Page 109 of After Midnight

Usually, I’d try to suck it up, to put on my brave mask and tell everyone that everything is fine. But I’m so fucking tired. So instead, I rest my forehead on Seb’s hand where it’s still on my knee, and I whisper, “Can I go with you? Back to Cali?”

He draws a small breath, like he didn’t expect me to say that, and his hand tightens on my knee, just a fraction. “Of course.”

I fidget on the stool, curling my bare toes against the pleather material. “What if I don’t know how long I wanna stay?”

He lets out a gentle breath. “Rem, you can stay for as long as you like.”

With my head still down, I nod.

“When do you want to go?” he asks.

It doesn’t take more than a second for me to decide. I sit up and meet his gaze. “Today. I just wanna get out of here.”

“Okay.” Seb reaches out to touch one of my cheeks, and his eyes go harder, just for a moment. Then he stands and reaches into his pocket to grab his cell. “I’ll arrange it.”

I nod, then cast my gaze slowly around my condo. This place has been my sanctuary for years, has been one of the things I’m most proud of in my life. But it looks different now. It looks like a place that belongs to someone else, to a different Remi.

I still love it. But I really don’t want to be here right now.

So I finish my coffee, slide off the tall stool, and go to pack a bag.

I’m not running away, I tell myself. Though I’m not entirely sure I believe it.

chapter 51

Sebastian

IT TAKES A COUPLE DAYS at home in Cali for Remi to decompress. We spend our time lounging around the house, floating in the pool, and eating way more food than either of us needs. She told me the full story of what happened in the private room, and even though I still want to fucking murder that guy, she seems . . . okay. Like she’s processing it.

This morning, she talked to someone from the police department in Vegas, and when she got off the phone, her eyes looked clearer, her shoulders squared. She told me she intends to press charges, and then I just held her and whispered, “I’m proud of you.”

Now she’s by the pool, which I’ve determined is her favorite thing about the house. If she’s not eating snacks on the couch or curled up with me in bed, I can usually find her next to the pool, face tipped into the sun, like the true desert creature she is.

I’m next to her, feet in the water, when there’s a loud knock on the door. I look over my shoulder into the house, confused about who’s here.

“I ordered food,” Remi says, smiling up at me from under the big floppy hat I bought her at a tourist shop in Malibu.

The tension softens from my shoulders. “Of course you did.” I steal a quick kiss from her, then pull my feet out of the pool, dry them with a towel from the nearby lounge chair, and jog into the house. “Coming!” I yell as I swipe my wallet from the kitchen counter and reach inside for a tip.

When I pull the door open, I expect to find a delivery driver with a big bag of some sort of greasy food. Instead, I find my father.

My stomach drops.

He hasn’t visited me here since I first bought the place. And from the look on his face—eyes tight, mouth hard—this isn’t a casual visit.

“What the fuck, Sebastian?”

On the door handle, my fingers tighten.

“I’ve been calling you for days. Where the hell have you been?”

I grit my teeth, then say quietly, so that Remi won’t overhear, “I’ve had to shit to do.”

Dad lets out a sharp scoff. “Been doing a lot of that lately. Guess all that shit takes priority over your family.”

A twisted mess of guilt and anger swirls inside me, but I bite back anything I was about to say. Dad likes getting a rise out of me, baiting me into fighting with him so he can make me feel bad about it later.

So I refuse to engage.