Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

XANDER

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 6:30 P.M.

I hate not being in control. It's an itch under my skin. My brother and I did better today, but how long will it last? What if tomorrow we're out of sync again? There's nothing I can do about that. But this guy, Erik? The one that hates me because he thinks he knows me? That I can do something about.

And it might make everything worse.

After excusing myself from dinner—if you can call one mozzarella stick dinner—I follow the man out of the restaurant with a single goal: figure out what his problem is. I don't focus on why I need to do this. Just… If I can figure this out, maybe things can return to normal.

He seems to be moving with purpose as he exits the hotel. Am I really going to follow him all over town? But he doesn't get in a car. Instead, he walks several blocks away. It's not like Chicago. There aren't a lot of people around. I worry he'll look back and see me. But isn't that what I want? Why I'm following him?

Erik barely looks at the buildings around him, walking past a secondhand clothing store and a small diner. The pet store grabs his attention, and he stops and watches… Are those kittens? He laughs, and although I can barely hear it, I can see the smile on his face. His head flings back, exposing his neck. My thoughts are clear. Find out what this man is after. My emotions are jumbled. I don't like this guy, but something about him draws me in.

He glances back, and I duck behind a light pole, turning so my face is hidden. Then he moves on, and I run to catch up. Two blocks down on the corner, he stops and rubs his face. Standing taller, he goes into a building with tinted windows. It's not until I'm closer and at a good angle that I can tell where he's gone. Rick's Pawnshop.

As I step through the door, a musty smell hits me. Classic rock is playing over the speakers. I duck out of sight behind shelves holding dolls and action figures in collectible boxes. Why is he here?

The aisles are narrow, and as I try to catch a glimpse of Erik, I knock into an old ashtray stand. I grab it before it can fall and freeze, waiting for the accusations to start. When nothing happens, I move closer to the front. I can see Erik at the checkout counter through stacks of old records. He's talking to a bald man in a bright-orange shirt. They're talking quietly, so I can't make out specific words, but the man shakes his head and points at something on the counter.

"That's double the price," Erik says, his voice carrying through the store.

The man crosses his arms and shrugs. "Do you want it or not? Doesn't matter to me."

Erik practically throws the cash at him, and the man hands him something on a chain. A necklace, maybe? I can't really tell. He slips the object into his pocket and strides toward the door. As he passes by, I pretend to study an old guitar. Once he's out the door, I sigh in relief.

Jingling keys alert me to someone behind me. "Can I help you?" The man at the counter. He stares at me, and I pluck the guitar strings a few times as if it's the deciding factor in purchasing this guitar.

"No, thank you." I give the guitar one final plunk and speed walk out the door before he can ask me anything else.

Erik isn't anywhere in sight. I sigh in frustration and start walking back to the conference center. Did I gain anything from stalking this man? Not really.

I walk by the pet shop and watch the kittens play for a few moments before moving on. Someone grabs me and yanks me into the alley. I jerk away from my assailant, push them against the brick wall of the pet store, and press my arm against their throat.

Erik.

My heart pounds, my body still coiled and ready to fight as I let him go. "What the hell?"

His hands touch his throat. "You fucking attacked me."

"You grabbed me first."

"You were following me. Why don't we start there?"

Now that I'm face-to-face with him, I'm not sure what to say. "You hate me. Let's start there."

He rubs his face. He looks tired. More than he did yesterday. How is it that this man's default setting is to smile like he's amused by everything? Like the world isn't cold and people aren't annoying. Except when it comes to me. "Jesus, Cage?—"

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever. Xander, don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything."

The air is warm and humid, even though it's late at night and the end of September. The scent of Chinese food from the restaurant across the road mixes with the rank smell of garbage from the overflowing dumpster in the alley. Erik watches me, his brown eyes wary. "The past is over. I'm not reliving it. I'm happy. You're happy. No need to mess with that."

You don't seem happy. That's what I want to tell him, but it's not what comes out. "I'm not happy."

"Well, that's on you, isn't it? Most people are as happy as they want to be. Maybe you just don't want to be happy. That's your boyfriend's problem, not mine."

I start to argue with him. Why does he think I have a boyfriend?

But I can't say anything because he grabs my hand and turns it over. His eyes are on me as he takes something out of his pocket and slaps it in my hand. "Here you go."

