CHAPTER 18. HOME #2
I shift my shoulders a bit. “I think I’m fine,” I say. “Though I’m probably so medicated I won’t feel anything for another ten hours.”
Xavier murmurs something noncommittal in response. I hear another sound in the background—and realize it’s the low hum of a car.
“Xavier…are you in a cab?”
“Yes,” he says, reluctantly.
“Where are you going at five in the morning?” I ask, frowning. “Please tell me you’re not out investigating again.”
“I’m not.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m going to the hospital.”
For a second, I just sit there, trying to catch up.
“Wait—here?” I ask, completely baffled.
“Yes,” Xavier says.
“Xavier, visiting hours don’t start for another couple of hours. They won’t let you in.”
“I know,” he says—and then adds, firmer, “I don’t care. I need to see you.”
The words are so simple, I can hardly believe he means what I think he means.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, just to be sure I’m not misreading this.
“Yes,” Xavier says. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Please don’t get in trouble again,” I manage—but he’s already hung up.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot, my phone still clutched in my hand. I feel so stupidly in love—and happy—and so anxious to see him I don’t even care if we get in trouble for this.
We’ll ask Willand to sort it out if it comes to that. I’m sure he won’t say no—not after everything that’s happened.
For the next fifteen minutes, I just lie there, thinking about everything we’ve been through these past few days—but my mind keeps circling back to Xavier. Maybe he wasn’t able to get in. Could the guard have stopped him? But no—if that had happened, Xavier would’ve let me know by now.
I battle the urge to text him for several long minutes…until the door to my room opens.
I sit up, and my heart skips a beat when I see him. I’d pictured him coming in pale and worn down, but he looks completely put together—so much that I suddenly feel self-conscious about how I look. He’s wearing his black button-down, his hair clean and styled, his jaw freshly shaved.
“Hi,” I say, running a hand through my hair. I feel flustered—like a teenager.
“Hi,” Xavier says as he steps inside. His gaze is anxious, almost unsure, like he still doesn’t quite believe I’m okay. He closes the door behind him and just stands there, looking at me.
I smile, just to reassure him, and say, “Come here.”
That breaks the spell. Xavier crosses the room, leans down, and wraps me in a hug. I hear him let out a shaky breath as he does, and when I hug him back, I feel the tension finally start to ease from his shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I ask, smiling a little at how intense he is. My pulse is racing so fast, I actually consider taking the heart monitor clip off my finger.
Xavier nods against my shoulder, but he doesn’t let go. He just sits down on the edge of the bed, still holding me.
“Xavier,” I say, trying to lean back so I can see his face—but he’s holding on so tightly it’s impossible. I try again, gently rubbing his back. “Xavier, look at me.”
He does—loosening his grip just enough so our eyes can meet, our faces inches apart. He’s breathing hard, his expression serious, almost tragic. My heart aches just looking at him.
“Hi,” I say, smiling softly as my hands leave his back and rise to cup his face, brushing my thumbs over his cheekbones. It feels strange, being this openly tactile with him.
“Hi,” Xavier says. His eyes meet mine for only a second—but that’s all it takes to see the pain in them before he drops his gaze, like he’s uncomfortable showing too much.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask gently, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” he says. “I’m not angry.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?” I ask, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Xavier freezes, then lets out a shaky breath before resting his forehead against mine.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, eyes closed, his fingers finding my face, brushing along my cheeks.
“Well, you scared the shit out of me too,” I say with a smirk.
“He put three bullets in you,” Xavier says, his voice catching for just a second. “I thought you were going to die.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, kissing his jaw.
“Promise me you’ll never do something that stupid again,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Like saving your life?” I snort, teasing—but Xavier stays serious.
“Yes,” he says, a trace of frustration in his voice. “Please. Don’t ever do shit like that.”
“I can’t promise that,” I say. “Just like you can’t promise to stop pushing me away.”
“I told you,” Xavier says, his voice bitter, “I’m not… I do that because I can’t stand losing—”
“I know,” I cut him off. “That’s the point.”
He looks at me, his brows furrowed—but I really don’t want to argue right now. So I lean in, my lips hovering just inches from his. My gaze drops to his mouth, and that’s all the cue he needs.
Xavier kisses me.
