Chapter 8: The Coffe Shop

The coffee shop was small and quiet.

Sebastian got there early. He sat at a table by the window, the one with the best view of the street, and watched people walk by. His knee bounced under the table. He could not sit still.

He had not slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Julian's face in the tunnel. The way his voice cracked. The way his eyes looked wet but he did not cry.

You do not remember me at all, do you?

The words had been haunting him all night.

The door opened. Julian walked in.

He was wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans, nothing like the suits Sebastian was used to seeing him in. Without the armor of expensive clothes, he looked younger. Softer. More like the boy in the memory that Sebastian could not reach.

Julian spotted him and walked over. He sat down across from Sebastian, folding his hands on the table. His bandage was gone, but his knuckles were still red and raw.

"You came," Julian said.

"I said I would."

"I know. I just. I was not sure."

Sebastian did not know what to say to that. He had been awful to Julian for five years. He had ignored him, avoided him, hit him on the ice like he was the enemy. Of course Julian was not sure.

A waitress came over. They ordered coffee. When she left, the silence settled between them again.

Julian spoke first.

"I do not know where to start."

"Start at the beginning," Sebastian said. "The camp. Tell me about the camp."

Julian took a breath. His hands were shaking, just a little.

"It was seven years ago. Elite development camp. You were there on a scholarship. I was there because my father thought it would look good on my resume." He paused. "I could not sleep. The bunkhouse was too loud. So I went to the weight room at 5 AM. I thought I would be alone."

"But I was there."

"You were there. Lifting weights like your life depended on it. You were fierce, Sebastian. Angry. Like you had something to prove to the whole world."

Sebastian listened. The words felt familiar, even though he did not remember.

"We started talking. Lifting together. Eating together. You showed me the lake behind the camp. A hidden spot where no one else went." Julian's voice got softer. "We would stay up all night, looking at the stars, talking about nothing and everything."

Sebastian's chest felt tight. "What did we talk about?"

"Everything. Your mom. Your dream of playing in the NHL. How you wanted to buy her a house someday. How you were scared you did not belong with the rich kids." Julian looked down at his hands. "And I told you about my father. About how he treated me. About how I felt like I was drowning."

Sebastian could see it. Not clearly, not like a memory. More like a feeling. The weight of the night air. The sound of water. The warmth of someone sitting close to him.

"Did we kiss?" Sebastian asked.

Julian looked up. His eyes were bright.

"Yes. On the last night. You kissed me under the stars. You told me you loved me. You promised you would call." Julian's voice cracked. "And then you did not. And I spent seven years wondering what I did wrong."

Sebastian shook his head. "You did not do anything wrong. I had a concussion. I forgot everything."

"I know that now. But for years, I did not. I just thought you did not want me."

The waitress brought their coffee. Neither of them touched it.

"I have been trying to remember," Sebastian said. "Ever since the garage. I have been trying to find that summer in my head. But there is just nothing. A blank space."

Julian nodded slowly. "The doctor said your memory might come back. Or it might not. There is no way to know."

"I want it to come back. I want to remember you."

Julian's face softened. "Why?"

Sebastian thought about it. He thought about the way Julian had fought Reeves for him. The way Julian had waited in the tunnel. The way Julian had looked at him across dinner tables for five years, hoping Sebastian would finally see him.

"Because I think I have been looking for you my whole life," Sebastian said. "Even when I did not know it."

Julian stared at him. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling.

"That is the closest you have ever come to saying something romantic," Julian said.

Sebastian laughed. It was the first time he had laughed in days. "Do not get used to it."

---

They stayed at the coffee shop for hours.

Julian told him everything. The weight room at dawn. The lake. The stars. The first kiss, soft and scared. The last night, the promise, the phone number written on a piece of paper.

He told him about the calls that never came. The years of waiting. The wedding, when Sebastian looked at him like a stranger.

Sebastian listened to every word. The coffee went cold. The afternoon light shifted across the floor. People came and went, but Sebastian barely noticed.

By the time Julian finished, Sebastian's head was full of images. Not clear memories, not yet. But flashes. A bunk bed. A sunset over the water. The feeling of someone's hand in his.

