“If committingmanslaughter doesn’t say love, fuck if I know what does,” Bastian said by way of greeting when he climbed into the back of the Hummer after the show. After he’d rubbed his sweaty chest all over my tank top and gave me a smack on the ass when I complained that I’d have to smell him all the way home.
“Someone needs to put that in a Hallmark card,” Shane deadpanned.
Bastien howled with laughter and lit a cigarette, bumping his fist against Shane’s. “Good to meet you, mate. Glad you finally got your head out of your ass. Saves me from having to play fairy godmother.”
Shane chuckled and wrapped his arm around me. He knew that Bastian wasn’t a threat and that all we’d ever been was friends. “You’ll have to find yourself a new muse.”
“Who knows? It might be you, Golden Boy,” Bastian said with a wink.
“Golden Boy?” Shane muttered, raising his brows at me. I just shrugged. I should have mentioned that Bastian goes both ways and was a shameless flirt.
“Enjoy the show?” Bastian asked, his leg bouncing as he took a deep drag on his cigarette.
“It was great. You were great, Bastian,” I said, meaning it. Because he was. Bastian was gifted. So freaking talented it wasn’t funny. But even now, five years after hitting the big time, he still needed that reassurance.
He blew his smoke through the moon roof and settled back in his seat. “You two want to hang out and party?”
I shook my head, knowing that Shane was worried about leaving his dad home alone for too long. He’d texted a few times, only to get Jimmy’s reply to stop worrying and enjoy the concert. But still, we both worried. “No. We need to get home.”
Bastian asked the driver to drop him off at the Chateau Marmont and he let all his ‘people’ know where to be when he arrived. He led a weird life in the spotlight, hounded by fans and groupies, but Bastian was always lonely. Especially in a crowd. He never really knew who he could trust either. I was one of the few people he let into his very small circle of trusted friends and I’d never taken his friendship for granted.
“Are you ever coming back to New York?” he asked before he got out of the Hummer.
“If all goes well, no.”
He gave me a smile. “Love always wins, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’ll find your one.”
“Not in this lifetime. Goodnight Cinderella.” He kissed my cheek and shook Shane’s hand, telling him to take care of me before he hopped out of the car and got whisked away by his manager and his entourage of bodyguards. I watched him through the window as he stopped to sign autographs. Bastian’s story was a Cinderella story too. Once upon a time, he came to LA with dreams and empty pockets. Now he was a rock star, with the money and the fame and all that went with it. None of that could buy happiness though.
The Hummer navigated the LA traffic homeward-bound, and Shane leaned back in his plush leather seat looking all chilled and relaxed. A few minutes later, he side-eyed me. “Have you ever had sex in the back of a stretch Hummer?”
“Never.”
He grinned. “Another first.”
He undressed me in record time, and seconds later, in nothing but a black lacy bra and suede ankle boots the color of the desert sand, I was straddling him.
Three orgasms and a glass of champagne later, I sprawled out on the seat with my head in Shane’s lap, and woke up when the car stopped in front of his house. Jimmy was lying the hammock, the patio lights still on as we rounded the back of the house. I squeezed Shane’s hand as we ventured closer and we both sighed in relief when Jimmy’s eyes opened. When he saw us standing there, he gave us a little smile then closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep. We stood there for the longest time, neither of us going inside the house. I had the strangest feeling. Like this was the end. And pretty soon it would be time to say goodbye.
Two days later, Jimmy had a seizure. And then another one when he got to the hospital.
41
Shane
Two Weeks Later
Sam passed me the bottle of whiskey and I took a swig, passing it to Remy. Leave it to my dad to get us all out to sea on a boat. It was peaceful out here. The moonlight glowing on the water. The boat rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm. If it weren’t for the occasion, I would probably enjoy this. But here we were, waiting for my father to die. Death was so goddamn final. I found it hard to believe or accept that by the time we headed back to land, I’d never hear the sound of his voice again.
We might be out here for days or for hours. Could he really predict his own death? Yet he seemed to know that it was close. That he wasn’t going to live much longer.
In the end, it had all happened so quickly. One minute we were talking and laughing, and the next minute, he was all disoriented and his words made no sense. After the two seizures, we brought him home from the hospital instead of putting him in a hospice. Remy hired two nurses and I didn’t argue with any of the money she shelled out for my father’s care. Pride be damned. This was for my dad. He slept a lot, he wasn’t in pain, and his sense of humor was still intact during his lucid moments. Today he had told us that it was time and even if he was wrong, we weren’t about to argue with him.
So, we got him on a boat, just like he’d wanted and upon Remy’s insistence, we took it a step further and set him up in the hammock on the deck in the space between the seats. Not the easiest feat but we did it and now here we were, ‘celebrating’ the end of my dad’s life.
I didn’t know how much my dad heard but we talked to him throughout the night. We told stories. Recounted memories. Sam and I talked about my mom. Remy talked about working with my dad in the surf shop and about the time he taught her to surf. Our words flowed. We laughed at some of the funny stories and smiled at some of our memories. We talked about the sea and about surfing. About the stars in the sky and the friends who had stopped by to see my dad and what they had meant to him in his life. His surfer buddies. His former employees from the shop. A few friends who had known my mom.