Top Shelf: A Seacroft Novel Read online

  The house was quiet as he pulled in and stashed his bike in the garage. Nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary.

  Except in retrospect, there were clues.

  If he’d been paying attention, he might have noticed the back door was open even though he and Brian always kept it locked. If he hadn’t been trying to mentally force his phone to do anything but show the same text message over and over, he might have seen the pile of clothes on the floor in the hall. If he hadn’t been worrying that Seb might never come back, he might have heard the sounds coming from the kitchen.

  In the end, none of these things happened, and so Martin was completely unprepared for the sight of Brian’s naked ass, clenching as he thrust into a woman whose legs were wrapped around his hips, on the kitchen table.

  “Holy shit!” Martin threw his arm over his eyes like he’d witnessed an explosion and flung himself back into the hall.

  “Jesus!” Brian’s voice was just as surprised. There was a scuffling sound, and the woman yelped.

  “Smarts! What the hell?” Brian appeared. His shirt was off, and he was doing up his belt. “Have you never heard of knocking?”

  “I have to knock in my own house? I’m allowed to come in without announcing myself!”

  Brian had the decency to look apologetic.

  “And you have a bedroom!” Martin’s eyes widened. “I mean, a little discretion would be good in any case, but really? The kitchen? I eat on that table!”

  Brian nodded, head hanging down. For a second, it looked like he might be fighting back tears, or trying not to be sick, but then his shoulders gave a telltale tremor, and Martin’s horror grew.

  “Are you laughing?” he asked.

  Brian shook his head, but a giggle escaped. His brother doubled over, his whole body shaking with it.

  Movement caught Martin’s attention; a woman with long brown hair peeked out of the kitchen.

  “Jess?” He blinked and tried not to recoil as she stepped into the hall.

  “Hey, Marty. Sorry about that.”

  Her hair was a mess. She wore a knee-length denim skirt twisted to one side, and she had wrapped a red and white striped dishtowel around her chest.

  “It’s, uh . . . ” He very studiously stared anywhere but at his perhaps-not-so-former sister-in-law’s breasts.

  “Nice to see you too. Excuse me.” She scooted between the two of them and out the way Martin came in. Then he saw the clothes on the floor which she snatched up and darted into the laundry room, slamming the door shut as she went.

  The brothers stood in the hall, silently staring at each other. Martin’s pulse was still jumping in his throat.

  “So.” Brian scratched at his chest. One shoulder was covered in bite marks.

  “Yeah.” The residual embarrassment pressed in on Martin, and he fled to the porch.

  A few minutes later, the front door opened, and Brian and Jess, both fully dressed again, appeared.

  “Sorry again, Marty. About before.” Jess stood on her toes to kiss Brian for longer than they probably should have for two people who spent most of their time yelling at each other. They murmured soft things to each other that made Martin’s heart hurt, and then she hopped down the steps. Her car was parked on the street. Martin couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen it before.

  Brian came to sit next to him. Neither one spoke for a bit. The last time they had sat like this was right before Seb arrived to pick Martin up, when Brian received the separation agreement.

  “So,” Martin said when he realized Brian wasn’t going to make the first move. He’d make the last one, though—Martin would make sure, because it involved sanitizing every surface in the kitchen.

  “So.”

  “Was that just some kind of farewell thing you straight people do? Or should I take this to mean the separation is off?”

  Brian chuckled. “It’s on an indefinite hold.”

  “What brought that on?” Martin coughed on a lump that felt suspiciously like disappointment, which was unfair because his brother deserved to be happy.

  “She called. Said she was sorry, and . . . ” Brian laughed softly. “No. That’s not true. I called her. I begged. Told her everything.”

  “Everything?” Martin raised an eyebrow.

  “That I was a selfish prick who couldn’t get his head out of his ass to see how much she was hurting over this. That I’d been too stubborn to move beyond my own ego. That I loved her and it didn’t matter if we had kids or not, or if we had them some other way, as long as she—” It was Brian’s turn to cough. He sniffed and ran his hand over his eyes. “I love her, Smarts, and . . . and that’s it, I guess. I’ll do whatever she wants me to do, as long as I can be with her.”

  Martin’s smile was thin but sincere. “Is she moving back?”

  “We’re . . . ” Brian’s returning grin was shy. “You weren’t supposed to see that, before. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. We’re going to take it slow.” His eyes widened, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “But even when she moves back in, that doesn’t mean you have to go! If nothing else, she’ll bring all the old furniture, so you can have a real room instead of the pullout. You know you’ve got a home here.”

  Martin nodded, but he couldn’t make himself speak. He didn’t want to stay, not if it meant being the third wheel in Brian and Jess’s happy reunion.

  He missed the apartment above the bookstore, even though it had never been his.

  “Did you hear from Seb?” Brian must have developed mind reading as a skill, along with humility.

  Martin shook his head. “Please don’t make this the part where you tell me I need some big gesture. Where I have to call him and pour my heart out that I miss him and need him and that I want him to come home. Because I’ve tried that, and it hasn’t helped.”

