Chapter 20
Clare
I sat in the kitchen, staring at coffee I couldn’t taste.
The evening light bled gray and cold through frost-covered windows.
Somewhere in this massive empty school, Xavier was preparing to leave.
Packing whatever minimal gear Hellhound had scrounged.
Going over schematics with Havoc. Learning routes through a building his body remembered but his mind had forgotten.
Leaving tomorrow for Geneva.
Maybe not coming back.
My coffee had gone cold an hour ago. I hadn’t moved to reheat it.
Emma’s voice drifted through my head, quieter now since the confession. Still there. Always there. But softer.
You can’t save everyone, Clare.
“I know.”
But you’re going to try.
“Yeah.”
Even if it kills you.
I didn’t answer that one.
No life waiting for me beyond these walls. I’d left Boston and never glanced back. Changed cities. Changed hospitals. Changed everything except the guilt that followed me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun.
And now I’d left Xavier.
Hours ago. After he’d kissed me like a promise and I’d told him I needed space.
The devastation he’d tried to hide, defeat in the line of his shoulders, had been eating at me ever since.
What if he dies tomorrow thinking I don’t want him?
The thought squeezed my lungs.
I’d told him everything about Emma. Laid myself completely bare. Showed him the ugliest parts of my failure and waited for judgment that never came.
He’d looked at me like I counted.
Then trust me trusting you.
Those broken words, forced through damaged vocal cords that barely worked, because he needed me to understand.
And I’d left.
Excellent decision-making, Clare. Really stellar relationship management.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Slow. Hesitant.
I knew those footsteps.
Xavier appeared in the doorway. He wore clean clothes. Black thermal, dark jeans, boots. Looked like he’d showered. His hair was still slightly damp, pushed back from his face.
Exhausted.
Beautiful.
He watched me like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to come closer.
My lungs seized.
“Clare...”
Just my name. Rough. Uncertain.
His voice was getting stronger. The words came easier now, less fragmented. Still painful, still limited, but improving.
I gripped my coffee mug tighter. “Hi.”
Brilliant conversational opening. Really breaking new ground there.
Xavier stayed in the doorway. One hand braced against the frame. Not coming in without permission.
The distance between us felt wider than the actual kitchen.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out. Frantic. “For leaving. I shouldn’t have...”
“No.” He cut me off. Stepped inside finally. Let the entrance swing shut behind him. “Don’t... apologize. You needed... space. Think.”
He crossed to the table. Pulled out the chair across from me.
Not beside me. Not too close.
Respecting the boundaries I’d drawn even though every line of his body screamed that he wanted to be closer.
I stared at him across three feet of scarred wood that might as well have been a canyon.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
Xavier nodded. His jaw clenched.
“And I...” The words stuck. Too vulnerable. Too raw. “I can’t let you go thinking I don’t...”
I couldn’t finish.
Couldn’t admit out loud what I’d been feeling. What had been building since I’d dragged him out of that alley and made the choice that changed everything.
Xavier’s hand moved across the table. Palm up. Not reaching for me. Just offering.
Giving me the choice.
I stared at his palm. The calluses. The scars across his knuckles. The slight tremor I could see starting, symptom of the chip’s deterioration.
My hand moved before I could overthink it. Slid across the table. Found his.
His fingers closed around mine immediately.
Like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“I’m terrified,” I admitted. My voice cracked. “Not just of losing you. Of being wrong, of...”
Xavier squeezed my hand. Hard. Locked eyes with me across the table.
“Not... wrong.” Each word came deliberately. Carefully. “Need you. Choose you.”
The certainty in those broken words made my lungs ache.
“But what if Maeve...”
“Don’t know... who she is.” Xavier’s jaw clenched with frustration. Forcing the words past damaged vocal cords. “But know... this.” He gestured between us with his free hand. “Know... you.”
Tears burned. “You’re going into that building and you might not come back.”
He tightened his grip. “Come back. Promise.”
A sharp laugh escaped me. Bitter. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Xavier leaned forward. Pulled my hand to his sternum. Pressed my palm flat against the rapid beat underneath.
The rhythm thundered under my fingers. Fast. Strong. Alive.
His other hand came up. Cupped my face with devastating gentleness.
“Then... make me... keep it.”
The words were rough, but clearer.
I stared at him. At the fierce determination in his green gaze. At the man who’d been built to kill but chose gentleness when he touched me. At someone who trusted me when I couldn’t trust myself.
