Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(61)
“Do you remember the story of Fearless and Bear?” Alex asked.
Their story was the only part of yesterday that didn’t ache when she thought about it. “I remember.”
“I suspect you and Xander are a modern version of them.” He tossed that little bomb out there. Its detonation was quiet, but she felt the shock wave of it rock both her and Xander.
“You said it was your story.” Xander’s words were evenly spaced and perfectly clipped.
“It should have been. But now it’s yours to finish.” Alex’s face was all sober expression, and the way he sat in the chair leaning forward conveyed his earnestness. Isleen glanced at Xander, who bobbed his head as if Alex’s words struck a deep truth.
“You believe this?” Incredulity pushed her tone into the squeak range.
Xander turned his gaze to her, grim honesty shining in his eyes. “It makes sense. You see the similarities, right?”
The parallels between her and Fearless lined up nearly perfectly. Fearless had been kidnapped by the Bad Ones. Isleen had Queen. Bear had found and saved Fearless. Isleen had Xander. Fearless discovered she was gifted with dream sight. Isleen had precognitive dreams.
What about hard facts and truth? They had proof her dreams could save lives—okay, she could buy in to that. But the story of Fearless and Bear was fiction. Oh, she wanted to believe it, only because she wanted Xander to be her destiny. But wanting a thing didn’t make it happen.
“You wanna know the real kick in the ass?” Xander nabbed her hand. “The totem Bear carving sits on top of the next hill over. That fucking close this entire time, and I never really knew what it was until yesterday.”
“I want to go see it sometime.”
“I know. Me too. Kinda takes on a whole new meaning now.” His words were filled with unquestioning belief in this.
Alex cleared his throat. “When Gale left—”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Time to leave. I don’t want to hear—”
“Alexander. Patrick. Stone.” Alex’s tone was loud, sharp, and overflowing with angry father. “You will let me say this. And then I’ll leave and you can go back to hating me.” He didn’t wait for Xander’s agreement, just kept talking, although lowering his volume. “Gale left because she didn’t believe. She swore something bad would happen to me if she stayed. When she left… I almost don’t have words to describe what happened to me. I left too. I was gone. But not gone. I couldn’t think clearly or see clearly or feel anything. Nothing made sense or computed right, except for work. The only clarity I could find was in my research. Maybe because it was the only link I had to Gale.
“It wasn’t until…” His voice warbled, high and low. “Until…she…died that I finally broke free from the prison I’d been locked inside all that time. Free to feel all the guilt, anger, and, my God, the regret.” He aimed tortured eyes at Xander. “I know everything I missed. I know I wasn’t there as a father, a mentor. I wasn’t there for all the small wonderful moments of your childhood, and I especially wasn’t there when you almost”—his voice faltered—“died. I will carry that responsibility and remorse for the rest of my life.”
In the silence following Alex’s speech, no one moved. Her heart turned puffy soft with compassion toward both of these men who needed each other so badly, but the distance of time and pain separated them.
Alex nodded his head once, stood, and waited as if he expected Xander to say something, but when the quiet continued, he headed toward the door. He paused, hand on the door handle. “It would’ve been more merciful if someone had just shot me in the head and put me out of my misery.” He opened the door and looked back at Isleen, pinning her immobile with the intense sadness of his gaze. “Don’t you ever do to him what Gale did to me.”
*
If Isleen responded to Dad’s parting words, Xander couldn’t hear it. He was lost inside his own thoughts. If this thing between him and Isleen was similar to what Dad claimed to have had with Gale, that granted Isleen the ability to annihilate him. To turn him into the same person as his father. That Xander had let himself go down this road—refusing to listen to Matt’s warnings—made him fifty kinds of stupid.
Shit fucking goddamn. Matt had been right all along. Wouldn’t the guy just about get wood from being able to say told you so?
Xander forced himself to his feet, fighting the physical urge to be close to her. He refused to look at her and fall under her alluring spell. Oh, but his body wanted her, and yet his mind knew the consequences. He needed time to think, time to figure things out, time alone.
“I got some work to do.” Liar, liar, tighty-whities on fire. He walked to the front door. “I’ll have Hopkins walk you back to the main house.” He opened the door and peered out at the BCI guy stationed on his porch. “Hopkins, see that she gets back to the main house.”
“Will do.” The guy nodded one of those professionally curt nods, then looked beyond Xander to the interior of the cabin. Hopkins’ eyes softened, his facial features melting into a soft, slightly girlish look of pure compassion and sympathy. He glanced at Xander and his expression went terminal, as if Xander were a hot, steaming pile of fresh dog shit mashed into the grooves of his brand-new tennis shoes. What the fuck was that about?