Chapter 4 - Xavier

Xavier

D inner with Adam was not happening. I don’t care how much he protested.

“Listen.” My step-brother grabbed my arm. “He’s planning something. I don’t know what it is but you need to watch yourself.”

“I’m not a child, Adam.” I shook his hand off me. “I can handle him.”

I walked down the street, ignoring whatever he shouted at my back. My only goal was to get home and try to relax.

Relax?

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I needed to get out of London.

After arriving at my flat, I grabbed my car keys and left the city.

The drive to Briarcliff Village passed in the blink of an eye. I parked in front of Victoria’s cottage and admired the gray and white stone exterior. She’d given me a spare set of keys but I haven’t been inside since we were there together.

I want my last memory of this house to be of you here with me.

Her words punched an even bigger hole in my chest. Fuck . I squeezed the steering wheel and exhaled slow.

Go inside. I need to go inside.

The scent of flowers filled the air as I approached the house. Gardeners still hadn’t tended to the rose bushes. They bloomed among the wild brush and thorny vines.

My hands shook when I unlocked the door. Maybe I shouldn’t be here but I just fucking need something to quiet this anger and fear and utter regret that’s been plaguing me.

Heavy silence filled the dark foyer. The door clicked shut, echoing throughout the space. I’d only been in this house twice but I felt closer to her in here.

I didn’t even mind sitting on this repugnant gold couch.

Color choices aside, it was a lovely old home. It just needed to be restored from the inside out.

“Beautiful but broken,” I whispered.

My heart wrenched. That applied to so much more than this cottage.

I looked at the shadows on the walls, letting my gaze trail over to the staircase. If I’d never run up there…

Standing up, I walked through the double doors to the sitting room. Running my hand along the sturdy lines of the wood paneling gave me an idea. I renovate homes in much worse shape each year. This house didn’t need a major rebuild but it definitely needed some sprucing up.

I could easily sand the floors, and some of the paneling. Maybe strip the wallpaper and give the walls a fresh coat of paint. Victoria is my neighbor after all. What good is it living down the street from her if I don’t give her a proper welcome to the area?

A laugh rumbled in my chest. Yeah, she knows this area well enough. But still. I want to do this for her. She did ask me for some contacts to help with fixing up the place.

I texted one the contractors I’ve worked with for years to let him know I’d be starting a new project this summer. Then, I texted my home security guy. If Jordan insisted on circling this house like a vulture, I wanted it protected with the most state-of-the-art system money could buy.

Satisfied, I returned to the foyer and sat on the stairs. I should probably leave but I wanted to feel close to her for just a little bit longer.

It took an enormous amount of restraint not to text her. Instead, I scrolled through her social media.

Not my best plan.

I kept going back to the photos she’d posted from the Met Gala and some league event. Desire twisted and pulled on my heart the longer I stared at the pictures. Victoria’s smile always affected me. Its radiance made a mark on my soul the first time I saw her.

And fuck me, this dress.

Her sexy body poured into gray satin and lace that hugged her curves with innocence and enough seduction to heat my blood.

Green eyes. Sun-kissed ivory skin. Red hair swept over her shoulder in loose waves. Glossy lips. All smiles and beauty and effortless grace.

The muscles in my jaw snapped into a rigid line.

How does pushing her away keep her, as you put it, safe?

Dr. Frances’ question burned through me, exposing not only this colossal fuck up but every shitty mistake I’ve made.

I hung my head and sighed. I just need to get through the rest of this week.

“I can’t do it that day,” I said, folding my hands on the desk. “I’ll be out of town.”

Three sets of eyes locked onto me. None of them looked particularly pleased. This ad campaign for a new designer watch was scheduled to launch for the holidays. I’m actually quite excited about it so I’m not sure why they’re annoyed since it’s barely June.

“We’ll just plan for when you come back then?” the account manager asked.

I stared blankly at him.

Julian. That’s his name.

“I’m not planning on coming back until July. Will that throw off the launch schedule?”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mind my asking, where will you be?”

“Manhattan.”

“Perfect.” Something that looked like a smile teased his mouth for a second. “We have offices in Times Square. I’ll have Chloe set up the photoshoot there. We’ll circle back in a few days with dates.”

“Brilliant.” I stood up, escorting them to the door. While I enjoyed running my own brand management company and securing my own partnerships and endorsements, I could do without the corporate speak. If one more person tells me they’ll circle back, my head will explode.

It’s my own fault for insisting I could take this meeting without my business partner. But I suppose his honeymoon is a reasonable excuse to be on holiday.

I flinched.

Marriage.

Christ.

