Chapter 9: The Apartment

Julian's apartment was nothing like Sebastian expected.

He had pictured something cold and modern, all glass and steel, the kind of place Richard Frost would pay for to show off his money. But this was different. The building was old, the hallway narrow, the elevator slow. When Julian opened the door, Sebastian stepped into a small space that felt lived in.

The walls were painted a warm grey. Books were stacked on every surface, some neat, some falling over. A guitar leaned against the couch. The kitchen was tiny, barely big enough for one person, but it smelled like something had been cooking earlier. Herbs maybe. Garlic.

"It is not much," Julian said, closing the door behind them.

"I like it."

Julian looked at him, surprised. "You do?"

"It feels like you."

Sebastian did not know why he said that. But it was true. The apartment was quiet and thoughtful and a little bit messy. It felt like the Julian he was starting to see. Not the polished stepbrother from the dinners. The real one.

Julian gestured to the couch. "Sit. Do you want something to drink? I have water, tea, beer."

"Water is fine."

Julian went to the kitchen. Sebastian sat on the couch and looked around. There were no pictures of Richard Frost. No pictures of the mansion. Just a few photos on the wall, old ones, of a woman who looked like Julian. His mother, probably. And one of Julian as a kid, maybe ten years old, holding a hockey stick and grinning.

Julian came back with two glasses of water. He sat on the other end of the couch, leaving space between them.

"Did you find the scrapbook?" Julian asked.

Sebastian nodded. He pulled out his phone, opened the photos he had taken of the pictures. He handed the phone to Julian.

Julian scrolled through the images. His face changed as he looked. Softer. Sadder. When he got to the picture of them by the lake, his hand stopped.

"I remember that day," Julian said quietly. "You stole a camera from the camp office. You said you wanted to remember everything. You made me promise to keep that picture forever."

Sebastian's chest ached. "I am sorry I broke that promise."

Julian handed the phone back. He did not look at Sebastian.

"You did not break it on purpose. You had a concussion. You did not choose to forget."

"Still. You waited. For seven years. That is a long time to wait for someone."

Julian finally looked at him. His eyes were red, but he was not crying. "I would have waited longer. I would have waited forever."

The words hung in the air between them. Sebastian felt something shift, the same way it had shifted in Julian's room at the mansion all those years ago. The same pull. The same heat.

"Why did you never say anything?" Sebastian asked. "At the dinners. All those years. Why did you just sit there and let me hate you?"

Julian laughed, but it was hollow. "What was I supposed to say? Hey, stepbrother, remember that time you kissed me and told me you loved me? You would have thought I was crazy. You would have hated me even more."

"I do not hate you."

"You could have fooled me. The way you looked at me across that table. The way you hit me on the ice."

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. "I was confused. I did not understand why I could not stop looking at you. Why my chest got tight every time you walked in the room. I thought if I pushed you away, the feeling would go away."

"Did it?"

"No." Sebastian's voice was rough. "It never went away. It just got buried. Under the anger and the distance and the lie I told myself that you were just my stepbrother and nothing more."

Julian stared at him. His hands were shaking.

"Sebastian."

"I know." Sebastian leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I know this is crazy. We are stepbrothers. Our parents are married. Everyone would think it is wrong."

"I do not care what anyone thinks."

"I do not either. Not anymore."

Julian moved closer. The space between them on the couch disappeared. Sebastian could feel the warmth of Julian's body, could smell his cologne, could see the small scar above his eyebrow.

"Tell me what you want," Julian whispered.

Sebastian reached out. He touched Julian's face, his fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Julian closed his eyes.

"I want to remember," Sebastian said. "I want to remember that summer. I want to remember you."

"Then stop trying to remember with your head." Julian opened his eyes. "Remember with your heart."

Sebastian leaned in. Their foreheads touched. Their breath mixed.

"Julian."

"Sebastian."

They kissed.

It was soft at first. Tentative. A question. Then Julian's hand came up to the back of Sebastian's neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened. Sebastian felt something crack open in his chest. Seven years of confusion. Five years of hatred. Weeks of doubt. All of it fell away.

When they finally pulled apart, Julian was smiling. A real smile, the kind Sebastian had only seen in the scrapbook photo.