"I want to believe you," Sebastian said. "I do believe you. But I need to see something. Anything. Do you have pictures? From the camp?"

Julian shook his head. "I did not take any. I was too busy living in the moment."

Sebastian's shoulders sagged.

"But," Julian said, "I might know where you can find some."

"Where?"

"Your mom. She kept a scrapbook from your junior hockey days. I saw it once, at the mansion. There were pictures from that summer. Team photos. Candid shots." Julian paused. "If you look at it, you might see something. You might remember."

Sebastian stood up so fast his chair almost tipped over.

"I am going to my mom's house."

"Now?"

"Now. I cannot wait."

Julian stood up too. He reached out, touched Sebastian's arm.

"Sebastian. Whatever you find in that scrapbook, whatever you remember or do not remember, I am glad we talked today. I am glad you came."

Sebastian looked at Julian's hand on his arm. Then he looked at Julian's face.

"I am glad too," he said. "I will call you. After I look at the pictures."

Julian smiled. It was a real smile, the kind Sebastian had only seen once before, on a summer night he was only just beginning to remember.

"I will be waiting," Julian said.

---

Sebastian drove to his mother's house with his heart in his throat.

She lived in a small apartment now, not the mansion. After Richard's true colors started showing, she had moved out. Sebastian had helped her pack. It had been the first time in years that he had seen her look relieved.

She opened the door in her bathrobe, a cup of tea in her hand.

"Sebastian? What are you doing here? It is almost dinner time."

"I need to see the scrapbook. The one from my junior hockey days."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Please, Mom. It is important."

She studied his face for a moment. Then she nodded and disappeared into the bedroom.

Sebastian waited in the living room, pacing, his hands shoved in his pockets. The apartment was small but warm. Pictures of him on the walls. His old trophies on the shelf. It felt like home in a way the mansion never had.

His mother came back with a thick photo album, the cover worn and faded.

"I have not looked at this in years," she said, handing it to him. "What are you looking for?"

Sebastian sat down on the couch and opened the album. The first few pages were old. Youth hockey. His first goal. His first trophy. His mom cried in one of the pictures, and Sebastian remembered that day.

Then he got to the summer of the camp.

The first picture was a team photo. Twenty boys in matching jerseys, standing in front of a lake. Sebastian scanned the faces until he found himself. He was in the back row, arms crossed, looking angry.

And next to him, a boy with dark hair and a small smile.

Julian.

Sebastian's breath caught. He traced the face with his finger. Julian was younger, softer, but it was him. The same eyes. The same quiet expression.

"There are more," his mother said, sitting beside him. "That was a good summer. You came home so happy."

Sebastian turned the page. Candid shots now. Boys eating at a picnic table. Boys messing around on the ice. And then, a picture of him and Julian sitting by the lake. Julian was laughing at something. Sebastian was looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

"I do not remember this," Sebastian whispered.

His mother put her hand on his arm. "You had a concussion. The doctor said you might forget things."

"Did you know? About me and Julian?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I suspected. You talked about him all the time. Julian said this. Julian did that. I had never seen you so happy."

Sebastian stared at the picture. The feeling was coming back now, not in words, but in his body. The warmth of sitting close to someone. The sound of laughter. The weight of a promise.

"Why did not you tell me? After the concussion, why did not you tell me about him?"

"Because the doctor said reminding you of things you forgot could make the confusion worse. He said your memory might come back on its own. And then your father left, and we moved, and I thought." She stopped. "I thought it was better to let you start fresh. I did not know you would end up marrying into his family. I did not know any of this would happen."

Sebastian closed the album. His hands were shaking.

"I need to go," he said.

"Sebastian."

He stood up. He kissed his mother's forehead.

"Thank you," he said. "For keeping the pictures."

He walked out of the apartment with the album under his arm. He would return it later. Right now, he needed to see Julian.

---

He drove to Julian's apartment without calling first.

The building was nice, the kind of place Richard would pay for to keep his son comfortable and controlled. Sebastian parked outside and sat in his truck, staring at the front door.

He pulled out his phone.

Sebastian: I am outside. Can I come up?

The response came immediately.

Julian: Yes.

Sebastian got out of the truck and walked inside.