by S. Ann Cole
I worried about him every single day. I knew Xavier was the “take it one day at a time” kind of man, but ever since I lost him, I learned how to look ahead and prepare for the outcome of the storms that happen in the now.
That was the reason I didn’t hesitate in purchasing that land for him. It would be a perfect distraction for him when the reality of losing a leg and leaving the band all sank in.
His life was here in France. His real dream was here waiting for him. The problem was, he didn’t know it yet.
I needed to devise a plan to get him here, so he could see what I saw when I’d stepped onto that plantation.
Our future. Our happily ever after.
God loved me. I believe that now. He loved me to pieces. Only God’s unconditional love could explain Xavier’s phone call to Mick six days before Christmas. Yes. Out of the blue. He called.
Not me, though. He called his dad. With that one phone call came the answer to my nightly prayers: Xavier wanted to spend New Year’s with his dad. There. In France.
After all our hours upon hours of brainstorming ploys to lure him there, he just surprised us with that phone call.
They spoke on the phone for over an hour. He apologized for not having phoned Mick sooner, and on Xena’s behalf for not telling him about the accident. Yes, I eavesdropped, but when Jacob began babbling, which led to Xavier questioning whose baby was in the background, I had to flee the room.
I was giddy, excited, heady, and nervous all the same. It’s been so damn long.
Although I Googled the hell out of him on a daily basis searching for post-accident pics of him, I never found a single one. Either he was hiding damn well, or the paparazzi were giving him a temporary break out of respect. I had no idea what he looked like after all this time. How long his hair was. If he was bearded or shaved. If the lust for life was still in his eyes…
I was in the kitchen with Chloe whipping up some lunch for a fussy Jacob when Mick strolled in after his phone call.
Lifting Jacob up from the counter and into his arms, he gave me a strange closed-mouth smile and walked back out with my son.
I looked at Chloe in question. She shrugged.
Chloe had been somewhat down and emotional since finding out the reason behind Xavier’s uncharacteristic absence for months. She said it would have destroyed her had she known before because he was the closest thing to a family that she had. Said he always treated her with respect and like a woman of worth. That he was “zender and compazzionate.”
I hadn’t been sure what to think of her overly emotional reaction to the news, so I’d merely nodded as she cried.
Finishing the lunch platter for Jacob, I went in search of him and Mick.
I found them in the living room. Mick was lying on his stomach with a French book open in front of him, reading aloud to Jacob, who was waddling around him and giggling like a maniac. Likely trying to convey to the old man that he could barely speak English yet, let alone understand French.
Mick glanced up at my approach, closed the book, and sat up to a cross-legged position on the carpet. “Here, let me.” He reached for the platter.
I hesitated, but then shrugged and let him have it.
I knew this phase. He was falling in love with Jacob. Just like anyone who’s ever spent more than a day with that boy has. He was such a breeze it was hard not to love him.
Davian used to be like that before the fame. The “whatever, it’s just life” disposition that made me fall for him. He used to be easy to be with, easy to live for, easy to love. The fame had somewhat buried that personality. Now he was this super erratic, indecisive and aggravating prick—a hot-damn, sexy-as-hell prick.
Jacob spotted the lunch platter and let out something akin to a whoop as he moved as fast as his chubby little feet could take him in front of Mick, dipped one hand in the fruits section, and ended up knocking a morsel of diced fruits off the platter.
Mick chuckled but gently admonished him and told him to sit. Jacob obeyed and Mick began feeding him.
For the two months that I have been here, he’s been more sane than insane. Some days he would check out completely, and we just had to leave him be until he “returned”, but for the most part, he was chill. Just as he was falling in love with Jacob, I was falling in love with him.
Crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t see myself moving back to L.A. and leaving him behind. How could Xena ignore such a delightful and insightful soul as his? Whatever her deal was with him, she was missing out big time.
