Not Catching Love (Accidental Love #5)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Derek

Not my finest moment. I wake up dusty-eyed and full of self-loathing. I’m not someone who does self-loathing usually, but last night was messed up. I let myself fall into Xander’s vortex way too easily.

I stumble from my bedroom out into the kitchen to put the coffee machine on. I’ve got a whole day off today, followed by dance classes at the nursing home later. If I don’t get a call. A loud yawn rips from me, and while I wait on the coffee, I head into my spare bedroom to check on the ants. They’ve almost decimated the apple I left them yesterday, and so far, it doesn’t look as though queenie has snacked on any of her workers.

This colony might be a good one. I’m hopeful, at least.

It takes me a few minutes to head around the room, checking the little microenvironments I’ve set up for some of my insects. They’re well looked after, and I genuinely care about every one of them, but as much as I love that I can have this, it’s a hobby. Something I can keep busy doing that’s within my control.

One day, I’ll have my bees. Helping replenish the bee population is a passion of mine, and if I took Manny up on his offer of all that land, it’s one of the first things I’d invest in. It’s a big commitment though, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that until I’ve had a chance to travel.

After I’ve confirmed my bugs are fine, I make my coffee, get changed into gym clothes, and head down the street for a workout. Only a block away. Still within easy distance of the pharmacy. This is what my life has become.

I refuse to resent it, but I’m also worried that I won’t always be in control of that. The protectiveness I feel over Xander isn’t normal, and the last thing I want is for that to sour because I like liking him.

If only he wasn’t my patient and I could actually do something about it.

There’s an easy way to change that , a little voice in my ear reminds me. I’m not interested in giving myself false hope, and I wonder if I was actively dating, whether Xander would still have this hold over me.

Unfortunately, dates aren’t usually understanding when you have to dip out midway. If I was a doctor, it would be totally fine. No questions asked. But nurses aren’t seen as the medical professionals that we are.

So no dating. No traveling. No moving.

Just trapped here.

Fuck me. I’m definitely going to grow to resent him.

Still, I’ve managed to make it years without that side kicking in yet. Maybe it’s my attraction to him that’s saving our relationship while simultaneously making it impossible to be around him. I groan, realizing that I’m thinking about him again, and send a quick text to Constantine.

Do we sell anything to create memory loss? Because I could use it.

Constantine:

I’m sure it’s the side effect of something. Got little Smurf boy on your brain?

Me:

It’s so weird when you call him that.

Constantine:

I still maintain that as you’re not a doctor and you’re not actually giving him treatment, just reassurance, that the rules are loose in your case and you should definitely take him out for lunch.

Me:

Loose doesn’t mean non-existent.

Constantine:

Then cut things off, I don’t know. Tell him you won’t be around anymore and when enough time has passed, ask him out.

The Xander I saw last night wouldn’t be all that opposed to it. The asking out part. The cutting things off … I can’t see that going well.

Even if I could do that, how long is enough time without seeing him, and how do I force Xander to go cold turkey? That’s the real kicker. If I trusted that anyone could take over from me and get Xander to calm down from his panic attacks, I’d stop answering the calls. I’d stop making myself permanently available.

At least, I like to pretend I would.

But deep down, I don’t think anyone can care for him the way I do. There’s no way anyone else at work would dedicate their whole damn life to Xander because they’re, you know, actual levelheaded humans. I’ve reached the point of no way out, and now, I have to suck it up and deal with my choices.

I head home and shower after the gym, wondering how last night could have turned out. If everything was ideal and I hadn’t met Xander the way I met him?—

Fuck .

I comb my fingers through my wet hair and tip my head back under the water. It’s official. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t separate work from everything else and that no matter how many fucking times I tell myself to shut up about him, my internal monologue won’t listen. In a weak moment, I warned Madden that I’m dangerously close to overstepping and getting Xander the help he needs, and that thought haunts me every day. Because I know I’ll do it.

I’m that stupid.

So what, I like caring for people? Maybe have a little bit of a hero complex? Maybe. The entire reason I became a nurse was so I could improve people’s lives in whatever way I’m able to, and I’d like to think I’m improving Xander’s.

