursing.

“What class is it this time?”

Kiera sighs, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Public health nursing in a community setting.”