Outsider (23 page)

“The
visitation for Sed Lionheart’s father?” the photographer asked, relinquishing
his camera to Ethan, backing away, and reaching into his pocket to pull out a
cellphone.

Reagan’s
stomach churned, and her heart was pumping so hard, she could hear blood
rushing through her head. If a bunch of paparazzi showed up at the visitation,
it would be her fault for blabbing without thinking.

“Don’t
you fucking dare,” Ethan said, charging forward after the fleeing man who was
jabbering breathlessly into his cellphone as he darted around the parking lot
in a chaotic pattern.

“Ethan!”
Reagan called. “Don’t make this worse. Please!”

Sending
the photographer a look dark enough to blot out the sun, Ethan set the camera
on the ground and returned to Reagan’s side. “Let’s get inside.”

Reagan
nodded and reached for Ethan’s hand, but thought better of it when she noticed the
frizzy-haired dude had already collected his camera. Ethan followed a safe
distance behind her until they were inside the apartment. He pulled all the
curtains shut while Reagan went in search of Trey.

She
found him in the bedroom in his recently changed underwear, searching through
the few clothes he had left in her closet. His clothes, still slightly damp
from his dip in the pool, lay in a discarded heap on the floor. Hangers scraped
across the bar as he jerked each article of clothing into the next. With a
frustrated sigh, he yanked a pair of slightly faded black jeans from a hanger
and shoved a foot through one leg. Reagan moved in close behind him and pressed
her hand to the center of his bare back. His breath hitched, but he didn’t
acknowledge her, only stuffed his other leg into his jeans, pulled them up, and
fastened them with shaking fingers.

“Sweetheart,
what’s bothering you?” Reagan asked. “You can tell me anything.”
Including
the details of your brief affair with Brian.
But she wouldn’t push him to
spill his guts. Maybe Ethan did understand Trey better than she did. Maybe that
was why she hadn’t been enough for him. Would never be enough for him.

“I
just . . . I need to be with Sed,” Trey said, pulling a
gray-and-black-plaid button-down shirt from a hanger. “He supported me through
a lot of shit and now—when I might actually be able to return to the favor—I’m
playing chauffer to a pair of insensitive jackasses who only care about
fucking.” He stuck his arms through the shirt’s sleeves, but didn’t bother
fastening the buttons as he yanked on one sock and then the other.

Reagan
blinked at him, too stunned to defend herself or Ethan. Did he really see them
that way? If he’d wanted to be with Sed, he should have told them. It had been
his idea to spend the morning at his parents’ house. Before she could gather
her thoughts enough to point that out, he grabbed his shoes and stormed out of
the bedroom.

She
heard Ethan say, “Trey? Where are you—” before the slamming of the front door
cut him off.

The
front door opened again, and Ethan was yelling after Trey from the landing’s balcony.
Reagan hurried to stop him. That ridiculous photographer was probably still
milling about outside. They didn’t need this little spat displayed across every
checkout stand in the nation.

She
grabbed Ethan’s arm and tugged, trying to draw him back inside. Trey’s car was
already backed out of its parking spot. The tires squealed as he sped forward,
bumping over a curve when he turned into traffic to the alarming sounds of
several car horns.

“We
have to go after him,” Ethan said, pulling his arm free and starting toward the
stairs.

She
grabbed his arm again to stop him. “We will go after him, but we have to be
calm about it.” She jerked her head toward the frizzy-haired man in the parking
lot who was snapping pictures of them from ground level. She had no idea how
they’d spin this tale in the tabloids, but she was certain it wouldn’t be
flattering or sympathetic to their pain.

With
a snarl, Ethan gave the photographer a one-fingered salute and spun to go
inside. Reagan plastered a smile to her face so fake that she feared she’d
magically turned plastic. She followed Ethan inside and closed the door,
leaning against its back and drawing a steadying breath. Her entire body was
trembling, and her heart was full of longing for Trey. She hated that he’d
rushed off hurt and angry, hated it even more that some stupid photographer
made her feel like she couldn’t comfort him. And that Ethan definitely couldn’t
comfort him.

