7. Xander
Chapter 7
Xander
A s I cracked open one sleepy eye, I assumed the pounding I could hear was inside my head.
The first thought I had was one of resignation.
I knew I'd fall off the wagon eventually. It was all going too well for it to last.
Then I heard the voices outside my bedroom door.
"You can't just barge in there," Reece hissed.
"Why the hell not?"
"Because he might not be alone!"
It was the laugh that came out of Booker that pissed me off, more than seeing his ugly face watching me from the doorway.
"Why are you still asleep?" Booker barked.
I took a moment to pull the sheet up to cover myself and then rubbed the sleep from my eyes, grateful that I wasn't actually hungover and it was only my idiot brother trying to wake me up. Hell, I hadn't even had a drink so it would be a miracle for me to be hungover right now. Well, either that or a curse.
"Most people would apologize first," I pointed out. "Why are you barging into my bedroom at this hour?"
"Firstly, it's nearly eight in the morning and you should be awake by now. I was worried you were hurt or something." I heard the lie in his voice but didn't say anything, we both knew what he was really worried about.
"Secondly, we've got an emergency over at Trace's place and I need you to grab your doctor stuff and go over there with us."
I was out of bed and heading for my pants as soon as the word emergency left Booker's lips.
Reece yipped and quickly darted out of the bedroom before I even realized that I'd fallen asleep naked last night.
"Stop flapping that around in front of my girl," Booker snapped.
I grinned at him. "Worried she might see something she likes," I asked as I pulled on some jeans and grabbed the shirt I'd worn yesterday.
He scoffed confidently. "Not on you, little brother."
"Rude! Remind me why I put up with you again?"
"Because I let you live in my cottage for free and we all know I'm the best brother."
I opened my mouth to object and then slowly closed it again, refusing to acknowledge why.
Booker really was the best of us, and he wasn't one to normally admit something like that either. Reece was good for him. He'd changed so much since he met her and it was all for the better. Hell, even looking at Trace now I could see the difference.
Maybe they were on to something. Having someone in your life who made it worthwhile to be the best version of yourself didn't seem like such a bad thing.
I just didn't know if I deserved to find happiness on a level like that.
That thought rattled around my brain as I gathered what I needed and headed out to Booker’s truck. It was the one that distracted me for the entire ride to Trace and Delaney’s place. But then I firmly pushed it to the side as the farmhouse came into sight, just like I’d been taught to do.
I was out of the truck and jogging up the porch steps before Booker had even got the thing in park.
This was where I excelled. A calm head in the storm. It was why medicine had been the obvious route for me.
I didn't even knock as I threw open the front door and strode into Trace and Delaney's house.
The sight that met me had me stumbling to a stop.
There were piercing screams coming from a bundle of pink blankets that Blake now clutched as she stared at it with wide desperate eyes.
Her head snapped up at the sound of the door opening and she locked eyes with me. I felt that same familiar tug in my chest that I always did when she looked at me.
The single tear that slipped down her cheek had a need swelling inside me to wrap her in my arms and tell her it was all going to be okay. And just like every other time it had happened, I squashed it down as hard as I could.
Blake wasn't meant for a man like me. She deserved so much more. So I sank back into my usual demeanor and pushed every bit of emotion to the side, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that had the capacity to change my life forever.
"Pass her to me," I said, my voice clipped and clinical. I reached out and took the child from Blake's arms without waiting for a response.
Blake visibly flinched at my tone, her eyes narrowing slightly before she relinquished the baby.
"I've been trying to calm her for twenty minutes," she said defensively. "I'm not completely helpless."
I ignored her comment and focused on the infant. The little girl reached up, hands gripped into fists as she let out another ear-splitting cry. I immediately shifted her into a proper examination position, my fingers checking her fontanelle and then running along her spine with practiced precision.
"Where did she come from? How long has she been like this?" I asked, not looking up.
