She pulled a jeweled box of Kleenex close to her and began to dab at her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted what was best for you.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. It’d do no good to keep railing at his mother. He needed to figure this out and get things moving. Start making headway to getting Chelsea back. First off, though, he needed that damn video. “Do you still have the file?”
Mrs. Cabral clutched her pearls. “Are you going to watch it?”
“Fuck, no.” The thought made him ill. “I’m going to take it to the police. I want that sick fuck arrested.” His fists clenched, over and over again. He imagined the asshole in front of him, and pictured punching his smug, grinning face.
His poor Chelsea. God, how utterly betrayed and violated she must feel at the moment. He had to fix this for her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to make this right for her. It was his fault she’d gotten mixed up with his family in the first place. If she hadn’t, would the tape have ever surfaced? Her pain could stay buried and she could have gone on with her happy life, skating with her friends and making her soaps. Participating in Gretchen’s wedding.
He didn’t deserve to have her.
“Going to the police—that’s good, Sebastian,” his mother said encouragingly. “They’ll know what to do. But once this man knows the information is out there, won’t they come after us?”
“I don’t know, and don’t care.”
“Whatever you think of me, your father doesn’t deserve to have his family smeared through the mud.”
Sebastian ground his teeth. She was good at aiming where you were weak, his mother. “What do you propose?”
“You’ll have to keep quiet about the video until the police have captured this man. I’ll come up with something else that will distract the tabloids.”
“Like what?”
She gave him a sly look. “I’ll enlist Lisa. She wants to be famous and doesn’t care how. You leave it to me. We’ll have a new story for the tabloids and one that will scare your blackmailer into silence for a little while.”
He nodded. “You do what you need to do. I’ll go to Austin and get Chelsea and let her know—”
His mother put a hand on his arm. “Wait, you can’t do that.”
“What do you mean?” Knowing Chelsea was in pain and hurting? It gnawed at him like a wound. He had to let her know he didn’t care about the tape. That he loved her and still wanted her, and that his mother had been wrong. That she could come back.
That he could hopefully fix this for her, even if only a little.
“You can’t contact her. Whoever’s blackmailing us is clearly following the family’s footsteps. If you go hauling off after her, they’ll know something’s up. If we say we’re going to the police, you might never catch them. The best thing you can do is go about as if things are normal.”
“But Chelsea—”
“Is in Austin, like you said. And I haven’t received any updates from the blackmailer, which means that they’re watching you and not her.” She gave a small shake of her head. “You’re going to have to act as if nothing is going on.”
Every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought. He wanted to protect Chelsea, to keep her from further harm. To enfold her in his arms and let her know everything was going to be all right. That he’d never let her get hurt again. To leave her in Austin, in pain and hurting . . . it went against everything he was. “She deserves to know.”
Mrs. Cabral waved a hand. “Then tell her. Go run to Austin and tip off the blackmailer, and kiss good-bye any chance you’ll ever have of getting her justice. You think this person is going to sit around and wait for the police to come get them if they find out you went to the authorities?”
She was right, he realized with a sinking heart.
To get justice for Chelsea, he was going to have to let her continue to believe the worst.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ten Days Later
“I love you, girl, but if you bring that sad face to my bout tonight, I’m gonna give you a flying-elbow from the track-side,” Pisa commented as she ran around her apartment, getting her derby gear together. She lifted one of her elbow pads and sniffed it. “Does this smell like B.O. to you?”
“If you have to ask, then, yes, it does,” Chelsea said. “And I’m fine. Really.” Sure, she was on her fourth bag of chocolate-covered pretzels today, but fuck it. So what if she’d gained five pounds in the last week by eating ice cream and chocolate by the bucket? It didn’t matter.
Stuffing her face beat crying all the time, at any rate.
“Well, this is my first game on the banked track, so don’t bring me down, okay?” Pisa squirted her pads with Febreze, sniffed them, and then squirted again. One of the Austin banked-track derby teams had a bad run with players and pregnancies, and Pisa had ended up an alternate. Tonight, she was going to play.
She deserved it after dealing with Chelsea’s shit all week. She knew she’d been a terrible guest to have around. After showing up on Pisa’s doorstep and sobbing for three days, she’d finally started to crawl out of her shell and start thinking about a new life in Austin. She could start her soap business over. Join derby down here. Begin again.
The thought made her want to vomit.
It wasn’t just that she was going to miss the Rag Queens and Gretchen and New York. It wasn’t just that she ached for Sebastian with every fiber of her being.
Somewhere in the last month, both she and Pisa had moved on, and it was weird.
Pisa had a boyfriend now, an Austin hipster who was into derby and had a long, thick beard and wore plaid shirts. His name was Drew and he was nice, and Pisa seemed happy. Actually, she seemed happier in Austin than she had in a long, long time. It wasn’t just the change of derby (from flat track to banked track) and the boyfriend. She loved her new job and her new city.
And Chelsea hated all of it, because she just wanted to be home with Sebastian. It had been so much easier to be miserable and lonely when they’d both been miserable and lonely.
And that made her a bad friend.
Chelsea stuffed another chocolate-covered pretzel into her mouth and thought about Sebastian. She blinked rapidly, determined not to cry again. Her eyes felt permanently puffy and hot thanks to all the weeping she’d been doing. He probably felt so betrayed. Was he sketching out his emotions? Or was he keeping them all bottled up inside, utterly furious with her?
Worse yet, was he seeking comfort with Lisa? She knew that Lisa would be all too ready to jump into Sebastian’s bed. The thought made her shove another pretzel into her mouth.
It all just hurt so much. She could have dealt with it, she figured, if she had Sebastian to pet her and hold her and make her feel better about the video. But losing Sebastian when she needed him the most?
That made her feel hopeless and hollow.
She knew it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t shaming herself. It was just . . . a difficult burden to shoulder all alone. And Pisa tried to help, she really did, but when Chelsea was reeling from both the loss of the man she loved and the discovery of the video? It was hard not to just shut down entirely. To surround herself with comfort foods, wear sweatpants, and not leave the sofa for months.
But Pisa was excited about tonight’s bout. And Chelsea had to admit that however mopey and miserable she was, she wanted to support her friend. She’d been there for Chelsea, and it would mean a lot to her if Chelsea went to her bout.