The flat stone is cool against my skin. I hold it up. A medallion. With a symbol that has two vertical lines with a curved line on top and on bottom. Almost like a closed pi symbol. It looks familiar, but I can't place it. Why is he giving me this? "I don't know what to say."

He snorts. "That's a first. There's nothing to say. I mean, it's yours."

"Mine?" I repeat the words as if I can somehow make sense of them.

"I'm tired of fighting. This is a peace offering. Okay?"

A car zooms by going way too fast, but it gives me a moment to think. Who does he think I am? But I'm not sure I want to know anymore. A small part of me wants one of his smiles just for me, but I ignore that part.

"Erik, I…thank you." I'm not sure what to say. This connection between us seems fragile.

"Fuck," he says, his eyes bright with pain. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "God, I miss you." The words are whispered. Whoever he thinks I am, this is real for him. It makes my heart ache.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you." Why did I say that? I didn't hurt him. But that doesn't matter if he thinks I did.

He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. "No. You don't fucking get to do this." And then he storms past, checking my shoulder.

There's no one around. No people. No cars driving by. I'm alone in an alley in a small town in Missouri. What the hell is going on? But more importantly, how can I make it right again?

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 9:00 P.M.

I still don't have any answers as I trudge back to the hotel. The necklace weighs down my pocket and bounces against my leg as I walk.

Nothing makes sense. Erik goes to a pawnshop to buy me a necklace? And then thrusts it at me angrily? A peace offering, he says. But it doesn't bring me peace. Only more questions.

The table Dom and I were at is empty, so I climb the stairs and try to come up with something plausible to tell my brother. Why not the truth? Since when am I hiding things from him? But something is off between us, and I'm not sure what.

I tap the key card against the lock and open the door to our room. Hopefully, we can get some semblance of synchronicity back before tomorrow.

Dom jumps up from the couch and glares at me, his hands on his hips. "What the fuck, Xander?" Great. Full diva mode.

I almost leave again. I'm not fond of confrontation, no matter what Paxton thinks. I just don't put up with people not doing their jobs. Or trying to burn down the kitchen. And my run- in with Erik has drained me. Except for some reason, I'm still amped.

"Don't." The door shuts behind me, and I walk past him, rubbing my forehead. A low throbbing ache started behind my eyes on the walk back to the hotel, and it's becoming more insistent. I feel the jangling of the necklace more than hear it. Is it audible? Will Dom ask me about it?

"Xander, I have questions."

"Can they wait? I'm tired—" My stomach alerts me that I had one mozzarella stick for dinner, and that was hours ago.

His eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch. "You're still hungry?"

Still? I check the small fridge. I'm not fond of leftovers, but my brother refuses to waste food. I grab the only food container in there. It has half a meatball sub from lunch today. Did he eat all of this burger from dinner?

Sharing food is another thing I'm super picky about. But my brother is the exception. At least in this instance. Because the alternative is going out again or ordering in. Both options involve other people and time. "Can I have this?"

His eyebrows rise even higher. "Sure."

"Thanks." While I heat up the meatball sub, I face the microwave and the small kitchen area. It contains a sink, microwave, and fridge. I can feel my brother's frustration. My back prickles with the heat from his stares. I'm just not sure I can deal with it.

One thing about my brother. He'll wait. Forever if needed.

Might as well get it over with. After food. "Stop staring at me. Let me get something in my stomach other than mozzarella sticks. And then you can ask your questions."

"And now I have more."

The scent of tomato sauce hangs in the air as I take my food to the sitting area. It's a nice suite. Not Chicago nice, but for a town of barely ten thousand people, it's nice enough. My brain tells me to eat slowly, but my stomach wins that skirmish.

When I'm finished with the sub and the area is clean, I can't stall any longer. I return to the blue couch with the surprisingly soft fabric. Mentally, I prepare myself. Honesty would be the easiest, or at least the most expedient. When I'm ready, I take a deep breath. "Ask your questions."

He sits straighter. Preparing himself. For my answers? Or does he think I'll lie? "Why did you change your shirt?"

A laugh bursts out of me, and he flinches. Just a bit, but I can see it. "That's what you want to know?" Is there something I'm missing? I can feel the edges of it. Jagged. I hate not knowing. This is a feeling I know well, but usually with others. Never with my brother. "I was sweaty after our last round." He'd changed too. Why is he focused on that?

"No…forget the clothes. Why are you eating again?"

Clothes? Food? My brother isn't usually hesitant about anything. Unlike me. "For God's sake, Dominic. Stop stalling and ask me the real question."