  “Well, it worked for me.” Brian stretched and wrapped one arm over Martin’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  “Seb isn’t Jess. And I can’t give him back what he lost.”

  “Then what can you give him?”

  Martin frowned. “What?”

  “If you care about him so much, and he’s disappeared because he’s lost everything, what do you have that might get him to come back?”

  “When did you get so astute?”

  “When I realized my wife was going to leave me if I didn’t stop being an immature jerk.”

  He had a point.

  “I won’t miss lying to her on the phone about where you are.”

  Brian winced. “Sorry about that. And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about your love life, not mine.”

  “Believe me,” Martin grimaced, “I have seen more of your love life this afternoon than I ever wanted to.”

  “I’ll put a sock on the door next time. The look on your face. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

  Martin laughed. “Might need a flashing light. I completely missed Jess’s bra on the floor when I walked in.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Jesus. You convince your wife to take you back and suddenly you’re the love doctor.”

  “Two doctors in the family! I’m as surprised as you are. I didn’t know I had it in me.”

  I’m not who you think I am.

  Who did Seb think he was? There were so many versions of him. The ghost, the charming artist everyone wanted to know, the lost son only good for making a scene. Which one was Seb?

  “You’ve got your thinking face on,” Brian said.

  What Martin had was a headache. And possibly an idea.

  25

  Kenneth pulled Seb out onto the street. It was raining, not enough to get wet, but definitely enough to be cold within thirty seconds. Seb flipped up the collar of his jacket.

  “See? I told you this was a good idea.” Kenneth grinned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one pocket.

  It had been a not bad idea. After several more unsuccessful attempts to get Seb to enjoy himse
lf in the club scene, or possibly for Kenneth to “conveniently” show up at the same places Anton frequented, Kenneth suggested a weekend in Asheville might be their best bet.

  Kenneth splurged on a hotel, although Seb had suggested an Airbnb would have been the more economical choice. He’d expected Kenneth to set them up for another night of clubbing, but his friend surprised him with a dinner reservation and last-minute theater tickets. He’d done something similar back when he’d booked Seb his first show. A city dinner and a show hadn’t been in the cards for either of them at the time, but Kenneth went all out on a two-for-one special at a diner, followed by a community theater production of Rent. It hadn’t been fancy, but the sentiment had been there.

  Seb’s phone vibrated. Oliver had been texting a few times a day. Persistent bastard. Seb checked the phone long enough to see it wasn’t Oliver. It was Martin. That was almost worse. He could give Oliver the cold shoulder, but the longer Seb stayed away, the more he regretted how he’d left things with Martin. He missed his quiet warmth beside him in bed and his gentle care when Seb’s mood turned too dark.

  He didn’t bother to read the message. Next to him, Kenneth took a drag on his cigarette.

  “So after this,” he exhaled a long stream of smoke, “I’m thinking drinks at a rooftop bar. We can flirt with whoever stops by, but we’re sleeping alone. Deal?”

  Seb groaned. “You talk a good game now, but we both know the first pair of dark eyes and a designer watch that looks at you the right way will have you on your knees in the bathroom.”

  Kenneth made an indignant noise. “I said I wasn’t going to bring them back to the hotel. What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom.” He put the cigarette to his lips again and inhaled.

  Seb watched the end glow red, flaring and consuming the paper and tobacco. Kenneth continued to lay on the terrible jokes and innuendo, but Seb responded mechanically, watching the cigarette burn and shrink. His books had done the same, abandoned and dancing as the fire took them away.

  Martin’s frightened face appeared in his thoughts, the afternoon in the apartment when Seb found him with that first piece in his hand. He’d said Seb was corrupting someone else’s work.

  The cigarette glowed.

  Seb’s pulse picked up.

  “You ever heard of anyone doing an exhibit with fire?” he asked.

  “They do it at the circus all the time. I could get you some chainsaws too.”

  “No, I’m serious!” His mind creaked slowly to life. Sluggish at first after a week of spiraling sadness, but gaining momentum. He thought of the way Martin had pulled his life back from the abyss and how he spoke so passionately about his dead poet whose work had nearly disappeared.

  There was an idea. Inspiration. It hovered at the edge of conscious thought.

  And then that one warm ember vanished as his phone buzzed again.

  He scowled at the screen and whoever had dared to interrupt him.

  “Who is it?” Kenneth asked.

  “It’s my brother.” Or else someone had hacked Oliver’s phone because the message was a link to a crowdfunding page, captioned with Please take a look. Seb rolled his eyes. If Oliver was asking him for money to kick off his granola and weed brownies business, he had bigger balls than Seb would have given him credit for.

  “What does he want?”

  Seb shrugged and put the phone away again. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go find you a date.”

  * * *

  In the morning, Seb was hungover. He hadn’t had so much to drink that the night had gotten out of hand, but once he’d started to feel warm and loose, the soft abandon had been a relief.

  Kenneth was in significantly rougher shape, moaning from the other double bed in their hotel room. “Did you learn to play the castanets overnight, or is that just my headache talking?”

  “It’s your headache.”