I can feel the frustration simmering under it all—the anger, the fear. His mouth crashes into mine with a kind of desperation, like he’s trying to prove something—that I’m alive, that he’s here, that this isn’t some dream he hasn’t woken up from.
“Hey,” I whisper against his lips, trying to slow him down—but he doesn’t stop. The kiss deepens, heavy with everything he hasn’t said. Grief. Relief. Maybe even resentment.
I shift closer, sliding my hand beneath his open coat and pressing it to his chest. When my palm settles over his heart, I can feel it racing.
Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine.
“I thought I lost you,” he says, barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t,” I say. “I’m right here.”
He swallows, and I watch his throat move, his lips twitch like he doesn’t trust the calm settling over us. Then he kisses me again—slower this time, less frantic.
I shift on the bed, scooting back to make room. Xavier doesn’t say anything, but after a second, he stands, shrugs off his coat, and kicks off his shoes. Then he lies down next to me on his side, careful not to jostle the mattress.
The bed’s too small for both of us—but I don’t care. I just want him close.
“How’d you get in here?” I murmur.
He exhales through his nose. “I know the guard.”
I snort. “Of course you do. Didn’t the nurses see you?”
Xavier doesn’t smile. “They did. But I begged them to let me in.”
I can’t hold back a laugh. “You? Begged?”
Xavier nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He just looks at me—and there’s so much grief in his face it physically hurts to meet his eyes. I start to reach for him again, but he stops me.
“Show me your back,” he says.
I pause.
He doesn’t say anything else, just waits—his gaze dark.
I roll onto my side, and he unties the gown at the back, pulling it open to expose my skin. I hear him draw a sharp breath.
“How do I look?” I ask, glancing back at him.
His jaw is clenched, his chest rising and falling like he’s barely keeping the emotion down.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Xavier doesn’t answer—but I feel his fingers brush against my skin. It hurts the way deep bruises do, but I try not to wince.
Then I feel him shift behind me, and when I move to turn toward him, his hand flies to my arm, holding me still—and a second later, his lips brush against my back.
My breath catches.
He kisses the bruises, one by one, and I feel the heat of his mouth against my skin. My stomach tightens. The moment is so tender, so fragile, I feel a flicker of guilt when my cock twitches from the contact.
“Xavier,” I call again, rolling over to face him. “Come here.”
I pull him into a kiss.
His mouth meets mine, and I kiss him deeper—trying to melt the tension, the guilt, trying to anchor him. He pushes in, his tongue brushing against mine, sparks of arousal shooting through me. His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I’m fine. I promise,” I whisper against his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
Xavier’s hand drops to my side, drawing me in until our bodies are flush. It trails down my bare back, then lower—his fingers closing around my ass, kneading it. His expression shifts—sadness giving way to heat.
I reach for the front of his pants, finding him hard beneath the fabric. My pulse hammers as he leans in to kiss me again. This time, it’s all tongue and breathless urgency.
“Lock the door,” I whisper into his ear.
Xavier freezes—his gaze dark, his breath uneven. “We should wait for the MRI,” he says. “I don’t think you should be straining.”
I laugh. “Baby, I’m not planning to strain.”
His eyes flash. And when I lean in and whisper, “Please, fuck me, Xavier,” I watch something snap—his expression going feral for a heartbeat before he reins it in, pulling himself back with every shred of self-control.
“Have you ever had penetrative sex with a man before?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I laugh at the wording. “No,” I say. “But I know the gist of it.”
“We should still wait,” Xavier murmurs, almost gently, his hand catching my chin, his thumb brushing along it.
“I don’t want to wait,” I whisper, locking eyes with him, trying to pour every bit of heat I feel into that look.
“Not in the hospital,” Xavier says, his lips curving into a faint smile before brushing against my ear. I shiver as he whispers, “We don’t have lube or condoms. And if I have you the way I want to—we’ll break the bed.”
The implication knocks the air from my lungs. My breath stutters, cheeks burning.
“Alright,” I manage, barely above a whisper.
Xavier pulls back, his expression softening again. I roll onto my side, pressing my back to his chest, my heart still pounding, and he wraps his arms around me, his hands resting lightly over my stomach. I tug the blanket over us, tucking us into a warm cocoon.
Sleep pulls at me fast, and I’m teetering on the edge of dreams when Xavier’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“You told me you love me last night.”
My heart stumbles. I blink back to wakefulness. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “I did.”