33. Xander
Chapter 33
Xander
I stared at my phone on the kitchen table like it might spontaneously combust. The number was already on the screen, my finger hovering over the call button.
All I had to do was tap it, but my hand wouldn't cooperate.
"This is stupid," I muttered, snatching up the phone and shoving it in my pocket.
Amelia gurgled from her high chair, looking up at me with those big, questioning eyes like she somehow understood my inner turmoil. Her cheeks were smeared with the pureed pears I'd been attempting to feed her, and she looked utterly delighted with the mess she'd made.
"What are you looking at, little bug?" I asked, wiping a glob of pear from her chin. "You think I should just do it, don't you?"
She squealed and slapped her tiny hands against the tray, sending another splatter of pear flying. I ducked, barely avoiding getting hit.
"I'll take that as a yes."
The truth was, I didn't have much choice.
The clock was ticking.
We needed to find Madison, and unfortunately, my father was our best shot.
Jasper Farrington might be a lot of things—most of them not great—but he had connections.
Money. Resources that Blake and I simply didn't have.
I pulled out my phone again and looked at the screen. This time I pressed the call button before I could change my mind.
It rang three times, and with each ring, a memory surfaced.
My father standing in the doorway of my bedroom, looking at me with disappointment as he explained my B+ in Calculus wasn't good enough for medical school.
My father turning away as my mother berated me for a wrinkled shirt at a dinner party, his silence more damning than her words.
My father's voice on the phone arguing about some kind of deal as he locked eyes with me and then closed his study door in my face.
The line clicked.
"Xander?" My father's voice was tentative, hopeful.
"I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."
"Yeah, well, I need your help." The words tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Of course," he said immediately, and I hated how eager he sounded. "Anything."
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment to center myself. "It's about Madison—Blake's sister. We need to find her and I need your help to do it."
"Of course." His voice shifted into something more businesslike, more familiar. This was safer territory for both of us. "I'll need information—anything Blake can tell you about where Madison might be. Last known address, workplace, friends, social media accounts. The more we have to go on, the faster we can locate her."
I glanced over at Amelia, who was now attempting to fit her entire fist into her mouth.
She was the reason I was doing this—she and Blake.
I'd swallow my pride a thousand times over if it meant keeping them safe.
"I'll get you whatever I can," I promised. "But I need to talk to Blake first. She doesn't know I'm calling you."
There was a pause on the line. "You haven't told her?"
"No." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "I wanted to have something concrete first. She's...she's been through a lot. I don't want to get her hopes up."
Another pause, longer this time. I could almost hear him choosing his words carefully. "That's understandable. But Xander, in my experience, keeping things from the people you care about rarely ends well, even when you think you're protecting them."
A laugh escaped me, harsh and unexpected. "That's rich, coming from you."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they weren't true, but because they weren't helpful. This wasn't about settling old scores; it was about Amelia.
To his credit, my father didn't rise to the bait. "You're right," he said simply. "Which is why I know what I'm talking about."
The fight drained out of me. "Fair enough."
"I'll start making calls today," he continued, his tone professional again. "I have some contacts in Paris who might be able to help, assuming that's where she still is."
"She is. Her company has an office there. I think that’s why she doesn’t want to leave. And dad… thank you," I said, the words still feeling strange directed at him.
"Xander..." He hesitated, and I could hear what it cost him to push forward. "I know I have no right to ask, but is there any chance we could talk sometime? Not about this, just...talk."
A memory surfaced unexpectedly—one I hadn't thought about in years.
I was maybe seven or eight, sitting beside my father in his car as we drove through the countryside.
It was just the two of us, a rare occurrence even then.
We'd spent the day fishing at a small lake, and though we hadn't caught anything worth keeping, it had been.
..good. Peaceful. On the drive home, he let me sit in the front seat, something my mother never allowed.
We stopped for ice cream, and he didn't even mind when I dripped chocolate on the seat.
"I remember once," I said slowly, surprised to hear myself speaking, "you took me fishing. Just me, not Booker or the others. We didn't catch anything."
There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "I remember. You insisted on baiting your own hook even though the worms made you squeamish."
"You didn't laugh at me when I couldn't do it."
"No." The single word carried a weight of regret. "I wouldn't laugh at you for trying, Xander. I was proud of you for trying."
I swallowed hard, unsure what to do with this revelation. "I've got to go," I said finally. "Amelia needs a bath."
"Alright." He sounded resigned but not surprised. "I'll be in touch as soon as I have any information about Madison."
"Thanks." I paused, then added, "Maybe we can talk...sometime."
I hung up before he could respond, my heart pounding like I'd just run a marathon.
