Ruined (A Barnes Brothers novel) (5 page)

“Son of a bitch, boy. I think you’re sober.”

Sebastien squinted one eye. The other was closed. He wasn’t sure why he’d answered the call but he was stuck now.

As he lowered the heavy barbell to his chest, he blew out a breath, pondering what his manager was up to. Pushing it back up, he focused on his breathing before answering. “I’m sober.”

“Good, good . . . then we can talk this over in depth.” His agent JD Rutherford’s voice came through loud and clear over the Bluetooth.

“Talk what over in depth? If this is that stupid TV bio thing, I’m not interested. I might be a washed-up has-been but I’m not desperate for cash or attention.” He shoved the bar up with a little more force and wondered just who in the hell had passed his personal contact information onto the catty producer who’d contacted him.

“No,” JD said, his voice flat. “And you’re not a washed-up has-been. I don’t
work
with has-beens. I’ve been trying to get you out of that cave of yours for months, but you’ve been dodging me or so drunk off your ass, it’s hard to talk to you.”

Sebastien grunted. “Well, it’s early yet. Call back in a few and I’ll probably be on my ass again.”

He was lying. He’d almost dumped out all the alcohol the day he got back from Trey’s wedding in Virginia, but he hadn’t. Still, he hadn’t had a drink since the few sips of champagne he’d shared with Travis in Vegas. He hadn’t talked to anybody, including Marin, and he wasn’t sure exactly what had set him off, but when he’d gotten into his hotel room, he’d walked into the bathroom and stared at his reflection.

It wasn’t the scar or his messed-up eye that he saw, though.

For some reason, he saw himself the way he might have been at a family thing like this a year ago. He thought of how things had gone after Zach and Abby’s wedding. He’d hooked up with one of Abby’s bridesmaids and they’d tumbled into a hotel room and torn up the sheets for a few hours and he’d left with a smile on his face.

He hadn’t been smiling in Vegas, though.

He hadn’t had that easy, carefree feeling inside him in a long, long time. A year. It didn’t seem like a long time, but the months stretching out between the man he was now and the man he had been seemed like an endless, timeless desert. Only alcohol had dulled the pain, just like the brutal workouts had filled the empty hours between sleeping and drinking.

“I’ve got you on the phone now. Why would I call back?” JD said easily. “So . . . listen. Have you been paying attention to the news? Heard anything interesting lately?”

After racking the bar, Sebastien sat up and focused his eyes on the endless blue of the Pacific outside his windows. He tried to remember the last time he’d turned on his TV or even the radio, the last time he had looked at a blog or anything but his e-mail.

Weeks, at least. More likely, it was going on a couple of months.

“You know, Australia could have been swallowed up by a sea monster and unless somebody came by to tell me? I wouldn’t know,” Sebastien finally said. “I have absolutely no idea what’s going on in the world. I like it that way.”

There was a faint pause, and then JD asked, “You have completely disconnected from life, haven’t you?”

“No reason not to.” Sebastien stood and went to grab his water, draining half of it.

“Maybe that’s how you see it. I can understand, to some extent. But it’s time you come back to life—back into the world, kid. I’ve got a part for you.”

Sebastien was glad he was no longer bench-pressing.

He just might have dropped the bar straight on his chest in shock.

His hand tightened convulsively on the bottle and he stared at the mirrored wall in front of him, his gaze locked on the scarred side of his face. His vision in the left eye was far from perfect, although he could see to some extent. There were dark spots on the outer corners and the only reason he’d even seen a doctor for that was so he could make sure he was still okay to drive. He had to get his eyes checked far more frequently now, but none of that was what bothered him. His eye was just as fucked up as his face—the blue-green color foggier, duller, and his iris irregular. It was a grotesque shadow of what it had been.

Yeah. He could just see his ugly mug in a movie. What did they want him for? Were they doing another
Scarface
remake or what?

The very idea appalled him. The water in his bottle was no longer so appealing now. Usually, nights were the worst, when he had to fight the urge to go for the booze in his kitchen, but just then, it took everything he had not to go straight in there and grab a bottle and just empty it.