  Kenneth groaned and pulled the blankets up over his head.

  Seb had dreamed of fire, but unlike the nights before, it hadn’t carried away all the things he cared about. Instead, it danced over the pages, leaving curving lines in its wake, scarring without destroying. Changing what was there while the root of the work stayed the same.

  On the night stand, his phone vibrated. It was Martin.

  Did you see it?

  See what? He didn’t bother unlocking the screen. He was getting there, almost. If he could chase the thing that bubbled quietly in the back of his mind, if he had that to hold onto, maybe he’d be ready to face Martin. He’d have something to offer then.

  “Can you make coffee?” Kenneth’s voice was muffled and pitiful under his blanket.

  Seb threw a spare pillow at him, but he got up and found the room’s single-serve coffee maker and set it to brew.

  He showered, still thinking about how the fire remade everything. Was it really any different than what he’d done for years? The fire had been more destructive, less intentional, but the end result was the same.

  “Kenny,” he said as he stepped out of the shower, “do you know anyone with cheap studio space for rent?”

  “Planning your glorious return?” Kenneth’s voice was muffled behind the bathroom door. He had the TV on; soft music played, and a woman was speaking, although Seb couldn’t hear what.

  “It’s just an idea. We’d have to find some somewhere to work first, and they’d have to be willing to let me rent it for cheap, or maybe for free, at least until I can finish and sell some pieces.” He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hotel room. Kenneth was propped up in his bed, a paper coffee cup on his night stand. He was watching something on his phone, his face creased in a frown.

  “Are you listening to me?” Seb asked.

  “Not really.”

  “I said we’d need to find me some cheap studio space. I’m starting from scratch, so there wouldn’t be a lot of money left for rent.”

  “Mmm.” Kenneth paused the video. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”

  “You know a place?” Seb rummaged through his suitcase for clean clothes.

  “No. At least not in the price range you’re talking about.”

  “That sounds like an issue then.”

  “Not really.” Kenneth held up his phone. “Because I think you’re kind of rich.”

  26

  Putting it all together took five days, and then another five days after Martin launched the campaign for Seb to come back. They were among the longest days of his life.

  It had started as a much smaller idea.

  “Seb needs to know he has a home in Seacroft,” Martin said to Cassidy, pulse thumping under his skin.

  “Of course he does!” Her conviction made it easier to explain.

  “I want to make a video. You, Oliver, possibly Penny and Carol Anne. I want you to talk about Seb and how he’s helped you.”

  “And you? We’re going to film you too, right?” She said it like it was only logical, and not that Martin was more special to Seb than anyone else.

  “Maybe.” The idea of letting someone film him talking left him nauseous.

  “Definitely.” Cassidy’s smile made his skin itch.

  She broke the ice and had them record her first, with her drawings spread out behind her.

  “Seb has been a great mentor to me. I always thought I was bad at school, like I just wasn’t trying hard enough. But Seb showed me that it was because I was good at other things. I’m going to art school next fall, even though he thinks I don’t need it.” She grinned at the camera. “But I want him to know that it’s my choice, and I couldn’t have gotten there without him.”

  Penny was equally keen to help.

  “Seb is such a fixture in this town. We’re so lucky to have him here. Small towns like Seacroft have the potential to be hubs for creative communities, and artists like him put us on the map. Besides that, Seb is one of the most compassionate people I know, although he probably thinks he hides it well. He’s so giving of his tim
e, and his art. He donated a piece to a silent auction recently, and was integral to the success of the event.”

  Oliver sent a video.

  “Seb is my little brother, but I’ve learned to look up to him over the years. He’s always forged his own path and been a hundred percent committed to seeing the world his way. I admire him for the risks he takes. We don’t see each other as much as I’d like to, but I hope that changes in the future.”

  The second part of Martin’s idea had been to use some of the money raised at the blues night to help Seb get back on his feet.

  When he asked, Carol Anne shook her head sadly. “Our budgets are all tightly controlled. We can’t use it for anything other than what we’d already earmarked it for.”

  Martin had chewed his lip in annoyance. His idea had seemed so simple. “I don’t suppose we could ask everyone to donate again?”

  “Why not?”

  So Martin figured out how to set up a crowdfunding campaign online, writing what he thought was a heartfelt but succinct plea to contribute to the cause.

  Cassidy had read it with a raised eyebrow, though. “We should add the video to it.”

  “What? No!” Martin meant for it to be personal, something to share with Seb once they’d finished raising the money

  “Everyone loves sad stories,” she’d said. “But we still need to record you first.”

  Martin avoided that suggestion by recruiting other people. It had taken a few days because once the residents of Seacroft heard about what they wanted to do, everyone wanted to be involved. There were people who came and went in the bookstore, some who Martin recognized but didn’t know by name, with simple stories of a wave and a smile every time Seb passed. They talked about seeing his pieces in galleries elsewhere and being proud to tell people that the artist lived in their hometown.

  “You need to do one,” Cassidy told Martin.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Yes it is. Why don’t you want to do it?”

  Martin fought down every instinct that said this would be a disaster. For Seb, he’d try.