Chapter 27 - Xavier

Xavier

T he rundown farmhouse taunted me with its serene setting and frosty demeanor. Admittedly, I’d grown to like this painting after staring at it week after week.

Not today though. Today I wanted to set it on fire.

Dr. Frances shifted in his chair, pen in hand, notepad open. He’d grown on me too, mostly because he seemed to figure out my moods and learned not to push me to engage with him. I’d already said everything I needed to say about what happened at Constellations the other night. I even talked about yesterday’s match, which we lost. All of that took a grand total of eight minutes, meaning I still had roughly forty more to suffer through.

Didn’t matter to me if I sat here in silence. He’s getting paid regardless.

My focus tightened on the painting, studying the layered details of the farmhouse. At first glance, nothing about this landscape had seemed extraordinary, but the intricacies jumped out at me now.

The fractured wooden facade.

A buckling snow-covered roof.

Several broken windows.

With every excruciating second that passed by, I noticed the flaws more and more.

“What is it about the painting that resonates with you so powerfully?” Dr. Frances’ inquiry intruded on my thoughts.

“Everything,” I answered without hesitation.

He jotted down a few notes before asking, “Can you give me a specific example?”

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back. Normally, my resolve to give him just enough information to make these sessions bearable would kick in by now. But the more I thought about what happened the other night and the more I allowed my feelings for Victoria to consume me, the more I fell apart.

Just like that fucking painting. I glared at the imperfections. Their unveiling came faster and faster.

Chipped paint on the siding.

Uneven stairs.

Crooked door-frame.

“No.”

“Do you…maybe…see yourself as the farmhouse?”

Fucking hell . “No.”

An eyebrow arched over the rim of his glasses. Without saying another word, Dr. Frances wrote for a few seconds. He paused, looked at me, and wrote some more.

Not going to lie. It pissed me off.

“Is that what you’re writing?” I nearly exploded. “That Xavier Maddox views himself as a broken structure, barely keeping himself together so the adoring public won’t know how fucked up he is beneath it all?” I dug my fingers into the cushion, unable to stop myself from talking. “That my carefully curated life as a global superstar athlete is all for show? That I use attention and adoration as fucking bandages to hide my self-loathing and inadequacies?”

Stunned silence stretched between us.

Shit. I shouldn’t have said all of that.

“Stay with this, Xavier. You’re making a breakthrough that I think will help point you in the right direction.”

“Fuck you.”

I stood up and walked out.

An hour later I sprawled on the couch in the sitting room of Briarcliff Cottage, staring at the drum sander. My plan for the day was to do some work here after my session with Dr. Frances but that clearly went off the rails. Still, being in this house helped relieve some of the stress.

Cursing him out and leaving wasn’t a good look. The man was just doing his job. And that’s why I go to him, right? To stop denying all the shit I’d been burying for years.

If I can’t handle it, that’s on me.

Wow, look at me sounding all adult.

I sent Dr. Frances an email apologizing for my behavior and confirmed I’d be at the next appointment.

His response?

If and when something else throws you off, don’t dismiss it. Don’t ignore it. Really feel it.

He’d given me the exact same guidance a few months ago, word for word. At the time, it was in response to my reaction at a press conference. I’d ended up using it to sort out my feelings toward Victoria.

To say I’d initially fucked it up royally would be an understatement.

And now here I am again, faced with really feeling it.

I ignored the incoming text from Bennet and tossed my phone on the cushion. He wanted to talk about the fallout from my, as he’d so graciously put it, stupid fucking choices.

Jordan was livid. Not surprising. I don’t know what Bennet said to him or how he managed to keep what happened under wraps, but he did. Lucky for me, Jordan wasn’t seriously hurt. According to Bennet’s private doctor, just a bump on the head. No black eye or broken nose or anything.

Pity.

At this point, I owed Bennet more than simple gratitude. The man already saved my career once. Not sure I’ll get another chance if I screw up again.

I felt like I was being torn in two; the more I let down my guard with Victoria, the harder it became to deny the truth about my past. Trouble is, I only wanted to fall apart in front of her . Not a therapist or my friends. Just Victoria.