I knew the protocol in this situation. I’d seen this exact situation at the hospital more times than I cared to remember. But this wasn’t the hospital. I wasn’t here in any official capacity. And this was Blake. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid. What I was trying to protect myself from.
"We found her this morning. On the doorstep. I don’t… I don’t know how long she was there." Blake rushed out. "We tried everything. She won't eat, she's dry. I tried to burp her..."
And then the whole story poured out of her. Her sisters visit, finding the baby, the letter.
"Blake." I took a moment to look at her, hating the way that my eyes grazed across her face, taking in every detail while she was standing close enough to me that I could feel her soft breath against my cheek. "Let me handle this. You might be making her more anxious."
She stiffened, crossing her arms. "I'm not making her anxious. I've been holding her since we found her."
"And how's that been working out?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Delaney gasped softly from across the room, and Blake's cheeks flushed with color.
"I'm not a doctor, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to hold a baby," she said, her voice tight.
I sighed, realizing how my words had come across. "That's not what I meant. Just—let me examine her properly."
Blake stepped back.
Her arms wrapped around her body and she watched the baby unblinkingly, not letting her out of her sight for a second.
I could feel the tension radiating from her as I laid the infant on the dining table.
It didn't take long to check the baby over. I carefully examined her reflexes, checked her ears, and gently palpated her abdomen, narrating each step in a low voice that seemed to calm the crying somewhat.
"Hey little bug, you're okay," I murmured to the infant as I worked. "You're okay, little bug."
The baby hiccupped mid-cry, her big eyes focusing on my face for a moment before she resumed wailing, though with slightly less intensity.
"She's a perfect, healthy little girl," I announced, picking her up and cradling her against my shoulder. I began patting her back in a specific rhythm, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet.
"A very unhappy one. But healthy nonetheless."
Blake didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? Why won't she stop crying then?"
"How long was she outside for?" I asked, continuing the rhythmic patting.
"We don't know. We called you as soon as we found her." Blake looked near frantic and I was starting to worry about her more than the little thing in my arms.
"I went out for my coffee at about six and she wasn't there then. I think I was out there for about half an hour." She looked at Trace who nodded in confirmation, then turned back to me. "So an hour, an hour and a half maybe?"
"She might be cold," I said. "Her body temperature is normal now, but being outside in the morning air for that long could have upset her system. Plus, she could have swallowed a lot of air if she was crying the whole time. Or she could—"
And then the baby let out an unholy loud belch and immediately stopped crying.
We all froze, staring at the suddenly quiet infant.
The silence was broken by a wet sound and a warm sensation spreading across my chest.
"--have colic," I finished dryly.
Blake's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. For a moment she seemed torn between concern and amusement until the latter won out. She burst into laughter, the sound filling the room and breaking the tension that had been building between us.
"I tried to burp her," she said between giggles. "For ten minutes."
"Clearly, I have the magic touch," I replied, unable to stop a small smile despite the mess soaking through my shirt.
Trace appeared with a towel. "Here you go, doctor. A professional hazard I guess."
"It's not the first bodily fluid I've been covered in, and it won't be the last," I said, accepting the towel with one hand while still holding the baby.
Blake stepped forward, her expression softening as she looked at the now-calm infant in my arms. "May I?" she asked, holding out her hands.
I carefully transferred the baby back to her, our fingers brushing in the process. That brief contact sent a current through me that I wasn't prepared for.
"Support her head like this," I said, adjusting Blake's hold slightly. "And when you're trying to burp her, use firmer pressure here." I demonstrated on the baby's back. "Sometimes, if they’re prone to being a bit colicky, they need a good whack to get it all up."
Blake nodded, her eyes fixed on the infant who was now contentedly studying her face. The baby reached up with one tiny hand and grabbed a strand of Blake's hair.
"She has a good grip," I observed.
"She does," Blake said softly. She sank down into a chair with the baby, a sigh of relief escaping her. "This is crazy. What am I supposed to do now? I can't believe Madison would do something like this. What kind of person do you have to be to just decide to leave your baby on someone's doorstep and then fly out of the country?" Blake was shaking her head and I could see the shock on her face.