I lingered for a minute, curious about the weird smile he’d given me in the kitchen. And before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Do you want me to stay at a guesthouse while he’s here? I really want to see him, but I wouldn’t want to impose on—”
“He’s faking it,” Mick cut off my blabbering, feeding Jacob a tiny spoonful of diced peaches.
“What?” I asked, guessing he was referring to Xavier and not Jacob.
“The nonchalance. The just-happy-to-be-alive attitude,” he explained. “All fake. He’s angry. He’s unhappy. And he’s coming here stew to about it.”
I perched my butt on one of the sofa handles. “How do you know?”
Mick looked up at me then, and his eyes went soft. “He’s my son. I know him. He only comes here for two reasons: to stew, or to dream.”
To stew or to dream.
He wasn’t coming to “spend Christmas”. He was running. If he was running to France to get away from it all, to “stew”, then my being there was going to be a disaster, not a blessing as I’d initially thought. That explained the look on Mick’s face.
I straightened and directed my steps to the hall leading to the guestroom. “I—I’m gonna go pack my things.”
“Excuse me?” Mick’s scruffy voice halted me.
“There’s a nice guesthouse three minutes from the hill,” I explained. “I’ll check in there until—”
“I thought you were determined to get him back.”
“I am. But I think it’s wise to give him some time to ‘stew’ before I jump out and shout ‘surprise’.”
“Or,” Mick dragged out, “you could change that journey to stew into a journey to dream.”
When I just stared at him, he continued, “Young girl, you do not want him to stew. You leave him to stew and you might lose your chance, because he just might stew you right out of his heart. What you will do is stand outside that front door and welcome him home. Let him think he’s dreaming for a second. Give him a taste of what his future could look like. That’s how you win.”
I bit my lip, fighting back a smile. This man, he truly was the best.
While Mick was distracted with me, Jacob stole a piece of kiwi off the platter and stuffed it in his mouth in a juicy mess. Mick’s head snapped to him and he mock scowled. “You little bugger.”
Jacob squeezed out a watery laugh, kiwi juices running down his chin as he echoed a muffled, “Ugger!”
Wiping off the liquid from Jacob’s chin, he grumbled, “You promised me you would bake me a rum cake today. Are you going do it or are you going to stand there and fret all day?”
Grinning, I walked over to him, bent at the waist, and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek, mumbling a “smartass” before skipping off.
As I was about to turn into the kitchen, I heard him murmur to Jacob, “Don’t even think about repeating that word.”
A cheeky giggle, and then a “scmartasz”.
I didn’t do nervous. I liked to think of myself as badass. There was a time when one person and one person only could make me melt, make me weak and vulnerable, and that was Davian.
Of recent, that person became Xavier. To an extent, I could stand my ground with him in ways I couldn’t back when I was with Davian, but most of it was pretend. Half the time I was stamping down the nerves and the fear of losing him.
Today, though, I was an entirely different kind of nervous. So intense I could faint.
Chloe and Mick drove out to the
airport to pick up Xavier, and I was pacing around and around the house like a lunatic. One voice telling me to bolt, the other telling me to listen to Mick’s advice. Jacob was fast asleep and I was hoping he didn’t wake up anytime soon.
I froze when I heard the rumble of Mick’s jeep climbing up the hill. Heart in my throat. As if they would somehow be able to hear me, I tiptoed to the front window and shifted the curtains a little to peek.
Mild sprinklings of snowflakes floated from the heavens, chilling the air.
I watched as the jeep recklessly swung up alongside the small front garden, and as my heartbeat shot off I drew back and pressed my back against the wall. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Relax, Alina. It will all work out.
A car door slammed and it was as loud as a gunshot to me. I shifted the curtain to peek out again. Chloe had climbed out of the back, which was weird considering she’d been the one driving when they left.
Mick slammed out of the passenger side next, which meant, color me shocked, Xavier was driving.
Laughing and saying something to Chloe, Mick jaunted to the back of the jeep and lifted a suitcase out of the trunk.
