Page 30 of Sterling Heat

“Then I’ll speak.” Sebastian swipes his finger and thumb around his lips. “It’s complicated. But the short version is, I did stupid things as a kid. Even stupider things as an adult. And I used drugs.”

Not exactly a full explanation, but there’s only one present concern for me. “But now you’re clean?”

“Now I’m clean.”

There’s definitely more to his story, but I don’t push. We’ve all made unfortunate choices in our past and I’m not here to be his judge and jury. His brief explanation hints that he’s reconciled with what he’s done and admits he had an issue. Admitting a problem is half the battle.

“Now I have a question for you.”

“Okay,” I hesitate.

“How did you know what to do with the pills?”

Some would say common sense said flush them away, but there’s more to my story, as well. “My brother was an addict.” I swallow around the sadness that always swells when I think of Seamus. “He was a few years older than me, and he just . . . got in with the wrong crowd, I guess.”

My family will never have answers. While loving at times, my parents were also conservative and opinionated. The effect was triple-fold. Seamus did drugs. Cadence tried to get as far away as she could. And I did what I did, resulting in Adara. Of the three, my decision was not the worst.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Sincerity fills Sebastian’s voice.

“Thank you. He wasn’t as fortunate as you.”

Sebastian scoffs before shifting a glance at me. “What do you mean?”

“He’s dead because of his addiction.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry Enya.”

Not knowing how to respond, I stay quiet, clutching my hands together. Apologies for death are always awkward condolences when someone doesn’t know what to say to such news. I’m sorry my brother is gone as well, but when it happened, I was angry. My parents didn’t want to claim his body. My father simply identified him. They were silent about details pertaining to his death. Drugs. That was the culprit in their eyes. He’d made his choices and he died from them.

Why didn’t my parents do more? Why hadn’t Seamus been strong enough to seek help? How had this happened to him?

Again, answers I’ll never have.

Sebastian clears his throat. “You said he was older than you. How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-eight.”

The corner of his mouth cricks upward. “Thirty-five.” He points at himself.

I would have guessed him a little older from the hardness around his mouth and the weary light in his eyes, but age is relative. Experience is what ages us and I’d bet Sebastian Sylver has lived more than one lifetime in his thirty-five years.

“Any other siblings?”

“Just a younger sister. Cadence is her name. She’s your age.” Sebastian was Cadence’s type. She liked bad boys in school, while I tried to stay on the straight and narrow path, never wanting to disappoint my parents like Seamus had. The biggest deviation I made was an eleven-year relationship that led nowhere.

“She’s in London right now for work.”

“Speaking of work.” He side-eyes me. “How did you become an accountant?”

“What’s wrong with accounting?” I defend.

“Nothing.” His brows lift. “But most accountants wear glasses and have a collection of calculators like my brother Judd.”

“What’s wrong with glasses?” I snap, defensive again. “I wear them on occasion.” My eyes are getting older, and sometimes columns of figures blur together by the end of a long day.

“I’d like to see that,” he mutters, biting the corner of his lip and slowly shaking his head.

“What about you? How did you become a baker? If we’re going to be stereotyping, you hardly seem like a sugar and spice guy. What made you fall in love with baking?”