Page 163 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

One week later…

When Xander woke in Cassidy Morrison’s bed, he had to take a second to remember he wasn’t dreaming.

The room was still dim, early morning light easing through dark curtains and touching the edges of furniture that was pure Cassidy. Heavy wood dressers. A large worn, leather recliner positioned in front of an eighty-five-inch flat screen. Little to no decorations except for a framed eight-by-ten of Cassidy in uniform—younger but already so serious—standing shoulder to shoulder with four other Marines in some other country.

The nightstand held a simple wrought iron lamp, a charging cable, watch, reading glasses, and a glass of water.

Xander rolled onto his side and looked around. He’d learned so much about Cassidy in his house.

Not HOS.

Cassie.

There were more photographs in the hallway of him in service. A few pictures from fishing trips too, Cassidy holding up a ridiculously tiny catch while two friends laughed beside him, his smile rare and almost boyish.

One photo in the living room showed him on a dock at sunset at their family’s cabin. He had longer hair, and a thicker beard as he used his hand to shield his eyes.

Another framed image showed a much younger Cassidy with his arm around an older woman Xander learned was his mother, both smiling. Cassidy had confessed she’d threatened to never make his favorite blueberry lemon pound cake if he frowned in her picture. She lived in a super nice retirement village in Santa Barbara that he paid for, with his sister as her caretaker, after her cataract surgery had left her with ocular hypertension and blindness in one eye.

The house was warm and lived in. Masculine and clean without being sterile. It smelled like coffee, leather, and his spicy cologne. Xander pressed his face into the pillow and smiled.

His boyfriend’s pillow.

That word still tripped him out.

Boyfriend.

It felt too small for a man of Cassidy’s stature. Too ordinary for a man who’d taken bullets for him.

But it also felt perfect, because the word made his stomach flutter as if he was a teenager with his first crush.

He had a boyfriend.

And that boyfriend had kept him awake half the night with slow, capable hands, hot words seared into his skin, and kisses that’d left him unraveled in the sexiest way.

He stretched beneath the sheet, sore in places that made heat crawl up his neck, as he laughed quietly into the pillow.

God help him. How was he going to survive this man?

Cassidy’s side of the bed was empty, but not cold. He hadn’t been gone long. Xander pushed himself up, ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and went to the bathroom.

He freshened up, brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and stood for a moment staring at himself in Cassidy’s mirror.

He was different but not in obvious ways.

There were still shadows beneath his eyes. The last week hadn’t been easy.

The press had turned Bennett Ashford’s name into a feeding frenzy after LAPD confirmed his connection to the hired attackers, and River Blackwell had come forward with a signed witness account.

Entertainment shows had run timelines, motive theories, old interviews, and comparison charts between Xander’s award wins and Celestine Ashford’s losses. The internet did what the internet did and built an empire of noise around it.

Bennett had fled the country within hours of the story breaking, which only made him appear guiltier. His lawyers released statements and his PR team denied everything. None of it mattered.

Xander wanted nothing else to do with any of it and chose to let the police and his legal team handle it. But he’d made one thing clear. He did not want to press charges against Celestine Ashford, nor did he want his legal team to harass her regarding her husband’s criminal activities.

He pulled on his boy shorts, comfortable with leaving his shirt flung over the recliner. He liked the way Cassidy feasted on his body with his dark eyes.

He followed the sound of the news playing from somewhere beyond the bedroom. Roxie and Ranger met him in the hall, except they weren’t alone. Cassidy’s fat calico cat, Scout, shot around the corner with Roxie trotting behind her and Ranger following with little interest.