A thousand questions filled my mind. All I knew was that the baby was Blake’s sister’s and she’d apparently abandoned her here this morning. But the questions that I had relating to that meant getting in deeper. Meant putting myself inside this messy situation and getting involved.
"I think we need to call the police," Delaney said quietly, crouching down beside her friend as she reached for her hand. "This isn't as simple as just finding a baby and deciding to keep it. If that's what you're thinking you want to happen."
Blake looked up at her, her face was completely blank of expression and I started to question my presence in this situation. I'd done my part. I'd checked over the kid and she was fine. But as my heart screamed that I wanted to help her, that I wanted to take that frightened look out of her eyes, my head was telling me to run as fast as I could.
I came with so much baggage. So many problems. And Blake was currently facing a life changing event.
I took a step back, easing myself out of the situation unfolding in front of me. This was for the best. I was saving her really.
"Maybe we give her the day?" Trace suggested, stepping forward to fill the gap I'd left. "She might change her mind and come back for Amelia."
The little lady in question gurgled and I smiled at the sound before I could even stop myself. I also might have forgotten that I was still holding a towel against my chest where I was covered in spit up. The wet fabric clung to my skin uncomfortably, and a sour smell floated up to my nostrils.
But I didn’t get very far in my escape as my back collided with Booker. His hand came down on my shoulder and it felt far too much like he was trying to hold me in place, than any kind of supporting touch.
"Maybe we should call the police anyway," Booker said. "You can't just go around abandoning babies, we need to think about the kid and what's best for her."
I needed to get out of here.
"Well." I cleared my throat and stepped to the side, trying to avoid Booker and Reece who had apparently decided to block my way to the exit. "If that's all you need me for I should probably be going. You've got a lot to think about and we should get out of your way."
Reece looked at me strangely but then an expression of surprise crossed her face as she quickly glanced at Blake and then grinned at me.
"Xander's right," she said, still smiling. "We should get out of your hair so you can talk this through. If there's anything you need. Any supplies you need us to run out and get, don't hesitate to call."
Reece grabbed a confused looking Booker by the hand and tugged on it as she turned and started to walk toward the door before anyone could respond.
I should have followed. It was what I'd wanted after all. But now that the way was clear, I was frozen in the spot I was standing, an uncertainty washing over me. Leaving suddenly felt wrong.
"Thank you," Blake whispered before she looked up and locked eyes with me. "Thank you for coming when I needed you."
Something passed between us in that moment. It hit me so hard that I couldn't believe she didn't feel it too.
Because I would always come if she called.
And that realization was more than I could deal with.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Seeing her wasn't supposed to feel like coming home. I came to Willowbrook to start again, but to start again alone .
Why did she have to be here and make everything so much more complicated?
And why did it feel so wrong to walk away?
I had one foot out the door when Trace's voice stopped me.
"Xander, wait. You can't leave like that. Your shirt's covered in baby puke."
I glanced down at the wet stain spreading across my chest, the sour smell already starting to get to me. "It'll be fine. I'll just change when I get home."
"Home is twenty minutes away," Trace said, shaking his head. "I've got plenty of shirts. Come on. You can't ride in Booker's truck smelling like that."
Booker, who was already halfway down the porch steps, turned back with a grimace. "He's right. You're not stinking up my truck with eau de baby spit."
"Fine," I conceded, more because I didn't have the energy to argue than anything else.
I followed Trace up the stairs, and more importantly, away from the living room where Blake remained with the baby. A part of me was relieved for the excuse to stay a little longer, though I'd never admit it out loud. Trace led me to the master bedroom and disappeared into a walk-in closet.
"Here," he said, tossing me a plain gray t-shirt. "Nothing fancy, but it's clean."
"Thanks," I said, setting it on the bed. I turned away from him and pulled my soiled shirt over my head, balling it up in my hands.
"Bathroom's just through there if you want to clean up," Trace offered, gesturing to an adjoining door. "Take your time."