How would she even react if I told her I was at the bonfire the same night her sister encountered Jordan? That I’d fought with him and probably provoked him enough to carry through with what he did to Charlotte?

I didn’t see her or Millie or anything else that happened but I couldn’t help feel somewhat responsible.

More texts from Bennet flooded my phone. Then it started ringing.

Swearing under my breath, I answered.

“What is it now?”

“We need you at the facility. Main offices.” His words lacked any emotion. They hung frozen in the air.

“Why?”

“You know why. I already called your agent. Be here in an hour.”

FUCK .

Benched for the next match.

“These unexpected bumps in the road need to be managed swiftly before things get out of hand.” Bennet didn’t mince words. “If anything like this happens again, we’ll have no choice but to reevaluate the goalkeeper position.”

I let the words simmer and fester in my mind.

The tips of my fingers glowed a purplish-red from how tight I clasped my hands together. Bennet and my agent, Gerard, talked around me. Eric, the Royal City manager, sat quietly, his face awash with disappointment.

“Christian will be in goal on Saturday.” Bennet’s stern amber glare focused on me. “You’ll train as normal with the club until Wednesday.”

My eye twitched. Christian was a decent keeper. He did well filling in during my suspension last season.

“What are we saying to the media? You know they’ll ask.” Gerard looked at his phone. He’s represented me for the last fifteen years. I trusted he’d keep the real reason under wraps if it ever came to light.

“Illness,” Bennet responded. “By midweek we’ll make it known Xavier wasn’t feeling well and left training early. We don’t want supporters and the media to get carried away with speculation. If we just say he’s not starting, it’ll stir up quite the storm. This will keep it neat and tidy.”

I bit down on my lip to keep silent. Fucking ridiculous.

They continued talking around me like I didn’t exist while I stewed in anger. When Gerard and Eric finally left the office, I stood up and unleashed on Bennet.

“This is what you and that asshole agreed on? Pulling me from the pitch? Fuck you, Logan.”

The force of Bennet’s hand slamming against his desk ricocheted through the office. Within seconds, he was in front of me. “I am trying to prevent this from getting worse.” Each word came out calm and measured. “There is CCTV footage of you going after him. Do you want that to go public? I know how much you love a fucking audience.”

Reigning in my emotions sapped every bit of energy from me, but I managed to level a bored stare at my so-called best friend.

“And this footage just magically landed in your lap?”

“Don’t be cute, Maddox. You know damn well I have connections in every corner of this city.” He looked down his nose at me, his eyes glinting with steely knowledge.

“Yes, your grace.” My shoulders stiffened. “This is all well above my pay grade.”

Some of Bennet’s measured control unraveled. “And it’s a good fucking thing. I had all visual evidence of you chasing Jordan down that alley scrubbed from existence.”

I suppressed a flinch at the mention of Jordan’s name. “But he knows about it.”

“Of course he does. This will keep him satisfied for the time being.”

We stared at one another, silently communicating what’s transpired over the years. Bennet looked exhausted. I sensed there was more going on than just my reckless decisions. Whatever it was, it’s not my concern right now.

“Bench me,” I snapped. “Tell the media whatever you want. Tell them I’m sick, I have a broken wrist, I need a fucking nap. Whatever. I’m going to New York.”

“No, you’re not.” Bennet’s slow, even delivery stopped me from walking out the door. “You will train with the club until midweek as directed. Then, you will stay inside your flat and out of the public eye until I tell you to return.”

Keeping my mouth shut was an exercise in restraint. Bennet wasn’t saying all this to me as a friend. He said it as my boss; the guy who controls my career and could sell me to another club if he wanted.

“I’m not only taking your best interests into consideration, I’m also protecting the team. Royal City is one of the founding members of this league and has been here for decades. Our name commands respect. This club will not be dragged into endless controversy because the fucking goalkeeper can’t control himself.”

Swallowing my pride was a bitter pill.

Balancing on the edge of this knife started to wear me down.

“Fine,” I conceded. “We’ll do it your way.”

An exasperated sigh poured into the space between us. “I don’t want to do this. My hands are tied. You know that.”

Bennet’s shoulders slumped but his whole body sagged under the weight of something.

