Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1: Xander)

by Anderson, Natalie

  But she wasn’t. And now she knew she was going to have to do something about it.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Where are you?” Xander frowned, vastly relieved at the same time. She’d finally answered her phone. The first seven calls had gone to her message service. He’d resorted to checking her Twitterfeed. She’d maintained regular updates, he’d thought she was still in town at least. But he’d been down to the pop-up and to Wroxton, and she wasn’t at either place. Neither Luisa nor Steve knew where she’d gone or when she’d be back. So he asked. “You’ve gone away?”

  He held his breath for her reply. She might have finally talked, but he didn’t know if he could handle the true cost. He wasn’t ready for this to be over.

  “You go away,” she said lightly.

  But he could hear the defensive note. “At least I tell you.”

  “It was a last minute thing.” She brushed him off. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

  Of course he was worried, he could hear the stress in her voice. She was beating herself up and he couldn’t find her to help her. Hell, he didn’t know how to help her. He’d screwed up the first chance already and he didn’t know if he was going to get another. “When?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “What about the pop-up?”

  “Luisa will cover me.”

  “Okay,” he said shortly. “Have a good trip.”

  There was a micro-pause. “Thanks.”

  She disconnected before he could say anything else. His muscles tensed, talking to her hadn’t eased his concern at all. She was nervous. Why? He wanted her to tell him everything. To try again. He’d listen hard this time, try to help in whatever way she needed. He knew it wasn’t fair of him when he didn’t tell her everything. But there were things he told no one. Could never, ever tell.

  So now he faced the prospect of who knew how long without her. All the next few nights alone. He could go away too. He could schedule in a work trip or something. But he didn’t move from the sofa. His apartment felt stupidly huge and cool and empty. He liked hers better. He missed the plants and the scent and the cramped delight.

  Most of all he missed her.

  Shit. He’d really fucked up.

  Chelsea wiped her hands along the seams of her skirt before knocking on the door. It opened immediately. She’d rung ahead and made sure she was home alone. No way could she say this with Tom’s father present.

  But Xander, for all his bluntness, had been right. She didn’t talk honestly to anyone. She didn’t explain what she needed or really how she felt. So she’d already been to see her mom and told her the full truth about that night. Told her that she needed understanding in learning to move on. That she needed more space—but at the same time more support in other ways. Initially her mother had wanted to come with her now, but Chelsea had refused. And then her mom got it and let her go. She needed to do this herself.

  “Chelsea!” Helen, Tom’s mother, enveloped her in a hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re looking so well.”

  Chelsea couldn’t prevent the tears instantly stinging her eyes. This was going to be so hard. But she’d told one person the truth, she could tell another. It was too important not to. She had to—to try to find peace.

  Helen looked at her and immediately moved back towards the open door. “Come in. Come on, we’ll have a drink. It’s been so long.”

  She already had refreshments ready—a jug of iced tea on the table, as polite and perfect and kind as always. They talked for a couple of minutes—those easy icebreaker questions about Chelsea’s time in New York, what she was working on there. But neither went in depth in answering.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more.” Chelsea put her untouched drink down. “I wanted to tell you what really happened.” She could hardly speak her throat was so painfully tight. She pressed her hands to her forehead, hiding her eyes from the older woman.

  “What really happened?” The uncertainty and confusion in Helen’s voice nearly broke Chelsea’s resolve.

  “I distracted him,” she whispered. “I was being an idiot. I was so happy about our engagement and I was acting up. I’m the reason he took his eyes off the road. It was my fault he veered. My fault we crashed.”

  “Chelsea.”

  She felt Helen’s hand touch her knee.

  “I’ve read the police reports,” the older woman said. “I know he was going too fast—not crazily, but over the limit. And I know it was raining and that the road was even more slippery because a truck ahead of you had spilt some fuel. There were several factors at work that night.”

  Chelsea knew all that too, but none of those things had been the primary factor. She had. “If I hadn’t distracted him.”

  “He could still have veered.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand that he was so happy with you. He died happy.” Helen said firmly. “I still have that voice message you guys left when you were at the restaurant—the one telling us you’d just gotten engaged. That’s the last thing he said to me—how happy he was. He was so excited. And that was because of you.”

  Chelsea covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  The other woman wrapped her arms around her. “You loved him the way any mother wants her son to be loved. Wholly. That’s all I could ever want. I know he died happy—that brings me such comfort. It should to you too.”

  Chelsea couldn’t speak anymore. Couldn’t.

  “You poor thing. You’ve been feeling guilty all this time?” Helen sighed as she rubbed Chelsea’s back. “Of course you have. You’re sweet, Chelsea. Don’t shut away that warm heart. Love again. Love well. Live.”

  Chelsea finally lifted her head and looked into the hazel eyes that reminded her so much of Tom’s. “You forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Helen gave her a watery smile. “You tried so hard to save him. I know how much you loved him. So did he. I thank you for making my son so happy.” Tears trickled down her face. “He would want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you beating yourself up, or not following through on things because of what happened. Let it go.”

