Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
XAVI
The only reason I’m out of my room today is that I refuse to hide out. This is my house. I’m not going to hide in my own damn house. Yet I’m still slinking around corners as if Enfield is going to be standing there.
Then what? As much as I’m all big and brave in my head, I imagine in real life I’m going to simply run the fuck away so I don’t have to face him.
I feel a little foolish for having started sobbing like a little kid on the playground when someone said they didn’t want to be my friend. It’s not the end of the world.
It is going to make for a long fucking life.
With every day that passes, I feel more defeated.
A pit is slowly growing in my stomach as I think of all the things I’m never going to experience.
No smiles. No sharing secrets. No romantic gestures.
No vacations on the beach. No dream wedding. No horny days fucking on every surface.
I have sixty or so years left in my life, and they’re going to be empty and alone. My hand is going to be my best friend. I’ll have to buy a chest full of toys just to get a little attention.
No matter what I try to tell myself, my future is bleak. There’s the option of having an affair, as Enfield suggested, but… can I bring myself to do that? Maybe in the future, when I’ve already been living like this for fifteen years. Maybe then I’ll give in.
An affair! Fuck my life, this is what it’s come to.
Even though I refuse to hide out in my bedroom or shop, I find myself peeking around corners just to avoid Enfield. It’s stupid and weak, and I don’t even care. I don’t want another conversation with him.
I snort as an image of us standing in their church on our wedding day and both of us refusing to speak. What then? What if neither of us says ‘I do’? An awkward, prolonged silence will stretch as everyone shifts in their seats, shifting uncomfortably as they wait for something to happen.
Now that I think about it, in three weeks, we’re supposed to get married.
Not only have we not spoken about it at all, but the reality of the fact that I’m going to need to agree to spend my life with this man in front of all kinds of people settles on my shoulders.
I have to promise, and pledge, and swear myself to this miserable man!
Scowling, I adjust my trajectory and head for the patio and the pool—my favorite place to sit and dwell.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. Breaking the contract myself means that I’m literally severing myself from my family legacy.
It’s not just about money and company shares but also about stability.
This isn’t my house; it’s my family’s. It’ll only become mine once I’m married. If I’m never married, that means I’ll never have a permanent place of my own unless I buy one.
I know. Spoiled, rich boy problems.
Maybe I can’t quite put into words how breaking this contract will tear my life apart. All the promises of things I’ve worked toward are literally down the drain. I can’t get them back. I don’t get a second chance at them. That’s not how this works.
There are cautionary tales in my family about this very thing. I’ve lived long enough in a privileged life that I can’t fathom how I’ll survive otherwise.
A part of me is appalled that I’m willing to go through life with this asshole instead of writing off all the indulgent and unnecessary luxuries that I currently enjoy. Maybe I’ll have to get a real job. One that I actually have to show up for.
I should maybe get in touch with my financial advisor and see about growing my assets a little more aggressively than I have them invested now. Just in case it comes to that.
Noise on the door makes me sit up. Shapiro is standing on his hind legs and stretched up, reaching for the handle. His paw toying with the lock is what I’d heard.
“Want to come outside?” I ask and get up. I hadn’t realized I’d sat on the lounge. That’s what happens when you’re so lost in thought about the miserable future looming ahead.
Shapiro backs away from the door when he sees me coming. He never runs outside. He’s not that kind of cat. He has his enormous cat condo enclosure, and when he wants to be with me, I have a harness and leash for him.
He jumps onto the back of the couch, where his leash is hanging off.
I know I didn’t leave it there, so he must have dragged it out.
I scratch the top of his head on my way by, grabbing his harness.
It’s not his favorite accessory, but he only glares a little and doesn’t put up a fight at all as I secure him in it.
Once he’s all strapped in, I clip his leash on, and he jumps down, trotting to the door.
The leash is a thin cord about ten feet long.
I loop it around the handle of the lounge I was sitting in and retake my seat.
At least now I have Shapiro to entertain me.
He rolls in the grass, crouches down to pounce on a butterfly—or maybe that was a cricket, and a butterfly flew away into the air when Shapiro jumped—and races back and forth as far as the leash allowed.
When he runs out of energy approximately six minutes later, he joins me on the lounge and snuggles in against my hip. I sigh. At least I have Shapiro. I’m not entirely alone. How sad that I’ve never felt so alone in my empty house as I do now with Enfield inside.
I jump when the door opens again. Dread floods my chest. Why would Enfield seek me out? Noooo. I don’t want another—
Relief makes me squeak as I jump to my feet and dive into Sparrow’s arms. He catches me and hugs me tightly, squeezing me almost painfully.
I might have, maybe, kinda called him yesterday when I was sobbing. I’m not at all surprised to find that he’s here. Even though he was visiting his grandmother and not home.
Sparrow sighs and kisses the side of my head. “Can’t leave you alone for three days before you make an enemy,” he teases.
My eyes squeeze closed. I swallow around the emotion in my chest. I feel like such a big baby right now because I really want to burst into tears again. I’m not sure if it’s leftover misery, new misery that I was just reflecting on minutes ago, or maybe relief that he’s here.
“You didn’t have to cut your visit short,” I say.
“Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have. I’d have let you deal with it. But this is the third time that dickwad has made you cry, and he hasn’t even been here a week. That’s three times too many. You’re too sweet to fight your battles, so I’m here to be your champion.”
I laugh and bury my face in his neck. “Thanks,” I whisper.
“Come on. Sit. Tell me what’s up.”
We snuggle together on the lounge chair I’d been in. Shapiro waits until we’re settled and then sprawls across our laps, making sure we know that he’s actually the center of attention.
“I don’t have anything to tell that I haven’t already. I feel like a ghost in my own house, not making a sound and trying to stay out of wherever he is.”
