Ice in his Veins

Chapter 3: The Wedding

(Before the present)

The suit was going to kill him.

Sebastian stood in front of the mirror in the guest room of the Frost mansion, tugging at his collar for the hundredth time. The jacket was too tight across the shoulders. The pants were the wrong shade of grey. The tie felt like a noose. He looked like a stranger dressed in someone else's clothes.

Behind him, his mother appeared in the doorway. She was already in her wedding gown, cream colored and flowing, her hair done up in a style Sebastian had never seen before. Her eyes were bright. Her smile was wide.

Sebastian felt something crack in his chest.

"You look so handsome," she said, crossing the room to straighten his tie. "My beautiful boy."

"Mom." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "I am nineteen."

"Does not matter. You will always be my boy." She smoothed his shoulders, stepped back, and her smile flickered. "Sebastian. Talk to me."

He wanted to say everything. Wanted to tell her that he did not belong here, in this mansion, in this family, in this suit that cost more than his hockey gear. Wanted to tell her that Richard Frost looked at him like he was something to be tolerated, not welcomed. Wanted to tell her that he missed the small apartment, the late nights watching hockey on a cracked TV, the life where it was just the two of them against the world.

But she was happy. He could see it in her face. The light that had returned to her eyes after years of struggling. He could not take that away from her.

So he swallowed everything down and said, "I am happy for you. Really."

She kissed his cheek and walked out, leaving a smudge of lipstick he wiped away when she was not looking.

---

The backyard of the Frost mansion had been transformed.

White chairs lined up in neat rows. Flowers everywhere, arranged in cascades of cream and blush. A string quartet played something classical that Sebastian did not recognize. The afternoon sun made everything glow.

Sebastian stood at the front, a groomsman in a lineup of strangers. Richard's friends. Richard's business partners. Richard's perfect, polished world. Sebastian was the only one who did not fit. The only one whose suit was borrowed. Whose hands were calloused. Whose knuckles had scars from fights that rich boys never got into.

And then there was Julian.

Sebastian had seen him before. They had been introduced at the rehearsal dinner. A brief handshake and a polite smile that did not reach Julian's eyes. He was tall, slender, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones and the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers. He moved like someone who had been taught how to exist in rooms like this. How to be seen without being intrusive. How to smile without meaning it.

He was beautiful. Sebastian hated him for it.

Now Julian stood beside him, also in a groomsman's suit, also looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Their arms brushed as the ceremony started, and Julian flinched away like Sebastian's touch burned.

Good, Sebastian thought. The feeling is mutual.

---

The ceremony was a blur.

Sebastian watched his mother say her vows to Richard Frost. Watched her promise forever to a man who looked at Sebastian's calloused hands with barely concealed disdain. He felt something inside him close off. Protect itself. Build walls that would never come down.

When they kissed, when everyone clapped, Sebastian's hands stayed at his sides.

Julian was watching him. He could feel it. Those dark eyes boring into the side of his face. When Sebastian finally turned, Julian looked away first. A flush creeping up his neck.

What is his problem?

---

The reception was worse.

People swarmed Sebastian, introducing themselves, asking questions they did not care about the answers to. What do you do? Hockey? How nice. And what will you do when that does not work out?

He wanted to punch someone. Instead, he drank. Champagne at first, because that was what was being passed around. Then something stronger when he found the open bar. The alcohol burned going down, but it dulled the edges. Made the smiles easier. Made the comments roll off his back.

By the time the sun set, he was drunk enough to stop caring about what anyone thought.

He found a spot by the pool, away from the crowd. Sitting on the edge with his shoes off and his feet dangling in the water. The mansion glowed behind him. Lights strung through the trees. Laughter and music floating across the lawn. He should go back. His mother would be looking for him.

He did not move.

"You look like you are going to your own funeral."

Sebastian turned. Julian stood a few feet away, still in his suit, his tie loosened. He was holding two glasses of something dark. He looked tired. Maybe sad. Sebastian did not know why that surprised him.

"Maybe I am," Sebastian said.

Julian crossed the grass and sat down beside him. Not too close, but close enough that Sebastian could smell his cologne. He held out one of the glasses.

