26. Xander
Chapter 26
Xander
T he rehabilitation center looked nothing like it had a week ago.
Tables lined the walls of the main room, covered with white cloths that Blake was busy arranging with an artist's precision. Clusters of wildflowers sat in mason jars that caught the afternoon light, scattering it across the newly finished hardwood floors. Someone—probably Reece—had strung fairy lights along the exposed beams of the ceiling, giving the whole space a warm glow that made it feel less clinical.
I was proud of what we'd accomplished.
Proud and terrified in equal measure.
"Stop hovering and make yourself useful," Booker said, shoving a box of glasses into my arms as he passed.
I grunted under the unexpected weight.
"I'm supervising."
"You're brooding." He stopped and looked me over with that insufferable big-brother stare.
"This is supposed to be a celebration, not a funeral."
"I'm not brooding," I protested, setting the box down on one of the tables. "I'm... contemplating."
"Same thing, different syllable count." Booker thumped me on the shoulder before moving on to harass Trace, who was fumbling with the sound system in the corner.
Maybe I was brooding a little.
The soft opening of the ranch's rehabilitation center was a bigger deal than I wanted to admit. This wasn't just Booker's dream anymore—it was mine too. We'd poured so much into this place—time, money, sweat, and a significant amount of cursing when that one wall refused to come down without a fight.
And in two days, actual patients would be walking through those doors, putting their trust in what we'd built.
My eyes found Blake again, watching as she bent to adjust a flower arrangement. Amelia was strapped to her chest in the baby carrier, her little head bobbing as Blake moved. Even from here, I could see her tiny hands reaching for the flowers, and Blake's patient redirection each time.
They were my world now.
Both of them.
The realization still hit me sometimes, like a physical blow to the chest. How had this happened?
How had I gone from a man barely clinging to sobriety, adrift in his own life, to this?
To someone with roots and responsibilities and so damn much to lose?
Blake must have felt me staring because she looked up, her eyes finding mine across the room.
She smiled—that private smile she seemed to reserve just for me—and my chest tightened with an emotion I still struggled to name aloud.
"She's good at this," Billie said, coming to stand beside me. "Has an eye for making a space feel... I don't know, intentional."
I nodded, watching as Blake chatted with Delaney while artfully rearranging a table setting.
"She sees things differently than most people."
"Must be the artist in her." Billie leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "It's nice to see you happy, Xander. I've known you since you were pulling my pigtails in grade school. I remember the last time you looked at someone the way you look at her."
I frowned.
I didn't recall ever looking at anyone the way I looked at Blake.
"Molly Thompson," Billie supplied, smirking. "Seventh grade. You were completely smitten."
"I was not smitten with Molly Thompson," I argued automatically. "She had braces and used to spit when she talked."
"And yet you followed her around like a lost puppy for an entire semester."
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. "Your memory is clearly faulty. I think you're confusing me with Gage."
The moment I said his name, the familiar weight of his absence settled between us. Billie's smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly.
"Speaking of lost causes," she said lightly, "when are you going to ask Blake to move in with you for real? Not just this fake-engagement-for-the-baby arrangement you've got going on."
I opened my mouth to answer, and then snapped it closed. How had I not done that already?
She paused, turning back to me with a mischievous grin. "By the way, she invited me to girls' night next week. Hope that's okay."
"Why wouldn't it be okay?"
"I’m not lying to your beautiful fake-but maybe not fake-fiance. I know all your secrets Xander Farrington." She wiggled her eyebrows at me. "Just saying."
And then she slipped away laughing before I could say anything else.
See, this is exactly why small town life got to be too much. Bored teenagers did stupid things, and hopeful adults could never escape that one time they…
I watched as Billie made her way over to Blake, the two of them immediately falling into easy conversation. Blake's head tipped back in a laugh at something Billie said, and I felt a surge of gratitude that they were getting along. Blake needed friends here, people who saw her for the incredible person she was.
"You did good, kid."
I nearly jumped at the sound of Jasper's voice beside me. My father had arrived an hour ago with a truckload of supplies, insisting on helping despite my half-hearted protests. Things between us were still strained, but I was trying. For my brothers, if not for myself.
"Thanks," I said, not looking at him.
"Your mother would be proud."
I snorted before I could stop myself. "I doubt that."
Jasper was quiet for a moment, and I risked a glance at him. His face was thoughtful, eyes fixed on the bustle of activity around us.
"She wasn't always the way you remember her," he said softly. "Before... everything. She used to laugh more. She loved planning parties like this, being the center of attention."
I didn't know what to do with this information. It didn't fit with the cold, critical woman who had shaped so much of my childhood. The mother I remembered had despised disorder, had kept us at arm's length like we were an inconvenience rather than her children.
"I'm not asking you to forgive her," Jasper continued, seeming to read my thoughts. "Just... I hate that she’s the one who became the bad guy in your story. Especially when I was the one who did so much wrong."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Across the room, Blake was showing Amelia something on one of the tables, the baby's pudgy hands grabbing at whatever it was. The sight of them together, heads bent close, pink and gold, was almost too much to bear.
"Your girl seems special," Jasper said, following my gaze.
"She is." The words came out fiercer than I intended, protective.
Jasper smiled, a small, sad thing. "I'm glad for you, son. Truly."
He squeezed my shoulder once, then walked away, leaving me with a tangle of emotions I didn't know how to sort through. I was saved from having to try when Delaney appeared at my side, looking flushed and excited.