“Yeah, I do.” I studied him. “Can we speak as friends now?”

He eyed me warily. “Depends.”

“What’s going on with you? Nothing’s been the same with all of us since Paris. Cade even noticed.”

That garnered a smile. “If Gallagher noticed, then I must not be hiding it well.”

Victoria’s voice flitted through my head. Be nice to Cade .

“He thinks it’s mostly work related. I think there’s more to it.”

Bennet smoothed down his tie, walked back to his chair, and sat. “You’re both right. That’s all I’m saying.” The hardened edge to his statement signaled we were finished talking.

Later that night, after replaying the events of the day, I sipped on my third glass of whisky and called Victoria.

“The bossy chair makes another appearance.” Her bright voice washed over me when she answered. “You look comfy.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Such a charmer.” She leaned into the couch, tilted her head, and smiled. “Good day at practice?”

I winced, hoping she didn’t notice. “It was alright. I stopped by your cottage this afternoon.”

“Nice deflection.”

I lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “No deflections here.”

“Whatever you say. Have you recovered from yesterday’s loss?”

“For someone who doesn’t actually play competitive sport for a living, you sure do know how to push an athlete’s buttons.”

“What happened to nothing about you being fragile? You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

Normally I loved it when she teased me. Tonight? I couldn’t bear it.

“Didn’t really have the best day, Tori. Sorry.” My voice tightened. “I don’t like losing.”

Concern lined her gloss-covered lips. “Did something else happen? Is it Jordan?”

Masking my reaction to that question wasn’t easy. “No, love.”

“The crazy thing about video calls is I can see your face. Talk to me, Xavier. I know something happened.”

Swallowing the last of my drink didn’t calm the growing storm festering inside me. Her emerald stare always pierced through to my deepest, hidden parts.

But this is what I wanted, right? To tell her all of it. Fall apart in front of her and no one else.

“There’s CCTV footage of me chasing after Jordan.” The words clawed their way out my throat. Victoria’s eyes grew wide. “It’s been dealt with but in order to keep everyone happy, I’ve been benched for this week’s match.”

“Benched? Is this something preemptive? Did the footage get leaked online or sent to a reporter? Is someone using it to blackmail you?”

I could see the no-nonsense, business side to her when she sat up straight and fired off questions without hesitation. I saw the poised Dartmouth graduate, the engaging woman engineered to command respect in the male-dominated sports industry.

“What’s the story going out to the media?”

I wanted to kiss her. My girl is so clever. “Illness. The plan is for me to train until midweek, then go home because I’m not feeling well.” I scowled. “I’ll be locked in my flat until Bennet deems me worthy of seeing the light of day.”

Victoria twisted a strand of hair. The subtle movement sparked intense yearning.

“That doesn’t sound too horrible. Well, I mean, it’s an unpleasant situation but the optics should be okay.” The more she combed her fingers through her hair, the more I wanted to grab a fistful, pull her head back, and ravage her. “Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“Not even close.”

We both startled at my raw honesty.

“I had a shit therapy session earlier. I stormed out.”

“Why?”

The fucking thing in my chest raged. “I had a few…uncomfortable realizations. Dr. Frances wanted me to continue but—” Fuck. I can’t do this.

“But what?” The gentle, reassuring way she asked almost gave me the courage to tell her. Almost.

“Sorry, love. I just…red.”

Neither one of us has called red during a conversation in a long time. Even though Victoria was thousands of miles away, I could feel her overwhelming concern seep through the screen. But there was something else. Her mouth formed a determined line and her eyes darkened with steadfast anger. Noticeable tension lifted her shoulders as her jaw set with purpose.

I was used to the way her body reacted to me when she was aroused. But this? Seeing my sophisticated, intelligent, stunning girlfriend morph into something more feral, more protective? Sexy as fuck.

“Tori,” I grit out. “What are you thinking?”

Fierce green eyes locked onto mine. “I’m starting to understand why you get so angry when it comes to Jordan. I can’t stand what he’s done to you.”

The familiar surge of possessive pride flowed through me as I stroked my lip with my thumb.

“God, I fucking love you. But this isn’t your fight. Let me handle him.”

“Your fight is my fight, Xavier.”