  She’d repeated words that Xander had said. That others had said before him. That Chelsea understood, but was still struggling to believe.

  “He’d want you to be happy,” Helen added. “Just as you’d want him to be happy if your positions were reversed.”

  Oh she would. She’d want him to have it all. Chelsea sighed deeply then slipped the ring off her finger and held it out. “You should have this.”

  “No.” Helen shook her head. “He gave it to you. He loved you.” She reached out and curled Chelsea’s fingers around the ring, locking it into her fist. “But perhaps it’s time to put it on the other hand.”

  “Thank you.” Chelsea whispered.

  She’d never forget. But perhaps she could find solace. And maybe she could fix up some of the mistakes she’d made.

  She went back to the small hotel she’d booked into, walked straight into the bathroom and flicked on the taps. She didn’t add bubbles or any scent. But she undressed, watching the water rise in the bath until it was deep. She dipped the tip of her fingers in to test the temperature.

  Warm.

  She drew a breath, released it and then breathed in again. Regularly counting, she kept breathing. Time to let it go. She had courage, right?

  She put one foot in the water, refusing to act on the instinct that would see her pull out again in a heartbeat. She stepped the other foot in so she stood in the water. It came to just below her knees. She’d never forget those moments that cold, wet night almost two years ago. But maybe she could accept them.

  “I’ll always love you, Tom,” she whispered. “You’ll always be in my heart.” He’d been her first love, a wonderful love. She’d been so lucky to have him. Because of him she knew how to love. “But there’s more room in there. More I need.” She drew
a breath. “More I want. And I know that’s okay. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  He’d loved her. He’d want her to be happy—just as she would him. Because she had loved him so very much.

  She sank right into the water, lying back and closing her eyes. It was so warm and so scary but at the same time, so good. She’d missed it so much. She’d always loved swimming. When she was little her mother had told her she had a few drops of mermaid in her. She’d dived and played in the local pool for hours and hours. She’d swum in a junior varsity swim team—until schoolwork became too much and she’d had to concentrate more on her studies. But swimming was her thing. Anything on or in the water. But she’d gotten so afraid. Associated it with those terrifying minutes.

  The water washed away her tears the moment they left her eyes. She surfaced and took a deep breath. She thought about Tom. Remembered when she’d frantically dived for him. But he’d gone and he wasn’t coming back. And her life had to go on.

  She rested her head on the edge of the bath and looked out the window at the vibrant blue sky. Her thoughts switched to that beautiful pool on top of the apartment building. To the color of the water at the polo pool. To Xander. The last knots of tension in her muscles eased.

  Her heart still hurt, but maybe, just maybe it was starting to heal. Because it wanted to love again. She’d been such a fool about Xander. He’d asked her time and time again—what was in her head, what she wanted. Maybe it wasn’t just a line, he’d really wanted to know. Because she’d wanted to know about him too and she’d wanted to know because she was beginning to care for him.

  But now she wondered what more she thought she needed to know when his actions told her all she needed. That he was loyal, strong, compassionate. That he was kind and good-humored. That he’d always try to help someone out. Why did she think she needed him to spill all his personal details like he was a can of beans? She already knew the kind of person he was from the way he treated her, the way he treated his friends. With kindness, loyalty and humor.

  He was the kind of person she wanted to be with.

  And he, like she, liked to play. He wanted a playmate. What was it he’d said to that old lady the night the alarm had gone off at the apartment?

  “I like a woman who stands up to me.”

  She finally got it. He mightn’t admit it, but he wanted a match—someone who could equal him. And he’d told her not to be afraid of expressing what she wanted.

  “You can tell me anything. Ask me anything.”

  And he was right.

  But he was also wrong. Her fear of asking hadn’t just been about sex. Not about the bedroom games and light fantasies. It was about putting herself out there and possibly being hurt again. Being rejected. Losing someone you cared about.

  Had she really thought that if she didn’t fully engage she wouldn’t care so much? That she could ‘manage’ her emotions somehow? What a fool. Because he’d fully engaged her emotions anyway. It hadn’t just been about pleasing him, she’d been so into him.

  She wanted to give to him, because he’d given to her—support, companionship, he’d listened, he’d pleased. And even though he might not want it forever or anything, she owed it to him to be honest. Emotionally honest and open.

  And do what they both truly wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Someone’s grumpy.” Logan laughed at him from the other side of the pool table.

  “Shut it.”

  “You not getting any lately?”

  Xander didn’t answer.

  “Well, why don’t you find someone else? Plenty of women around here who’d do anything you wanted them to,” Logan said, bitterness rasping.

  Xander didn’t want any of them. Damn it. “Shut up.”

  “You’re so pissy. Why don’t you take your mood home and spare the rest of us who are ready to party?”

  Xander rolled his eyes. The rest of ‘us’ was only Logan. Hunter was away, Rocco was here but technically working. Xander might as well leave. He’d been here for two hours already and not left the table once. Hadn’t bothered to look anyone in the eye. “You’re going to get in real trouble sometime, Logan.”