“Fuck,”
she muttered under her breath.

“Hurry
up and change,” Ethan said as he used a hip to burst through his bedroom door.
His arms and damp T-shirt were suspended over his head. “I’m so sick of those damned
photographers,” he grumbled. “If they know what’s good for them, they’ll stay
the fuck out of my way.”

Reagan
knew the feeling. She was sick of them too. She also knew this would get a lot
worse before it got better. Scrubbing her face with both hands, she went to her
bedroom in search of something suitable to wear, her thoughts bouncing around
in her head like unselected lottery balls.

Maybe
Trey was right. Maybe this would go away—or at least diminish—if they were open
about their complicated relationship. And maybe her father wouldn’t murder all
three of them and bury them in the desert in an unmarked grave. Maybe he’d
publicly execute them and display their dead bodies instead.

Trey
pushed through the crowded room, offering quiet greetings to the people he
knew, but he was looking for one familiar face. He didn’t see Sed anywhere, but
he did notice a highly recognizable, crazy hairstyle—black with a distinctive
yellow strip—near the front of the room. He hurried to Eric’s side, hoping Eric
could point him in Sed’s direction, certain their rock of a lead singer could
use a little support. Hell, Trey could use a little support himself. He wasn’t
in the mood to interact with anyone else.

“Where’s
your shadow?” Eric asked in greeting, nodding at the empty space behind Trey.
“And your shadow’s shadow?”

Trey
shrugged, as if he didn’t care that he was at odds with Reagan and even more so
with Ethan. He didn’t know why he’d reacted so strongly to Ethan revealing his
secret to Reagan. It wasn’t that Trey didn’t want Reagan to know the details of
his brief affair with Brian—that wasn’t the issue. The issue was . . . Trey
wasn’t sure, exactly, but a dark feeling was gnawing away at his insides. In
the car he’d been absolutely livid, and he wasn’t sorry he’d let the pair of
them know he was upset. Trey just wished he understood why he felt utterly
betrayed by Ethan’s slip. The three of them were supposed to be partners.
Equal
partners. Equal partners shared everything with each other and didn’t exclude
anyone. Didn’t they? He’d thought so. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Where’s
Sed?” he asked Eric.

“I
think he went outside for some air,” Eric said. “I wouldn’t bother him right
now. He’s not dealing with this well.”

That
was why Trey planned to bother him. “Thanks.”

He
turned to hunt for Sed outside, but Eric caught his arm. “Aren’t Reagan and
Ethan coming?”

Trey
shrugged again and pulled away from Eric’s loose grip. When he turned, Rebekah
was standing in his path. “About time you got—” Her cheery smile faded into a
concerned scowl. “Are you okay? You look pretty down.”

“How
am I supposed to look when a friend’s father dies?”

He
had known Sed’s father—and he was saddened by his passing and especially concerned
by how much it must hurt his only son—but Trey had troubles of his own, and he
didn’t want to talk about them with anyone, except maybe Dare. A quick glance
around the room and at the line that was filtering past the open casket told
Trey that his brother had yet to arrive.

Rebekah
gave Trey a quick hug. “He’s with God now. You’ll see him again when it’s your
time.”

Trey
didn’t find her words comforting in the least, but he nodded, and when she
released him, he continued on his way. When he finally located Sed behind the
building, part of him wished he hadn’t. Sed’s muscular, tattooed arms were
wrapped around a sobbing woman in a trim black skirt suit—Sed’s mother, Trey
realized on second glance—and though the words Sed repeated to her sounded
strong, his face was a crumpled mask of despair.

“It’s
going to be okay, Mom,” Sed told her. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“How
could he leave us now? Doesn’t he know we need him?”

Monica’s
angry words surprised Trey. It wasn’t as if the man had committed suicide. She
had to know he hadn’t wanted to leave his family behind, broken and grieving.

“We
would always need him. Now. Ten years from now. A hundred years from now.”

