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CHAPTER FIVE
Sebastian
Something was seriously wrong with me. A couple of days had passed since our text exchange, and I was still stressing out about what I’d been thinking when I’d asked Declan to lunch. After all these years, why would I try to change the game now? I could see why he ran, why he probably thought I was looking for more. Why he hadn’t answered the other texts I’d sent to see what he was up to. I was the mopey guy who’d been cheated on, showed up at his bar like a loser, asked him to come to my house to have sex with me, and then tried to get him to stay the night. And all that was before the lunch-text debacle.
Maybe he thought I was trying to make him my rebound. Oh God, was I trying to make him my rebound? I didn’t think I was. I just…wanted to be around someone I trusted, someone who, in a world of fake people, felt real. For whatever reason, that person was Declan. He’d never made any pretenses about who he was. He didn’t play games. He didn’t lie. He didn’t try to paint pretty pictures that weren’t true. If anything, he seemed to see himself in a less positive light than reality, and…why the fuck was I sitting by my pool, obsessing about Declan Burns?
“Get it together, Bastian,” I told myself because apparently, I was going to start talking to myself too. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so…out of place. I was cheated on, yes. I’d lost my boyfriend and my friend in one swoop, but was that enough reason for the itch that had taken up permanent residence under my skin? For the discomfort that had settled in my bones? The disillusionment I felt about everything? Because honestly, I’d started feeling those things before walking in on Neil naked in bed with Drake.
I sighed, unhappy with myself for how morose I was acting. That wasn’t normal for me, so I got up, pulled out my yoga mat, and spent the next forty-five minutes stretching and meditating. Afterward, I dived into the pool and swam a few laps. I’d get out of the house, grab some food, and maybe call up a friend. I tried to think of someone I wanted to spend time with, someone I could see myself having dinner with or grabbing a drink with.
I had a few acquaintances I went out with, sure, but I didn’t feel the urge to call any of them. I couldn’t imagine being able to just sit and talk to them, maybe tell them how I was feeling or what Neil had done.
The heavy weight of truth slammed into me: I didn’t have friends. Not really. The one person I’d thought of as a true friend had been Drake, and look what happened there.
When I’d moved to Los Angeles from Idaho, I’d just been trying to survive, trying to pay bills and work, while making my dream come true. It had been all about those things while also admitting I was gay, wondering if I’d lose my family if it ever came out, focusing on staying in the closet while trying to build my career, but also wanting so badly to explore my sexuality. To experiment and have sex and, hell, just know what it was like to be touched or held by someone.
And when I got my first major role, everything skyrocketed, and all I’d been able to deal with was keeping my head above water while lying to everyone about who I was.
After I came out it was just about work, the next role, wanting more, more, more, and now I had it all—I had the money and the fame. I had the art I’d always loved.
Except…now I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.
And I was alone.
“Well, this fucking sucks.”
Now that I’d admitted it, the time had come to do something about it.
* * *
I looked up at the sign for Driftwood and sighed. I really needed a fucking life. I’d gone out to dinner by myself. I’d clearly picked the wrong restaurant because a few fans had noticed me and asked for photos. Afterward, I took a walk down the beach. I’d found a place to sit in the sand and watch the waves, while evening turned into night, and now I was stalking Declan. Okay, maybe stalking was too strong a word, but I was… Nope. I couldn’t even think of another way to describe it.
It was a Tuesday, so his bar wouldn’t be too busy. For all I knew he’d be off, or didn’t close and would be gone. Or he’d consider a restraining order on me, and I’d wake up tomorrow to news all over the internet that the man I’d been fucking off and on for years had sold our story to the highest bidder after all.