As the driver’s door opened, Chloe hurried toward it as if to offer help or something. A glimpse a hand waved her off.
His hand.
With a coy smile, she backed off.
Then…he stepped out. Straightening to his full height, a mile above the jeep. His lips were tipped up, smile brilliant, attention on Chloe as he said something to her.
She blushed, and her eyes darted briefly to the house and then back to his chest, or maybe his neck, just not his face. Christ, but he could make that girl blush like nobody’s business.
Heart drumming within the confinements of my ribcage, I nervously licked my lips.
Xavier’s hair was touching the top of his shoulders now. Full and bouncy and curly, not wavy like it had been when it was longer. The sunburn highlights were no more. Just blond. Too blond. That natural shade of blond made him a little too…pretty. The kind of ridiculously pretty that had names like Chase or Asher. Add to that a clean-shaved face, highlighting the angles of his jaw. Plus, his skin could do well with some sun or a tanning booth to kill his current paleness that came only from being indoors for too long.
Shifting from one foot to the other, I waited impatiently for him to close the car door so I could see the rest of him. He was still focused on Chloe, the poor girl blushing redder and redder by the second.
Mick lugged the suitcase to the front of the jeep, set it down, and stared at the house. His perceptive eyes shifted to the window, as though he knew I was there peeking out.
He kept on staring as if to say “get your ass out here, coward!” I planned on going out, but I wanted Xavier to be completely out of, and away from, the jeep first, so he couldn’t hit reverse and flee when he saw me.
Mick gave up staring and turned to Xavier and Chloe. He said something that made Xavier bark out a laugh. Teeth white, head thrown back. At that moment, he didn’t look unhappy as Mick claimed he was. He didn’t look like someone who came to stew. As far as my eyes could see, he looked blithe and refreshed. Over the moon to be in the presence of his Dad and his Chloe.
Finally, he closed the door, car keys twirling around one finger, and I unwittingly drew closer to the window, unconsciously pulling the curtains wider.
Last time I saw that man, he was nothing but a shell of himself. Lines and tubes hooked up to every vein. Bruised and battered with a long scar down his head that gave me goosebumps.
Now…now he was standing to his full height, hale and alive and in the world again. I could cry right then. I could cry.
He was in dark denim, black boots, and an ivory cowl-neck sweater. Like his Dad, he was naturally built with that perfect macho, I’m-a-God form, but his muscles weren’t as prominent as they once were. He’d no doubt lost weight. He might have been running the treadmill to train his leg, but he obviously wasn’t lifting weights or doing his regular intense workouts. That much was evident in his shrinking muscle mass.
That didn’t detract from him or make him any less attractive, however. It went in alignment with his super bouncy, super blond hair, shoving him even farther into the pretty boy category.
His fierceness would return with time. I would make sure of it.
Responding to whatever Mick said, he began moving away from the vehicle.
I stared. This was the part I was waiting for. I was expecting his artificial leg to be dragging behind him, but all he had as he threw an arm around Chloe’s shoulder and started toward the house was a little bounce to his gait.
And that was it. From my bed, to a car-wreck, to a coma, to memory loss, to a bionic leg with a little bounce. There he was. My future.
The trio laughed and chatted as they jaunted up to the house. As they got closer, close enough for me to hear them, Xavier’s eyes abruptly jumped to the window.
I held my breath.
Jerking his chin at the window, he said, “Never told me you got company, Dad.”
“Huh?” Mick responded, playing dumb.
I knew that was my cue to move, but I couldn’t. I was planted.
Xavier asked, “Who’s inside?”
Slowly, I backed away from the window.
“Ah, oh, yeah,” Mick dragged out, delaying. “We’ve been, ah, hosting a friend for the past two months.
“A friend?” Xavier’s tone was incredulous. “Dad, you don’t like people enough to have friends. I remember that much.”
“Oh, hush,” Mick grumbled. “I happen to enjoy her company. She—”
“She?” The approaching footsteps paused. In a slow, ominous voice, Xavier questioned, “Dad?”
