The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  “Nope, not at all,” I say, honey dripping from my lips, but in my mind, I’m imagining my hands around her neck. I say to Xander, “I’ll be right over here.”

  “Thanks, Evie. I won’t be long,” says Xander and I know that although he’s talking to me, it’s a warning to Camilla.

  I go over and perch on a stool at the bar. The bartender, who has more piercings and tattoos than teeth, gives me a look, but I wave her away and glance around the club. Because it’s eight p.m. on a Friday night, the place is dead. Besides the handful of bar staff, there are a couple of requisite groupies admiring the band from the front of the stage and some shady-looking characters milling about the back of the room. But other than that, it’s just Xander, Camilla, and me.

  What could she possibly be freaking out about? I try not to stare, but my eyes flick over to where Xander and Camilla are talking by the back door. He’s leaning against the wall, and Camilla’s pacing a line in front of him, lips moving frantically, her hands flying wildly around. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s coming unhinged. Xander’s lips aren’t moving, but his eyes follow her, and he’s wearing an exasperated expression. Finally, when she’s moved within reach, he grabs her by the wrist and spins her around to face him. He peeks over her shoulder at me, and I flick my eyes away. When I look back, they’re gone, and there’s a sliver of gray light from the street lamps just as the back door slams shut.

  “You know, dear Evie, you really are wasting your time with that boy.” I turn around just as Christian hops on the barstool next to me. To the bartender, he says, “Double on the rocks, Love. And make it the good stuff.”

  “I’m not interested, Christian, so you can just go away now,” I say. I turn my attention to the stage to escape his damned hypnotic blue eyes.

  Christian chortles and then abruptly clears his throat. “Well, darling, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve got a type, and you ain’t it.”

  I whip my head around and glare at him as he takes a drink of his Scotch, his face smug. I roll my eyes and turn away from him again, but he doesn’t take the hint.

  “I’m just trying to be your friend,” he explains. “Friends do everything within their power to save each other from a whole lot of heartache. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m here to warn you. You’re chasing a guy whose heart belongs to someone else.”

  I turn to face him. “Okay, I’m biting, Christian. What are you talking about?” I try to sound indifferent, but my pulse is racing, and I’m pretty sure it shows in the unnaturally high pitch of my voice.

  “I suppose we’re both losing in the love department,” he sighs. He looks down at my empty hands. “Oh, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I insist.”

  “Fine. Diet Coke, please,” I say to the bartender, who’s been hovering nearby with a dreamy look on her face and hanging on Christian’s every word. Give me a break. I stare at Christian dead-on. “Now, can you please explain to me what the hell you’re talking about?”

  “Camilla’s not in love with me. She’s in love with the idea of dating a rock star—”

  “Rock star? Really, Christian.” I scoff and take a cooling sip of the soda that the bartender has just placed in front of me.

  “Bloody hell, thanks for the support, Evie.” He’s wearing a wounded expression, but I know better.

  “Did you ever think that she’s not in love with you because she can’t trust you?” I ask. To me it doesn’t seem like an earth-shattering revelation, but he’s looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. After a few beats, realization crosses his face, and he wags his head in disbelief.

  “Let me guess, your boyfriend told you stories about what a womanizer I am,” he says, with just the right amount of irony on the word boyfriend to effectively make me take notice. “He’s told you how I’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over DC.”

  “Something like that,” I say dismissively.

  “Of course he’d tell you that,” he says and erupts in a strange, high-pitched cackle, his head thrown back.

  “What do you mean?” My voice is ripe with irritation. I can’t help it. I wish he’d stop beating around the bush and just say whatever it is he’s trying to tell me. Holy hell, this man is infuriating.

  “What I mean is that he told you those things so you’d not trust me.”

  I look in his face, and I see something I’ve never seen in those blue eyes: vulnerability, innocence, and honesty. I swallow hard, because inside, I’m panicking. Why would Xander lie to me—unless he’s trying to hide something?

  “Why wouldn’t Xander want me to trust you?”

  “Because I know things that he doesn’t want revealed.” He lights up a menthol cigarette, and I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow, and I cock my head toward the ashtray that has magically appeared on the bar (Thank you, enamored, tattooed, bartender lady.) I mean, my God, isn’t smoking illegal in public places? “Sorry,” he says, and grinds the cancer stick into the ashtray.

  “So you know some secrets? So what? Everyone has secrets.”

  “Do you know why Camilla’s not in love with me? The real reason?” He takes another drink of his scotch and looks me square in the face. I merely shake my head. How the hell should I know? “Because she’s still in love with her first love. We never truly get over our first loves, you know?”

  When he says this, a memory of Javier standing on the beach—mirrored aviators on, head thrown back in laughter—flashes in my mind, and I feel as though someone has punched me in the gut. The air is whisked out of me, and I’m left trembling. I have to set down my glass on the bar to keep from spilling it all over the both of us.

  “You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed in an expression that might pass for concern under normal circumstances. However, this is Christian Redfield I’m talking to, and I’m guessing that he has no concern for anyone but himself.

