A Filthy Friend (Filthy Line #5) - Jaxson Kidman Page 0,11

his bag slung over his shoulder, he had a free hand, and he touched my lower back.

My teeth chattered and I walked to the apartment.

When I unlocked the door, I had a sudden feeling of terror.

I had no clue what the place looked like.

Was there food left out? Did I throw yesterday’s bra on the back of the couch? When was the last time I cleaned?

As if I needed more emotion piled onto the day and night…

I turned on the light and Sebastian walked right by me.

Like he owned the place.

He put his guitar and bag down on the dining room table.

My eyes scanned around, looking at everything that was messy in the place.

“Bree,” he said. He opened his arms. “I have to say it. I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t believe it. How fucking fragile time is for all of us. I’m just so sorry.”

My knees felt very weak and I probably looked like a newborn giraffe as I trotted toward him.

I fell into Sebastian’s arms as I broke down crying again.

His strong arms wrapped around me and held me tight, keeping me from collapsing to the floor.

I clutched at the back of his t-shirt.

I started to shake.

“How do I do this, Sebastian?” I asked.

“What’s that?” he whispered.

“All of this… there’s so much I have to do…”

“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight you’re going to get some sleep. Tomorrow you handle it then. One day at a time. One minute at a time. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

I cried some more.

Each time I started to calm down, my heart commanded my brain to flash a memory of my mother. Or my heart told my brain that by morning things would be okay. I’d be able to call her. I’d talk to her.

But that was never going to happen again.

Ever.

When I ran out of tears, I looked up at Sebastian.

I was a mess.

I felt ugly. Gross. Weak.

Yet he smiled at me.

“What can I do for you right now, Bree?”

What you can do…

“How about a drink?” I asked. “Mia refused to let me have one. She didn’t want me to get drunk and sick.”

“She’s right,” Sebastian said. “You can’t get drunk and sick.”

“I need a fucking drink,” I said.

“I know.”

“I’m going to my room,” I said. “Bring me a drink or go home on your private jet.”

I walked away from Sebastian.

Something had to take the pain away… even for a few minutes.

I sat on the edge of my bed.

Sebastian sat on the floor with his back to the nightstand.

I told him to just sit next to me but he said he was comfortable on the floor.

He found an old bottle of whiskey that I didn’t even know I had.

It wasn’t my drink of choice. And each sip was more regrettable than the previous one. But… after a few drinks, I felt my body relaxing just a little. I felt myself getting tired. I was still emotional as hell, but there was the faint presence of comfort.

That could have just been Sebastian himself though.

“You’re really sleeping here?” I asked him.

“I’ve slept in worse places in my life.”

“Did you just call my apartment a dump?”

“No,” he said. He winked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “This doesn’t meet your rock star standards? Let me see… you need, what, some drugs? Strippers? Well, a pole too, right? More to drink than some shitty whiskey. Tell me when to stop?”

“You had me at strippers,” he said.

I swung my left foot and kicked him. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I said it.”

“You’re blushing, Bree,” he said.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” I said. “Do I have to call you Sab now too?”

“Only if you want to,” he said. “How’s the drinks making you feel?”

“Better than coffee did,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “You should shut your eyes soon.”

“I know,” I said. I took one more sip out of the whiskey bottle. My lips puckered and I shook my head. “Here, take this. I’m done.”

Sebastian laughed. “You never could drink, Bree.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. How many times did we sneak bottles into the woods together? You’d take these little baby sips. Or I’d have to buy you a bottle of soda so you could mix it together.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” I said.

Sebastian took a big gulp of the whiskey.

Sebastian.

Sab. The drummer. The bad boy drummer.

Filthy Line…

A rock star…

He put the cap on the bottle. “Do you need anything else?”

“Actually… will you play me a song?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been a long time.”

“I guess that’s true,” he said. “I found