“I
just . . .” She shook her head and sniffed loudly. “I don’t know
what I’m going to do without him. I already miss him so much.” She tilted her
head back and looked up at her son, who towered over her.

“It’s
going to be okay,” Sed repeated. “I’ll take care of everything.”

She
smiled through her tears. “You’re so much like him. A mighty rock in turbulent
seas, standing strong against whatever the waves crash against you.”

Sed’s
smile was terse—tired—but Monica didn’t seem to recognize that the waves were
weathering her mighty rock more than usual. “You should go find Elise and Kylie.
They’re worried about you.”

“I
don’t want your sisters to see me like this.” Monica pulled a tissue out of her
pocket and dabbed at her eyes and nose.

“They
can handle it,” Sed said. “They’re like Dad too. And like you. It’ll give them
strength to stand beside you when you need them.”

She
nodded and they exchanged a lengthy embrace before she drew away and turned
toward the door. She offered Trey a wavering smile as she passed, and all Trey
could do was choke out a gruff, “I’m so sorry, Monica,” before she vanished
inside. He never knew what to say in these situations. He felt useless—even
burdensome—as if everything he said or did would make things worse. Perhaps he
should leave Sed to stare at the perfectly manicured lawn without saying
anything.

“She
brought me out here to give me this,” Sed said, extending his arm behind him in
Trey’s direction. Did he even know who he was offering the crumpled paper to?
He hadn’t glanced Trey’s way since Trey had stepped outside. “I want to read
it, but my vision gets all blurry when I try. Would you?”

Trey
stepped out of the shadow of the building and took the paper. What was it? His
father’s will? Some old love letter to his mother? Trey smoothed the page
against his chest and when he read the scrawled title at the top of the page,
his throat closed off.
Wedding Toast for Sed
. Trey swallowed against the
knot in his throat. Sed was marrying Jessica soon, and now his father would
miss the wedding.

“Are
you sure you want to hear this now?” Trey asked Sed’s back.

“I’m
sure. If I can’t handle it, I’ll tell you to stop.”

Sed
continued to stare at the lawn, and Trey was glad. He wasn’t sure he’d be able
to read if Sed got all emotional and he had to stare that in the face. The man
wasn’t only his family’s rock, he was the band’s rock too. Trey, Jace, Eric,
and even Brian had always depended on Sed’s infallible stability.

Trey
glanced at the funeral home, deciding he wasn’t the best person for the job.
“Maybe Jessica should—”

“I
asked you.”

“Fine.”
Trey lifted the page and cleared his throat. “Wedding toast for Sed,” he read.
“Believe it or not, this big guy was a little baby once.”

“I
don’t believe it,” Eric said from behind Trey. “No woman could squeeze out a
head that size.”

Trey
scowled at the interruption, but Sed just laughed. “My mom did have to have a
cesarean.”

“You
see?” Eric said. “He was never a
little
baby.” He tried to snatch the
paper from Trey’s hand, but Trey smashed it against his chest. “What are you
reading?”

“The
toast Sed’s dad wrote for his wedding.”

“Sed’s
wedding?” Jace asked from somewhere behind him. This was turning into a regular
band meeting.

“Yeah.”
Sed nodded. “Continue.”

Trey
was a bit surprised that Sed wanted him to keep reading now that Eric and Jace
had shown up, but they did share a tour bus for most of the year, so why not?

Trey
lifted the page—Eric standing close behind him to read over his shoulder—and
continued. “I remember when his mother and I brought him home—”

“There
you guys are,” Brian interrupted as he dashed up behind them. “I was starting
to wonder if I was at the right funeral home.”

“Shh!”
Eric said, waving a hand at Brian. “Trey’s reading the toast Phil wrote for Sed’s
wedding.”

“Oh,”
Brian said, stopping short. His smile of greeting slipped from his handsome
face, and he offered Trey a questioning look. In a glance, Trey understood
Brian’s anxiety, his turmoil and his concern—his need to be part of whatever
was going on here. He also understood his affection for Sed and for the other
members of his band. His guilt. What did he have to feel guilty about?