  I take a deep breath and answer, “Yes.”

  “Sure?” He peers closer into my eyes as if he’s assessing my mental status, which I find momentarily unnerving.

  “Yes. Now finish what you were saying,” I demand.

  “You think I’m some horrible bloke who goes around cheating on his girlfriend,” he says, and I give him a you-got-me shrug. “Did you ever think that maybe she cheated on me first?”

  “Well, I don’t sit around thinking about your relationship. So no, I didn’t think about that. I have more important things going on right now.”

  “Really? I think my relationship should matter to you, because she cheated on me with Alexander. I should say she cheats on me with Alexander. She always runs back to him anytime things get bad between us.”

  I know he’s waiting for some dramatic reaction by the way he’s studying my face, but I keep my cool. I’m not completely floored by what he’s just revealed. I have always known something was up between those two.

  “What the hell are you talking about? They’re just friends.”

  “You fell for that, did you?” he says. Trying to show sympathy, he places an awkward hand on my shoulder. “Sweetheart, they were each other’s first; and you should know, it’s not easy to let go of your first.”

  “Now I definitely don’t believe you,” I say and shrug away from him. I glance over toward the back door, but there’s no sign of Xander or Camilla.

  “Why? You didn’t think those two were virgins, did you?” He guffaws. “They were together before I met her. Ask anyone at Holy Cross. It’s common knowledge. As is the fact that Alexander will do anything for her. He will drop everything for her at any time.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? Then what are you doing here right now?”

  Damn, he’s got me there.

  “It just doesn’t make any sense,” I counter. “If they’re still so much in love, why was Camilla trying to play matchmaker between us? We were like her pet project. She seemed excited when we sta
rted dating—well, as excited as I’ve seen her.”

  “Who knows why? I sure don’t. All I know is that Alexander gives her comfort that no one else can when she’s upset, which seems like all the time lately. But when she’s had her fill of him, she always runs back to me.”

  I know what he’s saying is true, because I can relate to it. Xander has given me so much comfort and warmth over the last few weeks—well, actually, since the first night I met him at the Redfield house. I can completely understand why Camilla wouldn’t want to give that up because I sure don’t.

  “If what you’re saying is true, then why do you keep taking her back?” It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not about to say this out loud—his head is quite inflated enough already—but Christian can have any girl he wants. He’s got them literally falling at his feet, on stage and off. Why would he put up with Camilla cheating on him, on top of all her other craziness, and then take her back, time after time? I am hugely perplexed at his motive.

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he says simply. I give him a look, and he pours out his feelings. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s so incredibly passionate, creative, and intelligent. And, my God, she’s gorgeous. When we’re together, it’s like we were always meant to be. I feel at home with her.” He hesitates. “I love her.”

  I am stunned by Christian’s confession. He’s staring down at the lowball in his hands, with a tormented look on his face. I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “I’ve never told anyone that.” He exhales as if a weight has been lifted off his chest. Before me is not the egotistical, rock-star Christian Redfield, charismatic front-man of Systemic Purgatory. I see a broken-hearted, vulnerable, insecure twenty-one-year-old boy who’s in desperate need of a friend in whom he can confide. I decide to be that friend, regardless of everything I’ve been told about him, because I believe he’s trusted me enough to show a side of himself that no one else has seen.

  “Why don’t you tell her this?” I say in a sage voice I had no idea I possessed.

  “She’d never believe me. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he whispers. “I did those things because I was hurting. And I guess I wanted her to hurt, too.” He sighs. “Now I think I’ve destroyed her trust in me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The reason she’s so upset—” he hesitates and glances toward the back door. “The reason she called Alexander to come here tonight.”

  “Go ahead, Christian, you can talk to me.”

  “A girl came into the club about an hour ago,” he says and pinches the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger. “She marched right up to us, to Camilla and me, and announced that she’s pregnant with my baby.”

  “She what?” Okay, now I’m floored. “Who is this girl? Is it true?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if it’s true, or you don’t know the girl?”

  “Both.” He grimaces and seems to shrink in his seat by at least a foot. “I’ve seen her around the clubs we’ve played, but I don’t know her name.”

  “Well then, it’s not true. Right?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “What are you saying? Are you telling me you had unprotected sex with a girl you don’t know?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t remember doing it,” he says, his voice full of shame. He hesitates a moment, and his gaze moves upward from the floor until it locks with mine. That’s when I see the fear, worry, and uncertainty in his face. “I have a problem—”

  “What kind of problem?” I’m trying to keep my voice even so that I can keep his trust in me, but it’s an increasingly difficult task. Right now I just want to smack the crap out of him.

  “It’s the drugs,” he says finally. “It’s the drugs and the alcohol.” He lifts the lowball and takes a long swig of the scotch. When he puts the empty glass down, I fully expect him to start coughing fire, but he doesn’t. His beautiful, blue eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol or his broken heart. I’m speechless. I flounder for something to say to make it better, but fortunately he speaks first. “I don’t remember half the shit I do when I’m out with my mates. I just black out.”