"Everything's coming together!" she exclaimed, her hands clasped in front of her. "Xander, this place is amazing. You and Booker have done a fantastic job."
"Thanks," I said, grateful for the distraction. "Blake's artistic touch helped a lot."
Delaney grinned, watching as her friend worked with Billie on the other side of the room. "She's good at making spaces feel special. You should see what she did to her studio when she first set it up. It was like walking into her brain."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
The words slipped out before I could think better of them. Delaney's head whipped toward me, her eyes wide with surprise.
"You've been to her studio?"
"Yeah, she showed it to me a couple weeks ago. When she was trying to decide whether to do the show." I frowned at Delaney's stunned expression. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just..." She trailed off, looking back at Blake with a new expression I couldn't quite read. "She's never shown anyone her studio before. I only got a peek one time and I was only allowed to stand in the doorway."
Something in my chest expanded, warm and bright. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I've asked, but she always said it was her private space. Too personal to share." Delaney's eyes softened as she looked at me. "She must really trust you."
The weight of that trust settled over me like a mantle. Blake, who guarded her creative space so fiercely that even her best friend hadn't been allowed inside, had welcomed me in. Had shown me her work, her process, her most vulnerable self.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight.
"I need to go check on the, uh..." I gestured vaguely at nothing in particular and ducked away before Delaney could see whatever was written across my face.
I made myself busy for the next hour, moving furniture and hanging signs, anything to keep my hands occupied while my mind churned. Blake and I had been dancing around definitions, playing house while telling ourselves we were taking things slow. But there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to take it slow anymore.
The problem was, I had no idea if Blake felt the same way. But then there was the night she was sick. Her whispered confession we hadn’t acknowledged since. Of course I knew how she felt, I just needed some way to show her that I was worthy of it. And, maybe, actually get around to asking her to move in with me for real. I still couldn’t believe I hadn’t even thought of it. I looked at my brothers busy arranging things around the room. I’d always thought I was the smart one but I was really providing right now that I wasn’t. God help us all.
I paused by the window, looking out at the sprawling ranch grounds. What had started as a modest rehabilitation center was already taking on a life of its own. The reservations had come flooding in as soon as we'd announced the opening date—so many that Booker had pulled me aside last week with a folder full of expansion plans.
"We're fully booked for the first year, and the waiting list holds way more people than I’m comfortable with" he'd told me, his expression a mix of excitement and concern. "Every room, every program. We need to think about phase two sooner than we planned."
The success should have been purely thrilling, but it came with its own complications. More construction. More staff. More time I'd need to spend here instead of with Blake and Amelia. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension gathering there.
"Worried about the expansion?" Booker asked, appearing at my side with an uncanny sense of timing.
"A little," I admitted. "It's all happening so fast."
He nodded, following my gaze out to where the foundation for the second building had already been marked out. "We can slow down if you need to. There's no rush."
"No," I said firmly. "People need this place." I hesitated, then added, "I just need to figure out how to balance everything."
Booker's eyes flickered to where Blake was across the room. "Ah. That everything."
"Yeah."
"You know," he said carefully, "it's okay to want both. The center and them. You don't have to choose."
I sighed. "I know. I just don't want to mess either one up."
"You won't." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But you might want to actually talk to her about it. You know, like grown ups do."
I snorted at the insinuation that Booker of all people was better at communicating than me. But then before I could point that out, I heard Blake's voice calling my name. I turned to see her weaving through the crowd, Amelia now mercifully asleep in the stroller. She looked tired but happy, a smudge of something—dirt maybe, or ink—on her cheek.
"Hey, you," she said, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"Hey yourself," I replied, resisting the urge to wipe away that smudge. "Everything looks great."
"It does, doesn't it?" She looked around, pride evident in her expression. "Billie's cool. I like her."
"She likes you too. Apparently she’s invited to girls' night?"
Blake's face lit up. "She mentioned that! We want to make it a monthly thing. It’s going to be great.'"
I laughed, unable to help myself. She was so goddamn adorable sometimes. "I’m guessing it will involve a lot of wine and complaining about the men in your lives."
"Oh, I've got plenty of material," she teased, winking at me. Then her expression softened, and she reached out to straighten my collar, her fingers lingering against my neck. "You okay? You look like you're somewhere else."
"I'm right here," I said, covering her hand with mine. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous pastime."
"I know."
I swallowed hard, holding her gaze. There was something in her eyes—a warmth, a want—that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Blake—"
"Hey, lovebirds!" Dex's voice cut through the moment. "We need help with the sign outside!"
Blake dropped her hand, stepping back with a small smile. "We should probably help."
"Probably," I agreed, not moving.
She laughed again, shaking her head. "Come on, Doctor Broody. Let's go make ourselves useful."
"I'm not broody," I protested half-heartedly, falling into step beside her. "I'm—"
"Contemplative. I know." She bumped her hip against mine playfully. "It's one of your more endearing qualities."
I watched her walk ahead of me, pink hair swinging, shoulders straight and confident. Whatever this was between us—this complicated, messy, beautiful thing—I was done pretending it was anything less than everything.
I just needed to figure out how to tell her that. I need a grand gesture. A declaration. She deserved nothing less.
As we stepped outside into the afternoon sun, I made a decision. After tonight, after the soft opening was behind us, I was done taking things slow. I was going to tell Blake exactly what her and Amelia meant to me and that I wanted the whole damn world to know it to. They were family. They were home.
And I was in love with them both.