11. Xander
Chapter 11
Xander
I measured the coffee with a precision that bordered on obsessive, grateful for the familiar ritual to focus on instead of the woman behind me.
My hands were steady—they'd been steady for eleven months now—but my mind was spinning trying to keep up with the emotions of the situation and the need to somehow fix it for her.
I'd seen plenty of tears in my career—delivered tragic news more times than I could count—but watching her break down had activated something primal in me.
A need to fix it. To make it stop.
To take whatever was hurting her and destroy it with the hands I'd spent my life fixing things with.
Which was exactly the kind of thinking that had landed me here in the first place, wasn't it?
The doctor who couldn't save everyone, drowning his helplessness in a bottle until there was no career, no reputation, nothing left to show for all the years of brutal hard work.
I poured water into the machine and hit the brew button, risking a glance back at Blake. She'd composed herself, but the hollowness in her eyes remained.
That look of someone staring down impossible odds.
I knew that look intimately—had seen it in my own mirror during those first brutal days of sobriety when the mountain seemed too steep to climb.
"You okay?" I asked, even though it was a stupid question.
Of course she wasn't.
She nodded anyway. The universal lie we all clung to in times like this. When the world was finally starting to break us.
The image of Ethan leaning in close to Blake earlier, his hand on her arm, his eyes too warm and concerned, flashed through my mind. Sheriff Perfect with his badge and his earnestness and his disgustingly functional life choices. The way he'd looked at her, like he was ready to ride in on his white horse and solve all her problems.
It had annoyed me.
More than it should have.
I'd much preferred when Blake was just Delaney's friend, the artist with the sharp tongue who seemed to take particular pleasure in needling me.
Making her outrageous suggestions in some attempt to make me blush like a child.
The woman who gave that playful smile whenever I walked into a room, who challenged me when I thought I knew better.
The one I should safely keep at arm's length.
But now there was this—her vulnerability, her raw determination to keep this child, the way she'd felt in my arms when she finally let go and cried.
It complicated things.
She complicated things.
"I don't know what to do," Blake said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Delaney and Trace offered to take Amelia. They'd be amazing parents—they already are to Cade—and Amelia would be part of a real family."
I turned, leaning against the counter.
"But?"
"But I want to be the one to give her a home." Her voice was quiet but fierce.
"I want to be the one to show her that she was wanted, that she was loved, that the people who cast her aside were wrong."
The conviction in her voice hit me like a physical blow.
I recognized it—the need to rewrite someone else's story because it was too late to change your own.
"You're stronger than any of us give you credit for," I said. "Including yourself."
She shook her head, eyes downcast. "I'm a mess, Xander. I don't have a real job. I don't even have my own place. I might be her aunt but that doesn't really mean anything to the people who get to make the decisions. I—" Her voice cracked. "I'm going to lose her."
She looked so lost, so resigned to the inevitable collapse of her world. Something inside me snapped.
"Marry me," I blurted out.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide with shock. "What?"
Shit. Shit . What the hell did I just say?
But even as I mentally cursed myself, I knew I wasn't going to take it back.
Because underneath the impulsive idiocy of blurting it out like that, it was actually a perfect solution.
The most logical step to solving her problem.
Our problem. Because somehow, in the space of a few days, Amelia's future had become my concern too.
I grabbed our coffee mugs and brought them to the table, buying myself a few seconds to organize the chaos in my brain into something resembling a coherent thought. I sat beside Blake and took her hand, which still hung suspended in mid-air from her shock.
"It doesn't have to be real," I said, the plan forming as I spoke. "We tell everyone we're getting engaged. It would have to be convincing—Ethan and everyone else in town would need to believe it if it's going to work."
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, but at least she was listening.
"You could move in with me," I continued, warming to the idea. "We'd show that we can give Amelia a stable home, a safe place to live. I have more than enough money to prove financial stability, plus the new medical practice and investment in Booker's ranch gives me solid ties to the community."
The coffee sat untouched between us, steam rising and curling into the air.
"We'd only need to keep it up until all the paperwork goes through. During that time, you could put everything in place to do this alone, if that's what you want. It buys you the time you need." I squeezed her hand, noticing how my fingers trembled slightly despite my outward confidence. "Afterwards, we can 'break up,' tell everyone they were right and we moved too fast, but we're going to stay friends. For Amelia's sake."
Blake stared at me, her eyes searching mine for the catch. "We can't do that," she finally said. "Can we?"
"Why not?"
"I think it might be illegal."
That made me laugh, the tension breaking slightly. "It's not illegal to get engaged, Blake. We're not filing false documents. We're just... accelerating a relationship."
"But—"
"It wouldn't just be for the paperwork," I said, suddenly needing her to understand that this wasn't entirely selfless.
"I can help you with Amelia. And you... you can be there to help make sure I don't slip."
The words came out before I could stop them, exposing a vulnerability I rarely acknowledged out loud.
"You don't need a babysitter, Xander," she said softly.
"You're stronger than you think."
"And you do need a babysitter," I countered, grateful for the pivot back to safer ground. "I'm more than happy to do it."
My eyes drifted to Amelia, peacefully sleeping in her bouncy chair.
There was something about her—this tiny, innocent being who needed nothing more than to be loved and protected.
Something about helping her have the childhood I never got to have felt right.
"You're serious," Blake said, not quite a question.
"I am."
I could see her mind working, weighing the absurdity against the practicality. Considering it. Actually considering it. The realization sent a strange flutter through my chest.
I stood up abruptly, not wanting to spook her by pushing too hard. "Think about it," I said, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. "No pressure. It's just an option."
But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted her to say yes.
Which meant I needed to get out of there before I said something even more ridiculous.
"I should go. Call me when you've had some time to think it over."
She nodded, still looking dazed. "Okay."
I hesitated for a moment, almost leaned down to kiss her forehead—a gesture that felt suddenly natural despite its inappropriateness—but caught myself. Instead, I gave Amelia's bouncy seat a gentle rock as I passed. "Bye, little bug."
The drive back to my place was a blur. It wasn't until I was halfway home, cruising down the winding country road with the windows down and the cool air rushing past, that it hit me what I'd just done. Proposed a fake engagement. To Blake, of all people. The woman who had made it her mission to push every one of my buttons since the day I'd returned to Willowbrook.
It was insane. Reckless. Exactly the kind of impulsive decision-making I'd been working so hard to avoid in my recovery.
You're an idiot, Farrington. A complete and utter idiot.
But even as I mentally berated myself, I realized something else… I was smiling. Actually smiling. And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt like I was moving in the right direction.
Maybe not the direction I'd planned, but the right one nonetheless.