Chapter 43 Xade
XADE
Isit at my desk, my third cup of coffee for the day cooling next to my laptop, and stare at an email from a colleague back at Prodigum. I should care what it says, but I don't. Instead, the words blur into irrelevance on the screen, as my thoughts return once again to this morning.
I'm stuck in an endless, torturous loop of all things Avalynne.
The way her rose-colored lips parted as she sucked in a breath when she took me.
Her sugary scent pervading the room as the blackboard knocked against the wall.
The visage of her pale breasts jostling wildly as I fucked her on the desk.
It's a recurrent reel inside my brain that I can't turn off. If I hadn't come to my senses and realized screwing her in my classroom was asking for trouble, I would have bent her over for a third round.
Something is wrong with me. I'm losing control, but I can't help myself, not around her. She's a virus, snaking her way through all my defenses and changing me into someone I don't recognize.
What happened to the permanent bachelor who devoted himself to avenging his brother's death? Since when did I become this pathetic thing, instead, obsessed with my student? Most importantly, why do I not care?
I'm still daydreaming about the strawberry blonde tempest when the door to my office meets the wall, hard. My gaze lifts from my desk to find Ezra, normally the annoying epitome of composure, storming into the room.
A flush of anger bridges his cheeks, and his shoulders heave beneath the black button-down shirt of his priest getup. With one hand, he closes the door behind him as I blink at my frazzled friend.
How … unusual.
"Did you sleep with her?" he demands without preamble, stalking farther into my space.
His words slice through the still air of my office, and I bristle.
How the fuck could he know that? It's been mere hours.
I feign ignorance.
"Sleep with whom?" I reply. "One of the nuns? Dreadful Georgina? The Virgin Mary?"
He doesn't appreciate the attempt at humor and devours the feet between us.
When he arrives in front of my desk, he slaps two palms flat on the surface.
This impact sends shockwaves rippling through the black surface of my discarded coffee.
It sounds like it hurts, and when I slowly tilt my head to look up at him, I zero in on the sweat leaking at his temples, further darkening his brown hair.
Ezra glares at me, and I glare back. Heat kindles low on my spine as we stand off.
"Did you sleep with Avalynne?" His upper lip curls with his words.
Like he has a right to ask me that.
What the fuck.
Okay, enough of this shit.
I stand, sending my chair rolling into the wall behind me.
"I'm not going to dignify your question with an answer, Ezra," I tell him.
My words are calm, though my insides are anything but. In my center, beneath my sternum, I'm crumbling to pieces.
"Don't fuck around with me, Xade. Answer the question!" he shouts.
I must have really pissed him off to bring out the dreaded f-word.
I can't muster the ability to care that he's angry, though. My nerves are frayed, and I've had enough of whatever the hell this is.
"Why are you asking me if I fucked my student?" I growl.
"She practically confessed to it!" The words tumble out of his mouth as his eyes bore into mine, his pupils blown to black and darkening with judgment and a thing that looks a lot like jealousy.
It makes me itch. "Georgina sent Avalynne to confession this afternoon, and she all but admitted it to me in the booth! "
"Georgina …" I say, my blood freezing to ice.
I'll kill her if she hurts Avalynne, and I realize, soberingly, that I actually mean the thought.
"Reverend Mother knows nothing." Ezra inhales sharply through his nose. "Every sister at Saint Margaret's took confession today."
"Avalynne's not a nun," I challenge.
"That doesn't change my question!" His hands land against my desk again, and this time, the cold coffee sloshes over the side of the ceramic cup and onto my papers. "Did you sleep with her?"
I look pointedly down at where his hands splay across my desk, fingers spread wide.
"If you hit that one more time, old friend," I remark, "I'm going to break your goddamn fingers."
He frowns at me.
I frown at him.
And I figure if it comes to it, I have a decent shot of kicking his ass and hopefully beating some sense into him at the same time.
We stand there, frozen, until his gaze skims across my face, and I watch the moment he reads me like an open book. Not many could, but Ezra can. He's my oldest friend, after all.
Your only real friend.
His lips part, and his brow furrows. Hurt crosses his features as he inhales a shocked breath and sucks on his teeth.
"You did, didn't you?" he says, backing away from me.
I round the desk as he swivels toward the fireplace and runs a hand over his face. He pales and swallows hard, like he's trying to not be sick, before he loosens his priest's collar and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.
I lean back against the front of my desk and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to get his act together.
"You've risked everything!" he shouts, spinning back toward me.
The flush across his cheeks flames even brighter, and his fingers curl into fists and then fall loose to his sides.
"I can't believe after Jonathan, after all we've been through, you'd fuck her, Xade!
She's Marcus Immorier's granddaughter for Christ's sake!
" He scoffs. "I knew you had this … this …
infatuation with her, but Jesus Christ, you just couldn't help yourself, could you? !"
