Breathe for Me(37)

“Xander.” She was appalled and horrified that his words hurt her so deeply. “I’ve just told you something so… so personal and all you can do is bring it back to sex? To this thing—”

“This thing with me is about sex for you.”

Oh but it wasn’t only about sex. Not now. It was about trust and honesty and understanding and wanting and needing so much more. She shot out of bed, grabbing some clothes to pull on.

“Chelsea.” He too left the bed. “Don’t get mad with me for speaking the truth.”

His truth. She looked away from him. “I’m not mad.”

“Don’t lie either. The truth is you’re afraid to act up, to play, to open up. You want to, but you’re inhibited—like you think you can’t or shouldn’t.”

“I just opened up,” she snapped back angrily. “And you’re hardly the poster-boy for deep and meaningful sharing.”

“Fair point, but I share what I can.” He thrust his tee over his head. “You can share more.”

“I just told you my most horrible thing ever. What more do you want?” She stared at him, furious that this was only about sex with him. “You want to know what I really want?” She spat. “You want to know my deepest, darkest fantasy?” Irate, she wanted to test him. “Me with another man. Two men.” Take that, you bastard.

His eyes narrowed like he knew she was goading him. But he inhaled deep. “I can almost cope with the idea of another man watching you,” he answered infuriatingly evenly—like they were discussing the weather. “But any man touches you, I’d have to hurt him. I wouldn’t like that. Nor would he. Nor would you.”

“You’d go Hulk on me?” she laughed bitterly. As if Xander-effing-Lawson would get jealous? He so didn’t care enough. “I don’t think you’re capable of really hurting someone.” Not physically. “You’re a lifeguard,” she taunted.

“Actually, I get angry about all kinds of things. But it can’t become rage. It can’t become uncontrollable.”

Control. There it was again. She gazed at him, barely noticing his breathing was as uneven as hers or that her blood was rushing in her ears. “Control is important to you.”

“As it is to you.” He sent her a hard look.

“Okay yes, I liked you taking control.” He’d released her from her self-restraint, let her enjoy sensual freedom without guilt. But she wanted more now. She’d opened up so much, but he had only shared a very little. It wasn’t fair.

“Because you don’t think you deserve to have a good time anymore,” he said.

“Stop trying to analyze me.”

“Well someone needs to. You’re caught in your inability to communicate. Your family—his family—would be appalled if they knew you were sabotaging your life because of misplaced guilt. It’s time to talk. Time to give it up. You don’t talk honestly to anyone. You can’t even ask your mom to call you an hour later.”

“Well I’m not going to talk to you. I thought superheroes didn’t speak. They only act.” She picked up his jeans and hurled them at him.

“That’s right, try to shut down the conversation.” He caught and pulled them on in record time. “I take it I’m not welcome to stay.”

“You said it was your preference not to stay the night,” she snapped coolly.

For a moment something like admiration crossed his face, before that bland expression settled again. Permanently. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened.”

Yeah and look where that had gotten her—hurt. She’d told him her ‘anything’ like he’d said he wanted—and then he’d twisted it. It was awful, awful, awful because she had the horrible feeling he was right. And this had to end before her heart broke over something that could never be.

Just before he got to her door he turned. “You cannot blame yourself anymore. You have to forgive yourself. Tom wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy. Or so unfulfilled.”

Oh hell, it hurt to hear that. “I’m not,” she argued, her teeth clenched together. “I’m okay.”

Xander took a step back to grip her chin, forcing her to keep facing him, to keep her eyes on his. His were narrowed. “You sure?”

She’d lied so many times to so many others. Said she was fine when she was bleeding inside, her heart ripped to shreds. So she could do it again. “I’m fine.”

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 f*cked 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.”