“This is your house,” Sparrow insists.
I sigh. “Sparrow, the contract says I need to move to Napa Valley once we’re married.”
“I can’t even imagine going through with this,” he mutters. My head is resting on his shoulder, and he gently runs his fingers through my hair.
“I’ve read that stupid thing too many times to count, and there’s no other interpretation of the very precise point of where our primary residence will be.
It specifically states that we’ll be moving down to Napa Valley right after our wedding, but since we’re marrying in his family church, which is in Napa Valley, we’re probably going to have to leave early.
So much of what’s in the contract is vague as shit, but that one area is specific. ”
“Does it state that you have to live together?”
I’m about to say, well, of course it does, but now that I think about it, perhaps that’s one of those implied bullet points. I mean, why would you interpret anything in the living arrangement section as living separately?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess maybe I’ll have to see what he says. Not that I’m going to talk to him again.”
“You’re going to have to talk at some point. Like it or not, there are details—such as this one—that have to be discussed.” Sparrow grips my hand. “But I’ll be here to keep his stupid ass in line until he learns how to behave like a decent human being.”
“We’re nearly halfway through the twenty-first century. You’d think being a decent human being would come more naturally.”
He snorts. “Cherub, decency is as scarce as common sense. It’s an ugly world out there.”
“I like being locked away in my home and not having to face it.” Even better, Sun Haven is on the northern border of Glensdale, and Glensdale is the college town where Rainbow Dorset University resides.
RDU is the queer capital of all college campuses, and Glensdale is the perfect, queer normative college town.
I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Maybe that’s why moving has always filled me with dread. I know that right here, I’m safe and happy, and when I go out, I’ll not meet sneers, nasty comments, or hatred.
That can’t be said for most other places.
“I know. Let’s not worry about living arrangements right now. Let’s not think about anything else having to do with the contract at all. Talk to me about your shop. You have everything set to go live?”
“I was thinking of splitting it into three different live events. I didn’t realize how much merchandise I let pile up.”
“That much?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m not sure if I’ve been working faster or what, but it’s a lot. Easily four times what I usually drop, and I have two distinct lines that I’ve made quite a few different pieces for.”
“I saw the aromantic stash peeking out of the little cabinet.”
“Yep, and I went on a trans kick not long ago, so there’s almost twenty pieces of trans pride. Of course, I have a ton of straight-up queer jewelry.”
Sparrow snorts. “Straight queer, huh?”
I grin. “That can totally be a thing. Give me time; I’ll work it in.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we talk about my jewelry.
Sparrow looks through the hundreds of images on my phone, and together, we schedule some teasers for the next few weeks.
I don’t feel comfortable dropping a date for the next open store drop since I haven’t finished uploading all the goods into the store yet, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone if I miss a deadline.
That’s a good way to piss off your fans and break their trust in you. I’d rather leave it open-ended than disappoint them.
By the time dinner rolls around, I’m contemplating ordering something.
That means I don’t have to be in the kitchen and risk running into Enfield.
That’s the only place I ever seem to run into him, which makes sense.
We both need to eat, and society says there are three specific times of day to eat.
Sparrow isn’t having any of that, though. He sees through my suggestion to order something and drags me inside. We unbuckle Shapiro and head to the kitchen. I’m holding my breath until we walk in and find it empty.
It feels cowardly and ridiculous that I feel so relieved when Enfield isn’t there.
Together, Sparrow and I begin preparing a salad for dinner. All the goods, including hard-boiled eggs and grilled chicken. By grilled, I mean I use the griddle on the stove.
As I finish cleaning the few dishes we dirtied, I think we made it through meal prep without running into Enfield, which means we can go eat somewhere else in peace.
No such luck. Just as I’m turning off the kitchen sink, the door opens. My heart jumps, and everything in me tenses as Enfield walks into the room.
He pauses just inside the door, eyes meeting mine. Sparrow looks between us, likely determining if this is Enfield. When he concludes it is, he moves around the island, and the next thing I know, he punches Enfield in the face.
I gasp, my hands covering my mouth as I stare with wide eyes in shock.
“You are a piece of shit,” Sparrow growls.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t get to walk into someone’s life and make them miserable just because you are.
You will treat Xavi with respect, fucker, or I swear to every fucking god who does, doesn’t, or secretly exists, I will make your life a living hell. Am I clear, asshat?”
Enfield doesn’t answer. He stares at Sparrow, almost as if he’s not sure whether he truly exists. There’s a bruise gathering at the corner of his mouth. Blood begins dripping.
“Answer me, or so fucking help me, I’m going to castrate you,” Sparrow demands.
Enfield nods. “Yeah.”
“Good. Now go the fuck away. We’re using the kitchen.”
Sparrow turns away from Enfield and comes back toward me. I’m barely breathing as I watch the exchange. Enfield stares at Sparrow, still wondering if he’s really here at this moment. I’m sure that’s what’s happening as he touches the blood dripping down his chin.
His eyes flicker to his bloody fingers, and there’s more surprise there. I might have laughed under different circumstances.
Enfield looks up again. His eyes move between us, and without a word, he turns around and walks out of the kitchen.
A beat passes as silence settles around the room.
“I can’t believe you hit him,” I hiss.
“I didn’t hit him. I punched him in the face. Nuance, but I like this explanation of events better. It’s more specific. Really paints a picture.”
I look at him. Most people would look smug. Quite pleased with themselves. Sparrow isn’t most people. He’s still glaring at the door, waiting for Enfield to come back to say his piece and allow Sparrow a second round.
It’s probably a good thing Enfield doesn’t return. Sparrow isn’t a violent person. I don’t think he’s ever hit someone in his life. But I have a feeling that if Enfield confronted him, Sparrow would fuck his shit up.