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He hadn’t realized just how meaningless that life had been until he met Emma, until he felt the promise of something more. Now he realized that contentment couldn’t be found in avoiding feelings. He’d just have to risk getting hurt, or not measuring up, or whatever love would ask of him, because he didn’t want to live with the alternative: with Emma out of his life. When he thought about how Emma could’ve been hurt, all because he been too stubborn or too scared to admit that Emma was right, he wanted to hit himself. They did have a connection, a strong one, and he wasn’t going to walk away from that.
The female officer across the desk finished taking her notes.
“Thanks for helping us,” she told Emma. “I’ll let you know if we need any more from you, but I think we’re done for today. You have a ride home?” She glanced at Xavier.
“Yes,” Xavier said. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”
She glanced at him, looking grateful, and as he sat there, holding her hand, he realized for the first time about what his dad meant when he’d said, Love isn’t something you choose. It chooses you. He realized then that he didn’t want to live a life without Emma. He didn’t want her on her own, walking down sidewalks by herself with people like Jimmy out there. He wanted to be there for her, in every way possible. For the first time, he started to think that love wasn’t a prison, it was a gift. His father hadn’t been a slave to his mother, he’d signed up to protect her, no matter how hard that task would be.
Xavier held Emma’s hand as they walked out of the police station.
It wasn’t far from her condo, so they opted to walk. The sun had set and the air had turned colder. The street lamps were bright, but even so, Xavier worried about her. He studied her profile, wondering if she was still scared, if she felt at all uneasy.
“Are you okay? Walking in the dark, I mean?” He squeezed her hand.
“With you? Of course. I saw your right hook,” she teased, and he laughed a little. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Boxing classes.” He shrugged.
“Is your hand okay?” she asked him. He glanced down at his bruised knuckles. The split on his second knuckle had already begun to scab over. “I’m fine,” he said, hardly feeling the pain anymore.
“Thank you, by the way,” she said. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you before. But you saved me. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” He glanced down at the sidewalk, looking at the dark, wet leaves. The rain had come and gone, but the sidewalks still glistened beneath the streetlights. “I should’ve been here with you. If I had stayed, none of this would’ve happened.”
“I asked you to give up too much. I realize that now,” she said. “But, it was worth a try. I thought...maybe.” They neared her condo now and Xavier felt her tense as they walked past the very alley where Jimmy had hidden in wait. He felt furious and helpless all at the same time as he ushered her past that spot. Thank goodness he’d gotten there in time.
“I don’t think I want to go home,” Emma said and slowed. “I just... I’m not sure I can sleep there.”
Xavier pulled her into his arms. “Come to my place, then. Stay the night. Hell, stay as long as you want.”
“You’d let me?”
“I wouldn’t have it otherwise,” he said, and then flagged down a cab that happened to be headed down her street.
They slipped inside the cab and Xavier held Emma’s hand tightly, realizing this was the first time he’d ever let a woman into his condo since Sasha. He’d had his share of one-night stands, but they all happened in hotel rooms or their places...or...he thought, thinking of the white-hot sex with Emma behind a condo building, right outside. But he didn’t feel anxious at all. He wanted Emma to see his place, wanted to invite her into his space and help her feel safe. It was the least he could do.
As they pulled up to his townhome in the west Loop, he paid the cab and then ushered her inside his brownstone. She stood in his foyer, eyes taking in his big staircase, his oversized living room and the granite island in his new kitchen.
“Wow,” she said. “This is...beautiful.” She noticed the pictures on his mantel above his wood-burning fireplace. The one old picture of his parents sat there, in the brown hues of the early 1980s.
“They look so happy,” she said, studying the picture.
“Most of the time they weren’t,” he said, truthfully. “But sometimes, they were.” He stood behind his couch, watching her. “That picture was taken before I was born. In fact, she was already pregnant with me at the time that was taken.”
