Chapter Sixteen: Secrets

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SEBASTIAN

Claude told me that I did the right thing by letting her go.

I believed him. I believe him now, too. Admittedly, it's hard convincing myself that she's better off without me. I know it's selfish, but I'm selfish, especially when it comes to her. And when I told Sarah this, she explained my own reasoning to me: I'm used to it always being easy. I'm used to it always being black and white. Leslie was my first gray area, where it was more than sex.

It became everything else.

I accidentally told her how I felt, which was a stupid fucking mistake on my end; I retracted, which made everything worse. In the end, I told her that we should call it. She agreed, but the look in her eyes was brutal. And it was hard; her eyes said everything while her mouth said nothing. That was the hardest part; she thought I was hurting her, but really I was trying to save her. And I wanted to tell her that, but my eyes and mouth were working the same way as hers. It made me want to tell her everything. Everything. She's the only person I feel comfortable being vulnerable around, but now that's dangerous with my father's influence present because it's clear the length's he's willing to go to ruin her. I don't want to be a contributing factor.

It's better this way, letting go of her. But that doesn't mean I won't look after her; that's something I doubt I'll ever stop doing.

Leslie and I haven't talked much after I suggested that we wave the flag. Tomorrow is that GQ photoshoot, meaning I'll be forced to see her. That'll be hard, I'm sure. And it doesn't help that I agreed to meeting with Alejandro and Salvador tonight at Místico.

Let her go, Sebastian. Let her go.

"You alright?" Claude asks me in the car.

"Yeah," I nod to him. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"I know. You think too much, which is why I asked if you were alright."

I laugh because he's right. Penny, who's up in front, is counting bullets as a pastime. And it's sad, how unfazed I am by this; my life is crazy to the point where a mercenary counting bullets in the front seat of the car I'm in is a normality.

"I've got men watching the entire perimeter of the club," Claude assures me as if that's what I'm thinking about.

"I'm sure the Quintanilla's do, too."

"Of course, they do," Penny chimes in. Claude, as always, snaps at her for commenting.

"That's the last thing I'm worried about," I tell Claude. Confused, he eventually understands what's got my mind all fucked up.

"This about Leslie?" he asks me, almost concerned.

"When is it not about her?"

"Sebastian, you've got to let that go—"

"I know, I know."

"It's getting in the way of what's important. If you let this distract you, it won't end well."

"I'll be fine. I swear."

Claude rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything else about the matter, his phone rings. I don't even want to know what he's talking about, but I hope the conversation lasts until we make it to the club, because hearing Claude give me life lessons is the last thing I want.

Finally, the car stops in front of "Místico." Salvador told us that we wouldn't have a problem getting in the club, and per his promise, we're granted entry and guided through a side hallway that's dim in lighting. Penny and Claude are on guard. I could care less; I just want to get this shit over with. And Claude and Penny notice this, too. I'm starting to think that Claude resents Leslie for having this crippling, annoying and uncontrollable feeling over me.

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