“Oh, Christ,” Mick grumbled. Then he barked out, “Young girl, this is not what we had planned! Get out here and stop skulking!”
“Wha—what?” Xavier was baffled. “Plan?”
Okay. Here we go. With one fortifying deep breath, I forced my feet to move across the floor to the door. Then, with every bit of courage and love I had within me for that man, I turned the doorknob and stepped out into the cold.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
XAVIER WAS A STATUE.
He didn’t blink, he didn’t move, and I could swear he didn’t breathe.
Lifting my shoulders to my ears and then letting them fall, I whispered through cold wind, “Surprise.”
He stared at me.
I determinedly held his stare.
Mick smirked.
Chloe looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.
Suddenly, Xavier dropped his arm from around Chloe and moved toward me as swiftly as his leg would allow.
I took a small step back, unsure what was happening.
Halting in front of me, he glared down with eyes that blazed. He looked like he wanted to rip my head off my body and stomp on it over and over with his prosthetic leg until it was one with the ground.
Feeling the need to calm whatever rage was boiling inside him, I started to apologize, “Xavi, I’m sorr—”
He decapitated my apology by curling rough, angry fingers around the back of my neck, dragging me in and crushing his lips to mine. Hard, punishing, and desperate.
Oh. Wow. I did not expect this.
Melted, raw, and close to tears, I opened up to him, all of me. After months, months of not being able to see him, here he was, his hands on me, his tongue in my mouth. I felt overwhelmed, underwhelmed, brimming with fear, excitement, and relief.
Feeling dizzy at the unexpected turn of events, I pressed tighter against him, submitted, and moved to lock my hands around his neck, but in an instant, he ripped his mouth from mine and knocked my hands away.
“Your apology means nothing to me,” he bit out raggedly, wiping me off his lips with the back of his hand like the taste of me was venom. “Pack your shit and leave.”
Trying to catch my breath from that ephemeral mouth-rape, I blinked. “What? No. Why?”
That was the w
rong response. In the next second his eyes went from fire to ice, and he exploded, “What made you think you could come here?! Who the shit do you think you are, bitch?!”
His face was flaming red with rage, his veins pressing through his pale skin.
“Yours,” I replied in the face of the storm.
Curling my toes in my shoes to keep standing firm, I refused to wince at his derogatory name for me. I’d never witnessed Xavier irate to the point of shouting before—except for that one time in the parking lot, but he was blind drunk that time, so that didn’t count.
Sober Xavier got angry all the time, of course, but in a silent, sulky, brooding kind of way. This, though…this was new for me. As much as my mind was telling me to leave and not push it, not push him, I felt it was high time I manned up and fought for him.
“No.” Jaw tightening, he shook his head and jabbed a finger to my chest, hard, as though he was aiming to physically split me in two with it. “Not mine. His. You’ll always be his. Done with this triangle. Not willing to spend the rest of my shot-to-shit life with you, worrying every goddamn second of every goddamn day if you’re screwing him behind my back. Forget this. Done. It’s done.”
“Xavi—”
“Leave.”
Pleadingly, I reached out and grabbed a fistful of his sweater. “It won’t be like that. Not anymore. I swear to you, I won’t—”
“No more strikes left, remember?” He peeled my fingers from his sweater and moved back a step, smoothing out the wrinkles my desperate grab left in the material.
“What?” I asked.
“Am I the one with the memory problem or is it you?”
What’s he talking about? “I don’t—”
“You asked me how many strikes you got left and I said…?”
“None,” I answered meekly, suddenly remembering that morning in the penthouse when he’d found me and Davian sleeping on the couch. I’d forgotten that conversation. He really had said I was out of strikes.
In that moment, however, what I also realized—and understood his vehement rage—was that he hadn’t regained all of his memory. He couldn’t have. If he had, then he would’ve remembered that twenty-four hours after that conversation, we had broken up.