  Logan just laughed and kept assessing the women in the room.

  Rocco’s bar was pumping—the place filled with beauties who were up for it. But Xander was sitting in the far corner by the pool table, trying to swallow back the bitter irony. He’d told Chelsea this would end if she developed feelings for him. But more fool him, for he was the one getting all sappy just because they’d been having sex. Often.

  And that was his problem tonight, right? She’d gone away and he was missing it. The sex that is. Not her.

  Wrong. It was all her. Calling in to see her for five minutes when he had the chance wasn’t for sex. It was to see her. His need to understand and help her out over her nightmares wasn’t because he’d come over all good Samaritan. It was for her. Because he liked her.

  But she was so at ease with the deal she was happy to just pack up and go away for who knew how long. She didn’t miss him. Damn it. And she didn’t seem at all troubled by her imminent departure from the city. Sure, it was another month away, but Xander felt it like the bomb was ticking and about to detonate. And the target about to be blown to bits?

  His heart.

  Exactly what he didn’t want. He’d never wanted it. Hell, he had no clue about relationships—had never seen a decent example in all his life. He’d been all about play.

  And Chelsea had liked make-believe. Except now Xander wanted it all to be real.

  Yeah. That was the problem.

  He knew what he had to do. When she got back, whenever that might be, he was ending it. No more games, no more getting off on the wicked laugh she let out too rarely. No more wishing she’d fully set free her spark of playfulness. Now more wishing she’d open up and talk to him, trust him the way she had that night.

  Because he hadn’t said the right thing. He’d only upset her. He wasn’t the guy to help her find that freedom again. He’d tried but he’d failed. He had to walk away because she had him wishing for things he’d always believed he never wanted. Things that were beyond his limited emotional ability.

  The good deeds he did merely masked the anger that he felt deep inside. The rage he felt for his father. And the fear that it was all inside him too. That darkness. That ability to brutally hurt. He wanted no risk of that. Chelsea of all people didn’t need to be hurt again. He had to walk away.

  But he was fucking angry about it. Furious with himself for letting things get this far. He was a damned fool, falling for blue eyes and a swimsuit.

  He slammed his glass down on the table. “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Good.” Logan answered with an evil tone and took an easy swig of his beer. “Go home and be boring there.”

  Xander flipped him the bird and left.

  As soon as he opened his apartment door his senses went on high alert. His muscles tensed but he kept his hands loose, bending his knees slightly—ready to either attack or defend. His eyes narrowed, he listened. Then he caught the scent. A little basil.

  Chelsea.

  “You think you’re so great with security?”

  The sound of her voice thumped him in the chest—his heart stopped. Then started again—off beat and skittering.

  “A little catburgler like me can sneak in so easily.” She appeared at the end of the hall.

  What the fuck was she wearing?

  Top to toe she was clad in black. Skin tight, sexier than hell black, with the six-inch heeled, dominatrix boots to finish it off. The only part of her skin visible was her jaw—her pointed chin, her pretty, kissable lips. Right now they were slicked red. Absolute vixen.

  “How did you get in?” It hurt to breathe, hurt to move given how hard he was. So he just stayed statue still.

  Hands on her hips, she saucily shrugged a shoulder. “I used some contacts.”

  Did she now? Xander’s mind whir
red.

  Logan. He was the only one who could have let her in. Hunter was away. No way in hell would any of the building team let her in. They were too scared of how he’d react. So all the while Logan had been goading him at the bar, he’d known this creature was lying in wait for him?

  Damn jerk cousin. And for a moment, mad jealousy rioted through him—that Logan had seen her looking like this? The guy was going down. But Xander had other things to tend to first.

  “Catburgler, huh?” He cleared the rock from his throat. “What is it you’re planning on stealing?”

  She slowly walked towards him, her spiky heels punctuating her carefully spoken words. “Something very, very precious.”

  Hell, he was in trouble. He waited, refusing to risk moving, as she strolled right up to him.

  “Cats love to play with their prey…” she said softly. “We love to torment them. We like to let them think they’ve escaped…”

  “But they haven’t.”

  “No.” She ran a fingernail down his chest. He felt its edge through his shirt. “They can never get away.”

  The only sign of nerves was in the slight wobble of her fingers.

  “What else you cats like?” he asked, hoarse. Barely containing the urge to grab her. But he was determined to let her lead—she was playing. He ached for her to follow all the way through.

  “We like to lick.”

  Yeah, he was screwed. His control slipped with every brazen word she uttered. But he summoned enough strength mutter a reply. “Oh you do?”

  “Every… last… drop.” That fingernail tapped sharply—staccato to her smooth purred words.

  His innards burned, muscles seized—wanting to burst free from the confines of his skin. “And then?”

  “We devour.”

  He closed his eyes, refusing to come on the spot. Refusing to grab and take in a ferocious frenzy.

  “Chelsea.” He all but begged for mercy. “I can’t be…” he huffed out a breath and tried again. “It’s been too long since I saw you. I’m like… a bullet here.”