“You’re going to fight. You’re going to get those codes and come back.”
“Yes.”
“And we’ll figure out the rest. Maeve. Your past. Whatever comes back when your memories return.” My voice steadied. “We’ll handle it together.”
Something shifted in Xavier’s expression. Relief and maybe gratitude.
He stood. Came around the table.
I stood too.
Xavier pulled me into his embrace. Held me tight enough I could barely breathe.
I didn’t care.
My face pressed against his sternum. The steady beat against my ear. His chin resting on top of my head.
Safe. Grounded. Real.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his shirt. “For making you think I didn’t want this. Didn’t want you.”
He tightened his grip. I felt him shake his head.
“Understand,” he rasped. “You were... scared. Emma. Maeve. Too much.”
God, he got it. Got me.
Even when I was a mess of trauma and fear and terrible decisions, he saw straight through to what I needed.
I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. “I’m still scared. What if...”
Xavier’s mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss silenced everything. Every fear. Every doubt. Every thought screaming that this was a mistake.
He cupped my face. Held me like I was precious.
I kissed him back, poured years of grief and guilt and need into the contact. Showed him what I couldn’t say.
I choose you. Whatever comes next. However long we have. I choose you.
When we finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Xavier’s forehead dropped to mine.
“Not... leaving you.” Each word came with certainty. “Coming back.”
“You better.” I fisted my fingers in his shirt. “Because if you die in Geneva, I’m going to hunt you down in whatever afterlife exists and kill you again myself.”
A rough sound escaped him. Almost a laugh.
His thumb traced my cheekbone. Wiped away tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
“Come back to me,” I whispered. “And we’ll figure out the rest.”
Xavier nodded. Held my stare with an intensity that made my breath catch.
Then he kissed me again. Gentler this time.
Xavier stood, pulling me up with him.
He kept our palms locked as he led me out of the kitchen. Through the quiet hallway. Up the narrow staircase to the second floor. To the guest room we’d been sharing.
The soft click echoed in the silence.
No words. We’d said enough.
Xavier pulled me close. Slid his palms up my back. Slow, deliberate. Not demanding. Just touching.
Like he needed to memorize the shape of me.
I reached up. Cupped his face. Traced the sharp line of his jaw with my thumb.
The walls I’d built after Emma’s death, the ones I’d reinforced with sarcasm and clinical distance and the determination never to care this much again, crumbled.
I kissed him.
Xavier made a rough sound against my mouth. Tightened his grip around me, lifting me slightly.
My back met the wood. His body pressed against mine.
Gentle. Reverent. Like I was something precious he’d been afraid to break.
I wasn’t breaking.
I was choosing him.
The door clicked shut, locking the rest of the world out in the freezing hallway.
Alone. Finally.
The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It vibrated. A live wire snapped and sparking.
The deadline roared in my ears, drowning out logic, drowning out the lingering sting of the Maeve conversation, drowning out everything except the primal need to feel something other than terror.
I didn’t give Xavier a chance to think. I didn’t give him a chance to be gentle.
I pushed him back against the wood, bunching his thermal shirt in my grip, dragging it upward. I needed skin. I needed heat. I needed to burn the fear out of my system before it paralyzed me completely.
“Clare,” he started.
“Don’t talk.” I yanked the shirt over his head, not caring that the fabric snagged on his ears. “Just... don’t.”
I tossed the shirt aside and went for his belt. My fingers were shaking, clumsy. I fumbled with the buckle, frustration clawing at my throat. I couldn’t breathe. The air in the room felt too thin, too cold. The only warmth in the world radiated off the scarred expanse of his torso.
I needed to be closer. I needed no space between us. I needed him inside me, hard and fast and brutal enough to make me forget that in twelve hours he was entering a fortress designed to kill him.
“Clare.”
“Shut up.” I finally got the button undone. Shoved his jeans down, moving to the waistband of his boxers. “Hurry. Please, Xavier. Just...”
He caught my wrists.
Gentle. Immovable.
Stopped me cold.
“No.”
The single word scraped out of his throat, raw like gravel, but the command was absolute.
I struggled, trying to jerk free. “Xavier, please. I need...”
“No.” He pinned my wrists against the surface above my head. Not aggressive. He didn’t use his full strength, he never did with me, but he used enough. I was trapped against him, heaving against his naked torso.
He stepped in closer, hips pinning mine to the wood, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my stomach through my clothes.