“No.”

“Sebastien—”

“I said
no
, JD.” Reaching up, he tapped the earpiece, ending the call.

***

Outside, night had fallen.

Inside, Sebastien was completely unaware. With his eyes on the reels from
You Wish You Knew
—the romantic comedy he’d been shooting with Marin—he tried to pretend he hadn’t spent half the day thinking about the call from JD.

“I’ve got a part for you—”

A part.
The last time he’d heard those words had been almost two years ago. He would have gotten to work on a sequel to the action comedy he’d done with a former wrestler turned actor after . . . His mind shied away from finishing that thought and just went with
after
. JD had stepped in and handled the production company, although the other costar had come out to visit Sebastien several times, tried to talk him into changing his mind.

He hadn’t had any more luck than anybody else. He’d also been pretty decent about Sebastien’s mouth, too. Especially after Sebastien had called him an asshole, a sell out, and a few other choice words—he’d just nodded and told Sebastien when he was ready . . .
“Give me a call, kid. I’ll be there
.”

Sebastien hadn’t called.

Fewer and fewer people called Sebastien and he stopped worrying about it much. Then JD goes and calls.

“I’ve got a part for you.”

The last time Sebastien had stood in front of a camera, it had been for this movie.

You Wish You Knew
was trapped in postproduction and would probably stay there.

The production company had been polite enough, waiting until six months had passed before they started asking him about coming in to wrap up things so they could get the movie going.

He’d ignored the e-mails, calls, and letters.

They started sending people out next.

When he hadn’t talked to them, threats of suing for failure to fulfill his contract had come next.

He’d returned the money along with an explicitly worded letter on where to shove it.

At that point, he guessed they’d figured out to just let it go.

It was a move to keep from losing face on their part. If they sued, it would end up in court and while he was being an asshole—and he knew he was—they’d be the ones looking like scum. He was, after all, grieving and licking his wounds. He could already picture the headlines.

It all made him sick.

And JD wanted him to come
back
to that?

Marin’s laugh, the sound distant, imperfect, thanks to the lack of complete editing on the reels, came out of the TV and he leaned forward, studying her beautiful face, her glowing eyes as she stared back at his character.

“You want to know what I look for in a man, Scott?”

“Isn’t that what I asked?”

Sebastien tried not to pretend his heart wasn’t speeding up as she leaned in. He could remember that scene. How she had laid her hand on his chest. How she had smiled up at him.

“You wish you knew, baby. You only wish you knew.”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Her face . . . Man, that face. The little dimple in her cheek flirting with her smile. “Shit.”

He shoved upright and hit the power on the giant screen before heading out of the room and up the stairs.

That was when he realized how late it had gotten. The day had died and night had come, and a few moments later, he found himself staring out at the endless black of the ocean. It wasn’t too different from the hours that stretched out in front of him, only those hours would be a lot quieter. Throwing open the door, he moved out into the night.

Wind slammed into him and he welcomed it, sucking in a half-desperate gulp of air.

Why hadn’t he paid attention to the time?

The days . . . yeah, the days were getting easier. He could get through the days, didn’t need to worry about really craving a drink—or even wanting one. Nights, though . . . nights were hard.

And tonight wasn’t hard; tonight was a mean bitch, and the urge to grab a bottle—

Spinning, he half stumbled, half ran inside and found himself in front of his liquor cabinet without any conscious decision to even
do
it.

A drink. Just one. Hell, he’d gone a few days, had proven he could. A few days . . . He thought back.

Five
days.

The glass bottles glinted back at him, clear, blue, red, all of them catching the light like beautiful jewels.

Five miserable days.

Not since he’d stood in the darkened corner with Travis, sharing that bottle of champagne.

“Your life’s not over,”
Travis had said.

“Be ready to be okay.”
Mom’s voice mocked him.

His hand tightened on the cool, chrome plating of the cabinet. When had he even
opened
it? He’d been staring at the bottles through the clear glass.

