Page 105 of Reckless Hearts
Seb and I normally skirt around the topic of Saskia like it’s fenced off with hazard warning tape.
“She’s told me he’s been working long hours, and they’ve had a few fights about it,” I say carefully.
His forehead lines get even deeper. “Maybe I should be a good brother and check in with her more often. I don’t really catch up with her that much.”
I shift uncomfortably. Saskia and Seb are too different to ever be close, but I’m sure I’m also a big reason why Seb keeps his distance from Saskia. He has to conceal such a major part of his life from her.
But keeping our relationship a secret is Seb’s idea, not mine.
“Saskia got pissed off at Mum because she was dropping major hints about grandchildren,” Seb continues as he stops the engine of his car. “I got slightly annoyed that they didn’t even mention the possibility that I could have kids one day. It’s like they’ve completely disregarded the idea that as a gay man, I could also be a parent.”
My stomach clenches.
“Do you want kids?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Yeah, probably. I like the idea of being a dad.”
For a second, I imagine Seb as a father. Sharing his passion for learning with his child, patiently explaining complex concepts in that endearing way he does.
I shiver. I can’t cope with the idea of being a parent, being responsible for guiding an innocent life through this messy world.
“I never want children,” I say definitively.
“Oh, right.” Seb swallows. He fiddles with his seatbelt. “Maybe I’ll concentrate on being a great uncle to this brood of children Saskia is supposed to be producing.”
I can see the disappointment he’s trying to conceal from me.
Fuck.
This is why I shouldn’t have ever started something with Seb. I can never be what he needs.
But I’m too selfish not to have him in my life.
If I were a better person, I would end things between us. Let him be free to date the guy Saskia wants to set him up with, find a nice guy who will be around all the time, who can give him everything he deserves.
“You better go weigh those chicks of yours,” I say. “And I’ve got to get ready for Jake’s Christmas extravaganza.”
“Yeah, I guess I better get going.” He bites his lip and adjusts his glasses, pushing them up his nose. “Talk later, okay?”
“Yeah. Later.”
I’m still unsettledby my conversation with Seb when I arrive at Jake’s house.
Jake’s house is a modernist monstrosity perched on a Hollywood hill, all sharp angles and gleaming glass. It’s the kindof place that screams, “I’ve made it,” so loudly that you can practically hear the echo bouncing off the canyon walls.
Jake materializes at the door, martini in hand. “There’s my favorite client! Merry Christmas, you beautiful bastard.”
He ushers me inside, his hand on my back feeling more like a cattle prod than a friendly gesture. The house is full of the Hollywood elite, all air kisses and fake laughter.
The chatter and clinking glasses grate on my already frayed nerves.
It’s not until Jake pauses by the bar and orders me a drink that he scans me up and down, his gaze lingering on the shadows under my eyes.
“Rough night, sunshine? I have to say, you’re currently looking less ‘Hollywood heartthrob’ and more ‘hungover frat boy.’”
Fuck.
I don’t know why, but I always feel Jake’s criticism sharply. Maybe it’s because, on some level, I feel like a construction of Jake’s. He took a know-nothing university student from New Zealand and turned me into one of the most recognizable men on the planet.