"I have been waiting to do that for seven years," Julian said.

"I am sorry it took me so long to show up."

Julian laughed. "You are here now. That is what matters."

---

They sat on the couch for hours, talking.

Julian told him more about the camp. Small things. The way Sebastian liked his coffee. The song he hummed when he thought no one was listening. The way he looked at the stars, like he was trying to memorize every single one.

Sebastian listened. The memories were still not there, not fully, but he could feel them at the edges. Like something waiting to come back.

"I want to try," Sebastian said. "I want to see where this goes. Us. Whatever this is."

Julian took his hand. "I want that too. But Sebastian, my father. He cannot know. Not yet. If he finds out, he will use it against us. Against you."

Sebastian's jaw tightened. "I am not scared of your father."

"You should be. He is dangerous. He has been controlling me my whole life. If he finds out I care about someone, someone he cannot control, he will destroy them."

"He can try."

Julian squeezed his hand. "Promise me. For now, we keep this between us. Until we figure out a way to handle him."

Sebastian did not want to promise. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that he and Julian were together. But Julian's face was serious, scared even. So Sebastian nodded.

"I promise. For now."

"Thank you."

They sat in the quiet, hands intertwined, the city dark outside the window. It was not perfect. There were still secrets, still danger, still seven years of hurt to work through. But for the first time in a long time, Sebastian felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

---

The next few weeks were a careful dance.

They met in secret. Coffee shops in different neighborhoods. Late night drives. Julian's apartment, where no one would look for them. They talked and kissed and held each other. Sebastian started to remember more. Small flashes. The lake. The stars. The sound of Julian's laugh.

But the outside world was closing in.

Richard Frost was making moves. Sebastian heard whispers about a hostile takeover of the Vancouver Storm. His team. His family. Julian confirmed it one night, his face pale.

"He is going to try to buy the team," Julian said. "He wants to control you. To punish you for taking me away from him."

"He cannot do that."

"He can try. And he has the money to do it."

Sebastian felt the anger building. Not at Julian. At Richard. At the man who had been pulling strings for years, treating people like pawns in his game.

"Then we stop him," Sebastian said.

"How?"

"I do not know yet. But we figure it out. Together."

Julian nodded. "Together."

---

The tension built over the next month.

Richard's name appeared in the news. Business articles about the takeover. Rumors about the Storm's future. Sebastian's teammates were nervous. The media asked questions at every press conference. Sebastian gave short answers, but his patience was wearing thin.

And then there was Julian. They had been careful, but someone must have seen something. A reporter asked Sebastian about his "close relationship" with his stepbrother. Sebastian brushed it off, but the seed was planted.

The game that changed everything came on a cold night in March.

The Storm were playing Calgary again. The playoff race was tight. Every point mattered. Sebastian stepped onto the ice with his jaw set and his eyes on Julian.

But Reeves was there too. The same player who had hit Sebastian months ago. And Reeves was looking at Julian.

The first period was clean. The second period got rough. And then, in the third period, Reeves took a run at Julian.

Sebastian saw it coming. He saw Reeves line up Julian along the boards, saw Julian's back turned, saw the hit coming that could destroy Julian's already injured knee.

He did not think. He just moved.

Sebastian threw himself between Reeves and Julian. The hit caught him in the ribs, but he stayed on his feet. He shoved Reeves back, hard.

"Stay away from him," Sebastian snarled.

Reeves smiled. "What is he to you, Cruz? Your stepbrother? Or something more?"

Sebastian threw the first punch.

The bench cleared. Players piled on. Fists flew. Sebastian was in the middle of it, taking punches, throwing punches, trying to get to Reeves. He heard Julian shouting his name, but he could not stop.

When the referees finally pulled them apart, Sebastian's knuckles were bloody and his jersey was torn. Reeves was on the ice, holding his face.

The referee raised his arm. Game misconduct. Fighting. Sebastian was done.

He skated to the penalty box, his chest heaving. Through the glass, he saw Julian watching him. Julian's face was scared. Not of the fight. Of what came next.

The league would review the tape. There would be consequences. Suspensions. Fines.

And the media would have a field day. Stepbrothers fighting for each other. What is really going on between them?

Sebastian sat in the penalty box and waited for the storm.