"Whiskey. You look like you need it."

"I have had enough."

"Suit yourself." Julian set the glass between them, took a sip from his own, and stared out at the water. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then Julian said, "I know this is not what you wanted."

Sebastian laughed. A hollow sound. "What I wanted? I do not get to want things. That is the whole point of being the poor kid marrying into a rich family. I am here to smile and look grateful and pretend I belong."

"You do belong."

"Right." Sebastian turned to look at him, and something in Julian's expression made him stop. There was no mockery there. No pity. Just understanding. "You do not know anything about me."

"I know you play hockey. I know your mother worked double shifts to pay for your equipment. I know you made the junior team when everyone said you would not." Julian's voice was quiet, steady. "I know you got a concussion last summer that wiped out three weeks of your memory. I know you do not remember anything from that camp you went to."

Sebastian's chest tightened. "How do you know that?"

Julian shrugged, looking away. "I pay attention."

They sat in silence. The music drifted across the lawn, some slow song Sebastian did not recognize. Julian's knee was inches from his own. Sebastian could feel the warmth of him. The solid reality of his presence.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Sebastian asked. "You do not have to. We are not actually brothers. We are never going to be anything. So why pretend?"

Julian did not answer right away. He stared at the water, his jaw working, his hands wrapped around his glass like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Maybe I am tired of pretending too," he said finally.

He stood up, so fast that Sebastian startled. Julian looked down at him. Something raw in his expression. Something that looked almost like pain.

"Goodnight, Sebastian. Congratulations on your mother's wedding."

He walked away before Sebastian could respond. His footsteps soft on the grass. Disappearing into the crowd. Sebastian watched him go, his heart beating too fast, his mind racing with questions he did not know how to ask.

What was that?

He replayed the conversation, searching for what he had missed. What he had said. What Julian had seen in him that made him look like that. Made him look at Sebastian like he was something more than a charity case. Something worth noticing.

He knows about the concussion. He knows about the camp. He knows about me.

Sebastian finished Julian's whiskey in one swallow. The burn did nothing to settle his thoughts.

He told himself it did not matter. Julian was his stepbrother now, which meant Julian was someone to tolerate, not someone to understand. Richard Frost's son. The golden boy. A stranger wearing a suit that probably cost more than Sebastian's entire wardrobe.

We are never going to be anything.

He said it to himself like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a warning.

But later that night, lying in a guest bed that was too soft, staring at a ceiling that was too high, Sebastian could not stop thinking about the way Julian had looked at him. Like Sebastian was the only real thing in a room full of fakes.

Like Julian wanted him to remember something he had forgotten.

---

The next morning, Sebastian woke with a headache and a hollow feeling in his chest.

He packed his bag before his mother woke up. Wrote a note saying he had to get back to training. Slipped out the front door. The mansion loomed behind him, too big, too quiet, too much like a cage.

He was halfway to his truck when he heard footsteps.

"Sebastian."

He turned. Julian stood on the front steps, still in his clothes from the night before. He looked like he had not slept. His hair was a mess, his shirt untucked, and he was holding something in his hand.

"What?"

Julian crossed the driveway, stopping just close enough that Sebastian could see the dark circles under his eyes. He held out a piece of paper.

"My number. In case you need anything."

Sebastian stared at it. "Why would I need anything from you?"

Julian's jaw tightened. For a moment, something flickered in his expression. Hurt, maybe. Or anger. Or something Sebastian did not have a name for.

"Because we are family now." He pressed the paper into Sebastian's hand. His fingers warm against Sebastian's skin. "Whether you like it or not."

He walked back to the house without looking back. Sebastian stood there, watching him go. The paper crumpling in his fist.

He told himself he would throw it away. Told himself Julian was nothing. The wedding was nothing. This whole new life was nothing but a detour on the way to something real.

He got in his truck and drove away without looking back.

The paper stayed in his pocket all the way to Vancouver. When he finally unpacked his bag that night, he found it folded carefully, tucked into the side pocket of his duffel.

He did not remember putting it there.

He did not throw it away either.