Trey
tore his gaze from Brian—why did the man always bring him peace and unsettle
him at the same time?—and started reading the page over again.

“Believe
it or not, this big guy was once a little baby. I remember when his mother and
I brought him home. We were so afraid we were going to mess him up.”

“I’d
say they did a pretty good job at that,” Eric quipped.

Jace
shook his head at him, and Eric ducked his head and folded his hands at his
waist. Even though they all knew that Eric dealt with uncomfortable situations
with jokes, now was not an appropriate time for Eric to unleash his inner
clown.

“He
grew so fast,” Trey read. “First words. First steps. First temper tantrum.
There were many more tantrums in store for his mother and me. I’m sure Jessica
has dealt with a few of those herself.”

Sed
chuckled. “More than a few.”

Trey
smiled and kept reading. “I tried so hard to push him into sports. Baseball and
basketball, track and swimming. Hell, he even tried soccer. Yet all he ever
wanted to do was sing. But when you have a kid built for athletics—look at the
guy, he’s a tank—you don’t want him involved in that sissy stuff.” Trey glanced
up, expecting Sed to look hurt for his father calling his chosen profession
“sissy stuff,” but Sed had a smile on his face and was nodding in agreement
with his father’s words. “You want him to kick some ass. He eventually took up
football. Not because he was any good at it or because he liked it, but because
he wanted to make me proud.”

Somebody
in the group sniffed, but Trey pressed on.

“I
was proud of him. I
am
proud of him. Not because he scored a touchdown—
once
.”
Eric chuckled and slapped Sed on the back. “Not because he’s successful or rich
and famous or too damned good looking for his own good. Not even because he has
a voice that makes the angels in heaven envious. I’m proud of him because he’s
my boy. And now he’s a grown man. A man smart enough to marry a strong woman
who doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Congratulations, Jessica. He’s your
problem now.”

A
laugh burst from Sed, but it ended on a sob. He pressed the heels of his hands
into his eyes and took a strangled breath. Leaning close, Jace touched his arm.
Jace had lost his father at a young age. He must understand what Sed was going
through. Maybe that was why Sed grabbed him in a crushing hug, his body quaking
with silent weeping. Trey exchanged a glance with Brian and Eric, and the three
of them wrapped Sed in a tight embrace.

They
stood in a huddle, lending strength and drawing upon it, until a gentle voice interrupted
their public display of less-than-manly affection. “Are you okay, sweetheart?
I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Sed’s
body relaxed as he turned his head toward Jessica. “I’ll be okay,” he said. “I
had Trey read Dad’s wedding toast to us because I was too emotional to read it
myself.”

“I
could have read it to you,” Jessica said. She squirmed into a narrow opening
between Jace and Brian to add her hug to their huddle.

The
guys all let go of him at once, and Sed released his stranglehold on Jace—who
took several deep breaths upon gaining his freedom—and wrapped his arms around
his fiancée, burying his face in her long strawberry-blond hair.

“I’ll
read it to you,” he said. “Later, when we’re alone.”

After
that cue to leave, Sed’s bandmates filed back into the funeral home with Trey
bringing up the rear. They all had women to lean on now. He supposed their old habit
of depending on each other for comfort had become obsolete. Except Trey still
wanted to confide his troubles to Sed. Only now wasn’t the best time to burden
the poor guy with his trivial problems.

“Trey?”
Sed called after him, and Trey turned, his shoulders slumping with relief. Sed
had recognized his turmoil. Good old dependable Sed. “Can I have that back
now?”

Sed
nodded at the paper fluttering in Trey’s hand. With a sullen nod, Trey retraced
his steps and returned the wedding speech to its owner. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ll
treasure it always.”

Sed’s
eyes scanned Trey’s. “Did you need to talk to me about something?”

Jessica
turned to examine Trey as well, her lips pursed with concern.

“It’s
nothing,” he said, his gaze shifting to the meticulous lawn that had so
enraptured Sed earlier. Maybe once Sed’s life settled down, Trey would feel
comfortable sharing his woes, but he felt like an ass for even considering
unloading on him just then.