I sat down heavily at my desk.

Not something I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about nor is it something I’ve ever considered. I never even liked it when a one night stand wanted to spend the night. I’d always ask them to leave. Politely, of course.

Well, except for the night I invited Victoria to stay…

My stepmother’s name popped up when my phone started ringing.

I greeted her with as much cheer as I could muster these days.

“Are you busy tonight, Xavier? I can never keep track of what you’re up to these days.”

“I’m not busy.”

“I made cottage pie for dinner. Your favorite. Feel like stopping by?”

Not really played on the tip of my tongue. Rebecca would be the sole reason I’d consider going. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known and always treated me as her son.

With the way I’ve been feeling the past couple weeks, maybe seeing her wouldn’t suck.

“You said the magic words. Set a place for me. I’ll see you later.”

Scars are weird things. They come in many sizes, shapes, and colors. But those are only the visible ones. The ones people stare at and ask how’d you get that ? And if the scar is really big and really ugly, it’s generally expected that a fantastical story will follow about how it came to be.

I knew mine would be a conversation starter. Part of me loved that aspect of it.

The other thing with scars is not all of them are as clear as the jagged line above my eye.

Some can’t be seen. Some are so deep, so ugly, so painful, that they hide in the depths of a person.

They never heal. They scab over until the inevitable moment it rips open.

Sitting at the dinner table with my father and stepmother was one of those moments.

Not because my mum wasn’t alive. I’d dealt with that growing up. Therapy started young with me. Funny thing about it? I reconciled any guilt I had about my mother’s death faster than I’ve been able to deal with the anger that’s been festering inside me.

Tonight’s overwhelming burden wasn’t anger. It was the persistent cloud of feeling inadequate.

“Big match this weekend,” Rebecca gushed. “Think you’ll win it all again?”

“That’s the plan.”

I didn’t have to ask if they were coming to watch. They were. Surprising, since my dad showed minimal interest in my career. But Adam was playing too, so, you know, have to support the family and all that.

I glanced at him. Strong silent type, this one.

“You and Adam should come over Sunday. We’ll celebrate.”

I smiled at Rebecca. “I won’t be here but thank you.”

“Where are you off to now?” my dad finally spoke.

“New York.”

He looked at me with wistful sadness. It’s always brief but I never miss it. “What’s in the States? More endorsement opportunities?”

Rebecca cleared her throat, shooting him a smug look. “No, James. It’s a girl.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“The one I showed you from his social media,” she continued. “The pretty American.”

“Oh right,” his voice went up an octave. “Didn’t know it was this serious.”

The way they both looked at me made me slightly uncomfortable. Like I’d done something sneaky. I’m a grown man. Why do I feel like a teenager who’s been caught watching porn with his dick in his hand? And since when did my father ever take an interest in anything about my life?

“Nice to know I’m being stalked online by my parents,” I quipped, running a finger over my eyelid. “I should block you.”

“You will not.” Rebecca sounded offended. “You haven’t said anything about her. Not that you ever say anything about the girls you’ve dated. Did you meet her when you played in New York last month?”

“No.”

“How did you meet?”

My eye twitched. By chance . “The usual way.”

“On one of those dating apps where you swipe them, what is it, right? Left?”

“Don’t really think it’s smart for me to be on any of those.” I softened a bit when she smiled at me. “I met her at Black Rose. She was here on holiday.”

Mostly true .

“What’s her name?”

“Victoria,” I answered quietly.

“Lovely,” my stepmom grinned. “We’d like to meet her the next time she visits. You never bring any girlfriends around anymore.”

“It’s not like I’ve had very many. Just a date or two here and there.”

Rebecca eyed me with that knowing gaze only mothers have. Even if she didn’t give birth to me, she could still sniff out when I was being vague. My reputation didn’t shield itself from my family. They heard the rumors, saw the articles online. At one point in my career, I’d been linked with a different celebrity or model every week.

Speculation was one thing. I’d always respond to the rumors with a cheeky one-liner. Little did the media know what a cruel irony it was to be surrounded by adoration and desire only to feel completely alone. But that was how I’d wanted it.

“Well, you’re rather public about her with the photos. It’s refreshing to see you post something that isn’t football.”

Three pictures. I’d posted three pictures of Victoria while we were together in New York and my stepmom was acting like it’s a royal decree of marriage.

I blanched.

There’s that word again.

Focus .

“In any case,” Rebecca kept talking. “It’s only fair we get to spend time with her.” She placed her hand on my dad’s arm. “We’ll have them both over for a relaxing dinner. Sound good, James?”

I braced for my father’s standard answer.

“Maybe.”