Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
Saturdays are now a day I look forward to. Not only am I more productive, but I enjoy spending time with Carolina too.
“Nice phone,” I tell Carolina as I approach the register, my first client of the day leaving.
She’s so engrossed in whatever text she’s typing that it takes her a minute to reply. “Don’t even start,” she mutters, placing the phone on the counter.
Clay had already filled me in on the situation with Josh and Carolina’s reaction. “Josh can be such a fucking idiot sometimes.”
She gives me a knowing look and smiles. “Well, you’re the one saying it, not me.”
I chuckle lightly. “You can be an idiot too.”
“Hey,” she exclaims, shooting me a glare.
I step closer and lift her chin with my thumb and forefinger. “You deserve to be treated right and like a treasure. Let him spoil you and just say thank you.”
I watch as she gulps, and her eyes lock on my lips. I take a deep breath and let go, the door chiming before my next customer walks in.
Shit, maybe spending more time with her is not the best idea, after all.
Two hours later, I’m sitting at my desk in the shop, trying to pass the time during a half-hour break between customers by watching videos on my phone.
I can’t bear being out there with Carolina, making small talk or anything, while constantly fighting the thoughts of how much I want her—her beautiful face and curves.
It’s driving me crazy.
And the worst part is, I genuinely like her. She’s kind and funny, and I feel like she understands me in a way others don’t. We come from the same darkness. I can’t even explain it.
It’s already teetering on the edge of obsession, and I can’t allow myself to go there. It’s complicated enough that Clay is so infatuated with her.
She’s Josh’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. He’s our closest friend, part of our family.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and Carolina peeks in.
“Come in,” I holler, and she enters, standing before my desk.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but your next client just called and said he’ll be fifteen minutes late,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say, looking back down at my phone.
“Okay, I’ll let you know when he’s here,” she says, turning to leave. But as she does, her beautiful round ass accidentally knocks my sketchbook from the desk, and papers go flying everywhere.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, quickly kneeling to gather the scattered papers.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her, standing and rounding the desk. “I’ll do it.”
Carolina picks up one of the papers and looks at it. She freezes. And I watch as she looks up at me, holding a sketch of her eyes. It’s capturing her golden-as-daylight almond-shaped eyes with a hint of tears, tears that are drawn in red, like blood.
Her face scrunches up, and she takes the next paper from the fallen stash. It’s a sketch of her lips. She takes another, finding a pencil drawing of her face in profile, lost in thought.
“Xander…” she starts, clearly confused.
I quickly take the sketches from her hand and gently pull her to her feet. “Could you please sanitize the tattoo area again? I need to transfer some more stencils,” I say.
“Sure,” she says, furrowing her forehead before leaving the office and closing the door behind her.
Xander was acting strangely today. Either he had a bad day, or he was intentionally ignoring me.
He’s not the most talkative person in general, but today, it felt like he didn’t want me around, which made me feel uncomfortable.
I tried my best to stay out of his way and give him space, although it hurt me a bit.
Finding those sketches didn’t help either.
They’re undeniably beautiful, but also made me question how he sees me.
Do I really come across as weak and broken?
It seemed like he captured my pain so clearly in those drawings, and it left me feeling exposed.
I thought my mask was better. No wonder he doesn’t enjoy spending time with me.
I must be a nice little project for him to draw.
It’s not surprising, considering Xander’s style tends to be dark and a little disturbed.
As the last customer of the day leaves, I notice a change in his mood. He no longer seems to be radiating fuck-off vibes, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on with him.
“Could you grab a new box of gloves for me? They’re on the top right shelf,” Xander asks as he sanitizes the station.
Balancing on my tiptoes, I stretch to reach them, but I’m just too short. Warmth presses against me from behind. “Sorry, I didn’t consider that you’re vertically challenged,” Xander teases, amusement coloring his voice.
Oh, now you’re talking to me again?
“I can reach it. I just…” I trail off, reaching up again and stretching as much as possible when the sleeve of my hoodie slides to my elbow, taking the loosened bandage with it.
“What’s that?” Xander asks, seizing my wrist where I’m holding it up and turning me around. He tugs my wrist closer to scrutinize my arm, and I hastily pull my sleeve back down.
“Carolina, what the fuck?” he exclaims, anger seeping into his voice.
“It’s nothing,” I respond, trying to tug my arm back and avoiding his probing gray eyes.
“Did you do this to yourself?” he asks in a deep voice.
“What?” I ask, looking up at him in surprise.
Perhaps I should tell him I did it myself.
“Who did this to you?” He tries to lift my sleeve again, but I yank my arm with more force, and he releases his grip.
“It’s not a big deal. Forget about it. It’s getting late. I need to go,” I say, again dodging his gaze and attempting to sidestep him.
Xander pushes me gently against the shelf, sandwiching me with his body.
“Carolina…” He starts softly, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need any help,” I bite out, but the slight tremble in my voice betrays me.
He steps back and lifts the hem of his shirt up to his chest, revealing his stomach. It’s a muscular stomach, the V-lines leading to his crotch are well defined, and tattoos spread across the entirety of his skin, leaving no spot untouched.
All I see is a beautiful body covered in tattoos, so I whisper, “You’re beautiful.”
“Look closer,” he simply directs.
I lean in closer, and beneath the tattoos, there are a multitude of scars. Xander takes my wrist, guiding my fingers to his stomach, allowing me to trace the scars. He exhales, and goose bumps trail the path of my touch.
“I recognize it because I’ve been there too,” he says softly.
“I knew it the moment I first saw you. Survivors recognize each other instinctively. The only difference is this,” he continues, still holding my wrist, now pressing not just my fingers but my whole palm against his warm stomach.
“It was a long time ago. I’m out now, safe and okay, as okay as I can be.
” I lift my gaze from his stomach to his eyes.
“But you, you’re still in the thick of it.
And sometimes, when we’re drowning, the only thing that can save us from going under is a helping hand from the outside. ”
He releases my hand, and I let it drop to my side. I can’t bear his probing gaze any longer, so I look down at my feet again.
Should I confide in him?
It seems impossible. His boyfriend is a cop. Fuck, my boyfriend is a cop. He would tell Clay and Joshua, and they would intervene, possibly even getting Roberto locked up. And then what?
Until I finish college, there’s no way I could get custody of Chiara. I could save up the money and try again once I’ve graduated and started my job at the NYPD, but there’s no guarantee. I can’t risk losing her just because I have to withstand my life for a little while longer.
So, I maneuver past him and the shelf, heading toward my backpack. “Thank you,” I say, slipping on my jacket and making my way to the door.
As I walk away, the weight of his gaze is heavy on my back.
I swing my backpack over my shoulder and reach for the doorknob.
A part of me wants to turn back, to unload the burden that’s been crushing me, but the risk is too high.
Chiara is all that matters, and I can’t afford to jeopardize her safety.
Once outside, the chill of the evening breeze sweeps over me. I pull the hood of my hoodie up, the echo of Xander’s words ringing in my ears, the offer of help, the shared experience, the promise of safety.
It’s tempting, oh so tempting.
But I can’t, I remind myself. I have to endure to push through.
For Chiara.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the bar. Tomorrow is another day, another fight. But for now, I just need to keep moving.
Keep surviving.
Just like I always have.