  “Oh God, Christian,” I say, shaking my head. “What are you going to do?”

  To my surprise, my heart is absolutely breaking for him and for Camilla. What she must be going through right now, I can’t even imagine. I give him the time he needs to collect himself. Finally, he looks up at me, and there’s no antagonism on his face. There’s no self-pity. It’s just Christian and me.

  “There’s nothing I can do but wait until the baby is born, and then I’ll take a DNA test. By the looks of the girl, it shouldn’t be more than a few months.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime, to save your relationship with Camilla?”

  “I don’t think it can be saved. This is going to push her the rest of the way into Alexander’s arms.”

  “Christian, trust me. There is nothing going on now between Camilla and Xander. I promise you. And there hasn’t been anything in a long time. You know why?” I look him pointedly in the face, and he shakes his head. “Because believe it or not, she is completely in love with you. She’d have to be, Christian, to put up with all of this crazy crap.”

  His gaze goes distant as he contemplates what I’ve just said. Finally, he refocuses on me and says, “Thank you.” He gives me the first real smile that I think I’ve ever seen from him. Once again, I’m struck by how handsome he is, but now I see his vulnerability, too.

  “May I make a suggestion?” I ask carefully.

  “Of course.”

  “Stop going out with your mates. Avoid the drinking and the drugs—you’re not a cliché, Christian, you’re a human being. Focus on making Camilla happy, if you want to save your relationship.”

  He looks at me and nods as if to say easier said than done. Then he rises from his barstool, leans over, and kisses me on the cheek. Our eyes meet for a moment, then he silently turns and heads back to the stage, shoulders slumped. I watch him go and wonder if anything will change. I hope it does for all our sakes. Like it or not, I’m falling for Xander, and I don’t think I can survive another broken heart in addition to all I’m dealing with right now.

  I’m absentmindedly checking my cell phone, telling myself that I’m not looking for texts from Javier, when Xander suddenly appears next to me at the bar.

  “Where’s Camilla?” I look around, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “She went home. She’s not feeling well,” he says, raking his fingers through his hair and looking incredibly uncomfortable.

  “We need to talk,” I say. He stops fidgeting and gives me a curious look.

  “Okay. Why don’t we go somewhere else?” He takes my hand as I rise from the barstool. “Let’s go get that chocolate cake.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Xander and I are sharing a colossal piece of three-layer, chocolate decadent cake in a tiny diner down the street from Club Trinity. Scattered among the shiny, red vinyl booths are four or five couples enjoying their chicken fried steak and meatloaf specials. Two middle-aged men in trucker attire sit at the counter, feasting on a late-night breakfast of eggs and bacon. The air is thick with the aroma of fried food and cheap coffee. The only sound breaking up the dull, underlying hum of hushed conversation is the occasional clinking of dishes in the kitchen. It’s not a place I’d normally go for food, but this is the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had in my life, so I’ll definitely be back.

  While we’ve been sitting here making small talk, I’ve noticed Xander is a million miles away. He hasn’t mentioned anything about why Camilla insisted we go to Club Trinity. Of course I already know why, but I haven’t said anything about it—yet. I want to find out if Xander will tell me. If he tells me, it would show that our relationship is honest.

  Finally, Xander’s eyes focus on mine. He gives me a weak smile and says, “So
what did you want to talk about?”

  Obviously, he’s not going to make the first move and tell me what’s going on, so I’ll just have to bring it up myself.

  “I don’t know how to approach this with you, so I’m just going to come right out and say it.” I lay my fork down and concentrate on his face. “Christian told me everything.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That a girl came into the bar tonight and announced she’s pregnant by him.”

  “Wow, so he admitted it, huh?” Xander says, a smug look crossing his face. “I’m truly surprised that he fessed up to it.”

  “That’s not all he said,” I continue. I don’t know if I should tell him everything I know, but I figure I might as well. It’s got to come out sometime. “He told me about you and Camilla. That you were a couple.”

  “That’s a gross overstatement,” he scoffs, and I’m caught off guard.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, a little too defensively.

  “It means he exaggerated.” He sighs.

  “Do you care to elaborate?”

  He sucks in a deep breath and blows it out hard. He stares at me for what seems like forever. I can tell by the way his eyes are searching mine that he’s considering the consequences of what he’s about to say. I’m acutely aware that I need to keep my face neutral. I don’t want him to censor the truth to protect my feelings.

  “Are you sure you really want to know?”

  “I do want the truth. What have you two been hiding from me?” My voice wanes, and I dig my fingers into my thigh to try to steady my voice.

  “I haven’t been hiding anything from you. I just haven’t told you everything.”

  “If you haven’t told me everything, then you have been hiding something, Xander,” I point out.

  He gives me a look, but continues. “Camilla and I were not really a couple, but something did happen between us the summer before our freshman year at Holy Cross.”