With a curse, he turned and slammed the cabinet door shut with enough force that the bottles inside rattled.

***

“You do still want the part, don’t you?”

Looking up at her agent, she took a moment before she answered. Even though she loved and adored the man, Marin knew better than to let anybody know when she
really
wanted something.

Even JD.

Torn
could be the most powerful part she’d ever play. Some people wouldn’t see it that way, but she saw the potential in it. She had from the beginning. But she hadn’t let JD see the greed in her. Did she want the part? Did seagulls fly? Did dolphins swim?

“Of course I still want the part. I’m glad Townsend is ready to go forward.” She placed the script facedown and settled back in her seat, studying her agent. “He has a lot of creative control. Has he talked about who it is he wants playing the male lead?”

JD tapped his index finger on the surface of his desk. “Actually . . . that’s part of why you’re here. I met with Townsend and Howard. They wanted to make sure you were still up for the part, and they posed a question to me.” He leaned forward, eyes intent.

The expression made her wary. “What?”

“I want you to talk to Sebastien.”

The jump made her head spin. “I talk to him once a week at least, JD.”

“I know. But I want you to talk to him about a part . . . specifically.”

Marin’s stomach did a funny little dance. “A part?” Her voice sounded terribly faint now and she cleared her throat before saying anything else. “JD, I think Sebastien would be better off talking to you about any parts he’s interested in.”

“I’ve already tried to talk to him, sweetheart. Talked to him two days ago—tried to call him yesterday and he wouldn’t even pick up the damn phone. So I’m calling in my secret weapon . . .
you
.” JD pointed a finger at her as he leaned forward and the intensity on his face only deepened. “There’s a special kind of magic between the two of you on the screen. Everybody can see it. He’d be perfect for the male lead in
Torn
—especially since you’re the one Townsend wants to play Marlena.”

It wasn’t often that Marin found herself speechless, but in that moment, she couldn’t think of much of anything to say. After a few moments, she finally found her voice and offered a weak smile. “JD, as much as I’ve always enjoyed working with Sebastien, I think he’s . . . done with it. He shows no interest in coming back.”

“That’s because he thinks he can’t. He thinks nobody wants him. He’s dealt with a lot of shit this past year and we’ve left him alone to do it.”

“I haven’t left him alone.” She stared him down.

“True.” JD nodded, stroking his chin. “Granted, he hasn’t jumped on you like a pissed-off bear the way he has with everybody else.”

“Even he had, I wouldn’t have left him alone.” She knew Sebastien hadn’t been easy to handle the past year, and more than once, she’d had to smack him in the head—had even done it physically once or twice—for how he’d treated people. But the last thing he’d needed was to be left
alone
.

“I suspect you wouldn’t have. The thing is, Marin . . . you can still reach him. Some of us can’t.” Leaning forward now, JD held her gaze. “Some of us felt it was best to back off for a while, but maybe we let it go for too long. It’s just . . . nobody has been able to reach him the way you have.”

“But I . . .” She floundered, struggled to find a rebuttal to that.

“But what, Marin?” JD studied her. “What are you afraid will happen if you go out there and talk to him? I’ve already tried. He shut me down, just like he has a hundred times. That’s the worst thing that can happen to you. Or . . . you could reach him.”

Marin had no argument for that and she looked back at the script for the movie. Inspired by a book of the same name by author Michael Townsend,
Torn
had become a runaway bestseller several years back. If it hadn’t been for Townsend’s wife, the movie might have already been in theaters. But Linnea Townsend’s persistent cough had turned out to be something much more serious.

The cancer in her throat had been far advanced by the time it was discovered.

The movie was put on hold.

Linnea had died six months earlier and Marin had gotten the call that the project was back on just a couple of weeks ago, but the actor previously contracted to play the male lead wasn’t going to be available for quite a while, thanks to schedule conflicts. Honestly, Marin didn’t mind. She’d never much cared for the guy anyway.

And they wanted Sebastien.