I nodded my thanks as he left the room. The moment the door closed behind him, I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding. This was getting complicated. Every minute I stayed in this house, around Blake and that baby, was another minute I risked getting attached. And attachment wasn't something I could afford right now.
I stepped into the attached bathroom, tossed my ruined shirt into the sink, and turned on the tap. The cool water felt good against my hands as I scrubbed at my chest, removing the sticky residue of baby spit-up. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
"Pull it together," I muttered to myself.
After drying off with a hand towel, I walked back into the bedroom and reached for the clean shirt Trace had left. Just as I was about to put it on, the bedroom door opened.
"Trace, I was wondering if I could—" Blake's voice cut off abruptly.
I turned, shirt still in my hands, to find her frozen in the doorway. Her eyes widened, darting from my face to my bare chest and back again. The look in her eyes shifted from surprise to something else entirely, something that made my pulse quicken despite my best efforts to remain detached.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. The air between us felt charged with electricity.
Blake's cheeks flushed a deep pink as she pulled her gaze away. "I—I'm sorry. I thought Trace was in here." Her voice was breathier than usual. "I was going to ask about some baby supplies. Delaney said…"
I should have immediately pulled the shirt on. I should have made some casual joke to diffuse the tension. Instead, I stood there, letting her look, because some reckless part of me wanted her to see me. Wanted her to want me, even though I knew I should be running in the opposite direction.
"I think he went back downstairs," I finally said, my voice rougher than I intended.
Blake tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously, a gesture I'd noticed she did when she was uncertain. Her eyes met mine again, and there it was—a flicker of interest that mirrored the warmth spreading through my chest.
"I should..." she gestured vaguely over her shoulder, taking a half-step backward.
"Yeah," I agreed, finally pulling the borrowed shirt over my head. The fabric felt too tight, too restrictive. Or maybe that was just the pressure building in my chest. "I should finish up here."
She nodded, but didn't immediately leave. "Thank you again. For helping with Amelia."
"Amelia?" I asked.
"The baby," Blake clarified, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "That's what Madison called her in the letter."
"It's a good name," I said, for lack of anything better.
"It is," she agreed softly.
Another beat passed between us, heavy with things neither of us was ready to say.
"I should go check on her," Blake finally said, breaking the moment. "Delaney's watching her, but she seems to settle better when I'm holding her."
"She knows you already," I observed. "Babies are intuitive that way."
Blake's eyes brightened. "You think so?"
I nodded, finding myself moving a step closer to her without conscious thought. "You're good with her. Better than you give yourself credit for."
"I don't know about that," she admitted, tucking that same strand of hair behind her ear again. "But I'm trying."
"That's all any of us can do," I said quietly.
For a moment, we stood there in the doorway, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of her perfume—something light and floral that made me want to lean in closer. Our eyes locked, and I felt that pull again, stronger than before. Blake bit her lower lip, and my gaze dropped to her mouth before I could stop myself.
A cry from the living room broke the spell between us.
"That's Amelia," Blake said, stepping back fully into the hallway. "I should go."
"Yeah," I agreed, though everything in me wanted to reach out and stop her. "I'll be right out."
She nodded, her eyes lingering on mine for one moment more before she turned and hurried down the hall.
I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly. What the hell was I doing? This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't come to Willowbrook for this. I came here to heal, to get my life back on track. Not to get lost in Blake's eyes or to care about a baby that had nothing to do with me.
Yet here I was, unable to walk away from either of them.
I glanced at myself in the mirror once more, noticing Trace's shirt fit a bit too snugly across my shoulders. I tugged at it uselessly before giving up and heading for the door. One more check on the baby, I told myself. One more quick look, and then I'd leave. I'd put this bizarre morning behind me and focus on what I came here to do.
But even as I made that promise to myself, I knew it was a lie. Whatever was happening here—whatever was building between Blake and me—wasn't something I could just walk away from.
And that terrified me more than anything.