His gaze shifts to the windows, and he rubs his hand on his jeans like he's trying to remove something. "The real question?"

"Why I followed Erik?"

His shoulders relax and his laugh sounds relieved. But when his gaze meets mine there are more questions there. His brows furrow. "Erik?"

What did he think I meant? A twinge of guilt twists with the meatballs sitting in a lump in my stomach. Why didn't I confide in him sooner? "The blond guy from the reception."

"Oh. Right." He rubs both hands on his jeans this time and clears his throat. What is going on with him? "Why did you?"

"He doesn't like me."

He smiles looking more like the Dom I know. "There's so much to unpack in that statement."

But I'm done. "Let's unpack tomorrow."

My brother is in front of me before I can get halfway across the room. His hand touches my shoulder and then drops. "It can't wait, Xander. We're—I don't know what we are—but we can't compete like this."

He's right. I hate that he's right. "Fine." I set my jaw and stare past him. I can do this. "He doesn't like me. I shouldn't care, but I do. I don't know why, so don't ask." I catch his eye, and he mimics zipping his lips. Maybe I can get through this. "But sometimes he looks at me like he doesn't dislike me. Like he's seeing me for the first time." I raise my hand, already knowing what he's going to say. "We don't know each other. But for some weird reason, he thinks we do."

"So you talked to him? Tonight, I mean?"

"Not at first. I followed him from the hotel. I wanted to see where he was going."

"My brother the stalker, ladies and gentlemen."

The tightness in my chest eases even as I throw him a dirty look. We're fine. Or going to be. This is Dom. "Do you want to hear this?"

"Please continue." His eyes sparkle in amusement. He's going to milk this for a while. Great.

"He walked a few blocks away to a pawnshop. He bought—something."

"Something?" he says with a laugh. "So cryptic."

I pull out the medallion and hold it out for him to see.

His eyes widen. "Did you move from stalking to mugging? Jesus, Xander."

"What? No. He gave it to me."

"You've obviously skimmed over some parts of the story."

Right. Because I don't want to tell them. But we need to get back in sync. And I need my brother's advice. I sure as hell don't know what to do.

After I go through the rest, he crosses his arms and studies me. "You like this guy?"

"What? No. I think he's married or with the woman—his partner in the competition." But do I still believe that?

"Not what I asked."

My head shakes in denial before I even think the words. "I don't like him." I sigh. "But I don't dislike him either. And I should. Right?"

"Not necessarily," he says with a shrug and holds his hand out. I give him the medallion, already itching to snatch it back. He turns it over and examines the front. "How did he know?"

I blink. "How did he know what?"

He holds it up so the front is facing me. "Gemini. Our Zodiac sign. Did he randomly pick out the right one? At a pawnshop?" He thrusts it back into my hands as if it's cursed and backs up. "What the fuck is going on in this town, Xander? I feel like I'm in the freaking Twilight Zone. People think they know us—yes, it's happened to me too. Everyone is acting weird. You didn't even mention the medallion at dinner and the changing clothes and handholding thing? I'm freaking out here."

My brother is losing it. He bites his thumb and looks like he's going to start screaming any minute. His words make even less sense. He knows I didn't follow Erik until after we went to the restaurant, so how could I have told him? And holding hands? He's definitely losing it. "No. Only one brother freaking out at a time. This is my meltdown."

That gets a chuckle out of him. It turns into a laugh. And then he's gasping for air as tears stream down his face from laughing so hard. At least, I hope it's from laughing. I can't help but join in. "Missouri sucks," I finally say. It's my only explanation.

"God, it really does."

I put my hand on his shoulder, ignoring his slight flinch. This isn't something I usually do, but I need that connection with him. Something familiar. Real. "I'm going to take a shower. After that, can we go over the plan for tomorrow? As much as I'd like to get out of this town, I don't want to leave because we were eliminated."

His smile is genuine. And I realize then that the earlier ones weren't as genuine. I hadn't noticed at the time, but the difference is apparent. Stark. "I fucking love that plan."

After a shower, I change into comfortable joggers and a tag-less T-shirt. Dom glances at the necklace as I slip it around my neck. Thankfully, he doesn't ask for an explanation. I'm not sure I could give him one.

We go over the plan. Discuss the recipes we have planned and if there are any modifications needed. It's familiar and productive, and I feel energized. As a team, Dom and I are unstoppable. As long as we stick together, we can win this competition.