Not mine, but that goes hand in hand with nursing.

I avoid the mirror when I climb out of the shower and tug on some jeans and a T-shirt. No matter what I set out to prove last night, I am getting old. Don’t they say forty is when everything falls apart? Yet here I am, wasting the last of the best years of my life with no end in sight.

I snicker, imagining Mom’s reaction if I told her that her best years were behind her. She’s closing in on sixty and RVing around the country, doing menial tasks when she can find them to fill the gas tank, and constantly saying her best years are ahead.

She also hates that I’m stuck in the one place, and I sometimes wonder if the self-doubt is my voice or hers.

I leave for the nursing home, walking the three blocks to get there. It’s a smaller facility and really well looked after. I’ve been in some before that were too big, too busy, and the people who lived there were treated like a number.

Heart and Home has a more personal feel to it.

I greet the front desk staff as I enter and grab my volunteer badge from them. Coming down here once a week helps give me that little bit of purpose I’m always craving, and if I did move away, it would be one of the things I missed. I’m a naturally social person, really love people, and the residents at the home are never short on stories.

After signing in, I head down the hall to the left. It’s a familiar route to the room I use for dance classes, and all along here are various activities taking place. The flooring underfoot is shiny vinyl, the lights in the ceiling were recently replaced with LEDs, and different voices drift toward me from the rooms I pass.

Until one overly familiar voice makes me freeze. “For forking sake, Kevin. I said we’re aiming for a tree. Not a turd.”

There’s muffled laughter, and I stiffly turn toward the open room, assuming I must be wrong. In all the years I’ve volunteered, I’ve never seen him here, so what the hell are the chances? I creep closer, and the quick glimpse of blue is all I need for my suspicions to be confirmed.

Xander.

The room is filled with large paper pads on easels and residents sitting at each one. Chancing another quick look around the doorframe, I watch as Xander paces between them, pausing at each artwork. There are too many people in the room clambering for his attention, so he doesn’t notice me watching him.

Like a creeper.

Which definitely won’t be people’s first impression when I tell them I’m lost. Y’know, even after those hundreds of other times I’ve been here .

But it’s not often I get to see Xander interacting and being himself, and I’m transfixed.

He takes Bethany’s arm surprisingly gently and guides her stroke in a smooth line down the paper. “Like that. Push through the arthritis, girl, you can do it. You’re my last hope at anything even remotely resembling a plant.”

Kevin wheezes around his oxygen tubes. “Shit is organic.”

“And also not part of the brief.”

“Maybe I had my hearing aids turned down for that part.”

Xander plants his paint-covered hands on his hips. “Let me guess, all your report cards as a child said you were highly distracting in class?”

“Don’t remember that far back. But I bet yours said you were an uptight pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but I got a pass on account of not having parents. Abandonment works, folks.”

“Who would abandon a sweet boy like you?” Genevieve asks.

“Assholes.”

“Well, at least you inherited something from them,” Kevin says.

I cringe at the comment, but Xander doesn’t look bothered.

“Careful, or I’ll unplug your oxygen. Don’t test me.”

“You would too.” Kevin glances over his shoulder, and I try to follow his line of sight. “Aggy, where did you find this feral raccoon?”

“Rooting around in my trash.”

“You’re supposed to love me,” Xander shoots back at her.

“I do, sweet one. But it doesn’t mean you’re not a feral raccoon.”

This weird defensiveness rises up in my gut. A feral raccoon ? Where the fuck do they get off calling him that? Don’t they know that Xander has been through way too much for him to sit here and be called names?

My heart has taken on that indignant race that happens when I’m fighting to keep my words to myself. It’s not something I do a lot. I’m an open and honest guy, and thankfully, at work, I have some seniority, so other than fucking Susan, I don’t have much to bite my tongue about.

The urge to walk in there and sweep him away from their insults and negativity is strong. Too strong.

Which is why I need to walk away.

Hero complex or not, I’m not Xander’s hero. I can’t be.

Lines last night were blurred.

I can’t let that happen again.