He throws up his hands, and I'm about to tell him he better leave my brother out of this if he wants to leave this room with all of his appendages.
"Have you told her?" he snarls, and there he goes, clenching and unclenching his fists again. "Is that why she came into my church gloating about how much she wanted your big, fat cock?"
I hide my surprise well, though I nearly laugh, except I'm not sure I like her toying with Ezra.
He scoffs and reaches between us to grab my lapels and pull me close. Normally, I wouldn't allow it, but Ezra is … different. His hot breath drapes my face with his next words. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"
I can see that he's not getting his shit together. I uncross my arms and grab him by the lapels, too.
"I think I finally found it," I remark.
I stare at him. He stares at me. The starch of his shirt itches my fingers, and neither one of us moves. I'm not even sure we breathe.
Slowly, standing there, something shifts between us.
It's … new.
His breath falls in a curtain of warmth against my lips, and I glance down at his mouth to find his lips parted, exposing the line of his teeth.
Late afternoon stubble darkens his sharp jawline and collars the front of his throat as dark strands of hair fall into his caramel-colored eyes.
He reeks of saltwater and that shit he burns during services, and the stench of it tickles my nose as we stand there, locked.
The heat low on my spine unfurls in my middle as my fingers dig into the fabric of his black shirt.
"Xade," he swallows, his Adam's apple hitting his loose priest's collar.
"Ezra," I murmur.
Word—caramel.
Part of speech—noun.
Origin—early eighteenth century.
Derived from the Spanish caramelo, meaning sweet or candy.
He doesn't let go. Neither do I.
My gaze falls of its own volition back to his mouth again and how his lips quiver with each breath.
How … pretty.
What. The. Fuck. Get it together, Thatcher!
With a hard shove, I push him away, breaking my hold on him and his on me.
"I'm not having this conversation with you," I state, my voice somehow steady. "You need to leave."
Everything has gone off-kilter.
What is happening?
I grab onto the desk behind me and try to moor myself.
Ezra looks at me before he shakes his head, sending his hair into his eyes again. He swipes the strands away with one hand.
"I can't believe you," he tells me.
Why can't I breathe again?
"I tried to stay away from her," I tell him. "God knows I tried, Ezra, but something about her … something …"
"You couldn't keep your dick in your pants!" He scoffs. "You could have gone to the mainland, visited a bar, screwed a stranger, but instead … you …"
He shakes his head again.
"You've put everything at risk!" he tells me.
"If her grandfather finds out, he will shut Saint Margaret's down in an instant!
Everything we have worked for …" He brings his thumb and index finger together.
"We are this close to putting an end to it, but we can't do that without evidence! You know that, Xade!"
He's right. He's saying shit I already know, but it pisses me off even more to hear it from him.
"She won't tell her grandfather," I say. "She's not stupid. She doesn't want to be marooned in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her life. And Georgina, even if she found out, she wouldn't say a word to her grandfather—you know that—so the plan proceeds as scheduled."
Ezra scoffs once more. "So you have it all figured out, do you? You think you can screw Immorier's granddaughter and there won't be consequences?"
"If they come, I will bear them," I tell him.
"What's the plan then, hotshot?" he snickers. "Are you going to tell Avalynne everything? What happens when she doesn't believe you? What happens when she tips her grandfather off? Have you considered any of that?"
The truth is no. I hadn't considered any of it.
"I don't know!" I admit. "It just …" I run a hand across my face. "I don't know what the plan is, okay? It just happened, Ezra! I didn't plan it!"
"You cannot tell her," he steps closer to me. "Swear to me on Jonathan's grave you won't tell her, Xade."
He takes another step forward, and that strange feeling comes over me again.
Why can't I breathe?!
My mind races, trying to figure it out, but I'm drowning on dry land.
Is it wrong if I'm saving her from heartache? Is it wrong if the end result is worth it?
Ezra sends the point home.
"Promise me," he pushes. "Promise me for your brother."
"I will keep my word just as I told you before in the crypt," I acquiesce. "All right? I won't tell Avalynne, not now at least, not until there's no risk."
His eyes shutter, and he draws in a deep breath before he nods. I watch him compose himself before he spins on his heel and stalks to the door.
"Ezra," I call to him.
"Yeah?" He turns around and throws me a despondent look.
"Why did she tell you?"
His lips tilt in a half smile that's more sad than happy. "I wasn't there for her when I should have been, so I guess I got to hear about all the places you have been."
He moves to open the door. I say his name again.
He turns to face me. "Yeah?"
"For what it's worth," I tell him, "it just … it just happened."
He stares at me for a long moment, swallowing before he nods.
"Just don't mess it up, okay? She didn't deserve to be brought into this. She's … she's different than I thought she would be."
And I swear if he wasn't a priest, I'd think he actually wanted her, too.