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“Why?” I ask, my throat relaxing.
“Because I wanted as much space between us as possible. It was bad enough that I had to do that. I hoped it might make some kind of difference and you wouldn’t hate me.”
My heart aches at his words and I squeeze his fingers. I don’t hate him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I love him. I love him so much and now I understand. I understand all of it, and I know he didn’t have another choice.
I stand to my feet, unlock the door, and pull it open, finding Xander standing there with the most wounded expression I’ve ever seen on his face. He probably expects me to slap him or run out, but instead, I throw myself in his arms and bury my face in his neck.
He stinks like that damn clubhouse, but at least he doesn’t smell like sex. He always smells like it after we’re done, but maybe that’s because we're always all over each other, kissing, touching, moving. Even if we have sex right after a clubhouse party, our sex smells always overpower the stink. Not this time.
He’s telling the truth. I feel it in his body and the way he hugs me tight, both of us struggling with what has happened.
“I could never hate you,” I admit into his neck as I kiss the skin right below his beard.
Somehow, his arms tighten as he pulls his neck away from me and presses his head to mine, ragged breaths escaping his parted lips. “I’m so sorry.”
Running my fingers through his hair, I hold him close. My heart still hurts, but I understand it was something Xander couldn’t avoid. If I hadn’t started using the coloring shampoo, like Gillian suggested, he could’ve called me. Sure, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of public sex, but I’d do it if it meant Gillian didn’t get to touch him.
Anger surges in my veins and it takes everything to quell it for the moment.
Reaching up on my toes, I give Xander a soft kiss on the lips, one he hesitatingly reciprocates. “We’re okay,” I whisper so he knows I’m not going to hold this against him. The way the tension leaves his body makes my chest throb, knowing he’s hurting as much as I am.
I pull away from him and walk around him, out of the bedroom. My sister sits on the couch with a beer in her hand, her shoes on the floor beside her. She looks up at me, completely unbothered.
“Stand up, Gillian.” I’m not doing this with her sitting down like I’m above her. That might give her some form of satisfaction.
She groans and slowly stands up, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to apologize when there was no other option, alright?”
I shrug. “Okay.” Winding my arm back, I throw my hand around and slap her so hard across the face the sound reverberates through the whole room. Suddenly, Xander runs out of the bedroom, looking frantic as Gillian cradles her cheek, jumping away from me like I branded her.
With wide eyes, she yells, “What the hell? You hit me!”
“And you deserve it,” I growl in anger. “This wasn’t a one time thing for you, Gillian. If it was, I could forgive it. You haven’t just done this once or twice or three times. This is thefourthfucking time.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She’s aghast, throwing her hands in the air, exasperated.
“Do you really not remember that every single time, with the exception of Dell for obvious reasons, every time I’ve talked to you at all about a guy, the next thing I know you come to me and tell me you fucked them with some holier than thou bullshit about how you’ve done nothing wrong! You’ve never been able to accept blame for anything in your fucking life, Gillian. Everything is always on someone else. It was always on Mom for being too much of a hard ass, your revolving door of boyfriends for not understanding you, me for being a prude, or…Travis and Danica for distracting you.”
Her expression turns hard and defiant.
Travis Marshall and Danica Diamond were two of Ivan’s best friends. Even after he died, they’d come over and I’d babysit them. It made me feel closer to my brother. One time, I needed to go to the store to pick up some brown sugar for the cookies we were making and Gillian swore she’d watch the chicken on the stove while I made the run. The store was just down the street and I was only getting one thing. What could possibly go wrong in that short amount of time?
I was wrong though. When I got home, the house was full of smoke and the stove was on fire. Gillian was in the back yard with the two kids and claimed they were acting too crazy to stay inside. When I told Mom what happened, why the paint was burnt off the walls and the house smelled of smoke, Gillian was grounded until graduation.
“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? You can’t ever berate me without dragging those fucking kids into it.”
“Because that is one of the worst things you have ever done to date. You couldn’t accept that it was your fault our house nearly burned down.” I hiss.
She rolls her eyes in classic Gillian style. “Don’t be such a drama queen. It was just the stove.”
“How the fuck would you know? I was gone for three minutes and the house was full of smoke. I’m the one who put out the fire, not you. I was the one who ran around that house screaming, looking for you, trying to think the best of you and that maybe there was a break-in and you had to run off with the kids. You gave me a fucking panic attack, Gilly, and you cost Mom five thousand dollars in damages to the kitchen. Even then, I still tried to have your back even though you didn’t fucking deserve it. Every single time I’ve ever given you an inch, you run a mile and stab me in the back. I’m fucking done!”
For the first time since she told me her trauma story, a hint of sadness enters her gaze, but I’m not falling for it.
“You can stay tonight and tomorrow during the day, but you better be gone before Xander gets home from work.” With that, I shove past her and go to the room Xander and I share together. I almost climb in bed to forget this day ever happened, but as soon as Xander closes the bedroom door, I watch his solemn expression as he drags his feet to the bathroom.
Something is wrong, more than just guilt over what happened tonight. I didn’t notice it before. I was so caught up in my own anger and hurt, but now, I see it. There’s been a shift in my man and I don’t like whatever it is. He’s hurting for more than just the cheating.
“Xander?” I call for him, but all I hear is the shower turning on. I peek into the bathroom and find him naked with his head under the spray, a deep, harsh breaths affecting the pattern of his shoulder movements. Then, I see it, the tremble in his arms pressing against the shower wall.
