His brows furrowed in confusion, and my heart ached. He didn’t remember.
There was a knock on the door, and we stepped back so an assistant could poke their head in.
“We need you two on set. Sorry.” They cringed as they backed out.
“This isn’t over.” Sebastian pointed at me then left.
I followed him, and we finished the rest of our day tossing backhanded comments at each other while we pretended to be madly in love. When we were done, I tried to go to my trailer alone, but Sebastian insisted on following me inside and demanding I play him the voicemail.
“I think I’d remember breaking up with the only girl I’ve ever loved,” he shot at me as I dug through my bag for my phone. I pulled it out and started going through my password-protected files. Finding the one I’d listened to so many times I could recite it word for word, I lifted the phone and pushed play.
A younger, sixteen-year-old Sebastian came through the speakers. “Evie. Evie Reyes.” I looked up at him. Sebastian’s green eyes grew wide, recognizing his own voice. “You dumb bitch.”
Sebastian took the phone and sat down on my couch as the voicemail continued.
“I got your voicemail. I don’t really know what to say. Do you really think I’d leave everything behind? I worked hard. My family has sacrificed everything for me. Heather—Heather has done so much for me. To ask me to just give it all up to go with you... wherever is fucking selfish, man. You’re delusional. If you want to leave... you’re on your own. There’s too many people here that need me. The world is going to know my name someday, Evie Reyes, and you should feel like shit for even asking me to choose. You’re just as spoiled and entitled as your mom was. Get fucked.”
I mouthed each word. It was the first monologue I’d learned by heart. Sebastian watched me with careful eyes as he listened. When it was over, he played it again. When it was done, he set the phone down and shook his head.
“I— I don’t remember that. This is weird. If you left me a voicemail, I didn’t get it. I would...” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. He came to sit with me, taking my hands. When I tried to pull away, he held me firm. “Evie, you have to believe me. If you’d asked me to leave, I would have. That’s not me in that message. It can’t be. This message feels like something...” His eyes glossed over. “Something isn’t adding up.”
He stood, letting go of my hands. “Can you come over tonight? I have to do some digging, but I think I have proof that the voice on that message isn’t me.”
When I didn’t agree right away, his expression turned soft, his eyes pleading. “Please, Evie, give me a chance to prove my innocence.”
I stared at him for a long time. Could I believe that it was all a hoax? “Fine. But right now, I don’t believe you. I spent the last five years listening to that message, thinking I was the worst human in the world for asking you to sacrifice your career to come stay in some small town in Michigan. I can’t go through that again.”
“If I’d gotten the message, I would have.” His voice was firm. “You won’t go through that ever again. Just come over. I think I know exactly what happened.”
Later that night, I stood on his doorstep, hands in my hoodie, feeling awkward and ready to run back to my car. He answered, the dogs barking excitedly at his feet.
“Come in. I found it,” he said, pushing the dogs back with his bare feet.
Even now, I wanted to hate him, but as I walked behind him, I found myself admiring his shirtless back and all the muscles and ink on it. The memory of what he’d done to me this afternoon on set while we filmed sent me blushing and my body pulsing.
I hated how I responded to him, each and every time.
Sebastian took me to his living room, where he had a movie paused on the TV. He reached for the remote. “Sit.”
I did as requested, and my space was invaded by his loving pets. I laughed through the pain radiating from my side as they licked my face and tried to climb onto my lap.
“Listen to this,” Sebastian said, pushing play on the TV.
I pushed the dogs away and leaned forward. A younger Sebastian was on the screen, talking to an older man—a teacher, it looked like. They were discussing him falling asleep in class because he’d been running from Simon Says all night. He paused the scene and looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I shook my head. “What?”
“Listen again.” He rewound and played it again. “That’s not me. That’s a voice double. His name is Wes. He came in and did voice stuff for me all the time when I had scheduling conflicts. That voicemail was from him.”
“How do you know?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Pull up the message,” he requested, and I had to muscle through another listen. He paused it. “Right there. Listen when he says your name. I don’t say your name like that. Never have. Heather must have paid him to record this.”
We replayed that small part a few times, and my eyes widened as I heard it. Holy shit.
“What does this mean?” I gulped, pushing down all the emotions I was feeling at that moment. I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling. Hope? Nervousness? Relief? All of that and more was washing over me in droves, overwhelming me.
Sebastian snickered. “It means we have a pit stop to make. You’re going to get your revenge, and I’m going to get mine. Let’s go.”