The whole conversation felt surreal, like I'd slipped into an alternate universe where my father and I actually communicated.
Amelia let out a demanding squawk, reminding me that she was still covered in pureed pear and probably needed a diaper change too. The routine of caring for her settled me, grounding me in the present rather than the complicated past.
"You know what," I told her as I wiped her face, "I think we both need some fresh air. How about we go for a walk through town and find something nice for dinner while Mommy sleeps off the last of her flu?"
She blinked at me solemnly, as if considering the proposition, then broke into a gummy smile that melted my heart. Every time she looked at me like that, I fell a little more in love with this tiny person who'd crashed into our lives.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Twenty minutes later, we were strolling through town, Amelia securely fastened in the stroller Blake had finally consented to let me buy. The day was perfect—warm with a gentle breeze that carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and something sweet from Marie's bakery. Amelia was wide-eyed, taking in all the sights and sounds with that intense curiosity that seemed to define her.
As we passed the town square, I noticed a small cluster of people gathered around the community bulletin board. I recognized Pete from the hardware store and Emma who ran the flower shop, their animated conversation carrying across the green.
"I'm telling you," Pete was saying, gesturing emphatically, "my cousin in Denver says these rehabilitation centers are booming businesses. If the Farrington place takes off like they're expecting, we could see property values double in the next few years."
"It's already happening," Emma replied. "The Hendersons just listed their place for thirty percent more than it would've gone for last year, and they've already had three offers."
I quickened my pace slightly, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation about my family's business ventures, but their words stayed with me. The rehabilitation center wasso close to officially opening, yet it was already reshaping the economic landscape of Willowbrook. I'd been so focused on the medical aspects and my own role that I hadn't fully considered the broader impact on the town.
"So, little bug," I said to Amelia, as if we were having a serious conversation, "I need some advice. What do you think about me asking my dad for help in finding your other Mommy?"
Amelia made a bubbling sound and kicked her legs excitedly.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too. It's for the best, even if it feels weird."
I realized I was narrating my thoughts to a baby who couldn't possibly understand, but there was something freeing about it. Amelia didn't judge. She didn't carry the weight of our complicated history or have any expectations. She just was, and that simplicity was a balm to my frayed nerves.
"The thing is," I continued, steering the stroller around a crack in the sidewalk, "I never thought I'd be here. Not just in Willowbrook, but...here. With you. With Blake. It was never part of my plan."
Amelia cooed, her tiny hand reaching up to grasp at the sunlight filtering through the trees.
"But now I can't imagine being anywhere else. How does that happen? How do you go from thinking you know exactly what your life is supposed to look like to realizing you had it all wrong?"
"That's a pretty heavy question for a morning stroll."
I startled at the voice, looking up to find Daniel from Books and Beans standing in front of his shop, sweeping the sidewalk. He looked at me with amusement, his eyes darting to Amelia, who was now happily gnawing on her fist.
"Daniel," I nodded, feeling oddly caught out, like I'd been overheard confessing something private. Which, I supposed, I had.
"Never thought I'd see the day when Xander Farrington was pushing a stroller and philosophizing with an infant," he said, leaning on his broom.
"Times change."
"They do," I agreed, not sure what else to say.
Daniel and I had never been close, even when we were younger.
He'd been a few years below me in school, already working at the bookstore while I was still trying to figure out how to escape Willowbrook.
Daniel's gaze softened as it landed on Amelia.
"She's a cute one. Looks a lot like Blake around the eyes."
I glanced down at Amelia, surprised. He wasn’t the first person to say that. There was something in the shape of Amelia's eyes that echoed Blake.. Maybe it was the way they both looked at the world—like it was full of wonders just waiting to be discovered.
"Yeah," I said, a smile tugging at my lips. "She does, doesn't she?"
"You know," Daniel said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative, "she's got real talent. The kind that doesn't come along often. Be a shame if she gave it up."
The statement caught me off guard. "What makes you think she's giving it up?"
He shrugged, his eyes drifting to Amelia again. "Life has a way of making us choose. Especially when there are little ones involved."
I felt a sudden protectiveness surge through me. "She doesn't have to choose. She can have both."
Daniel's eyebrows rose slightly at my vehemence, but then his expression shifted into something that looked almost like approval. "Good," he said simply, then turned back to his sweeping. "You folks have a nice day."
As I continued down Main Street, I noticed several storefronts that had been vacant for years now showed signs of renovation. A realtor I vaguely recognized was showing a young couple around the old Wilson building, gesturing enthusiastically at the facade.
"This location is prime real estate, especially with the expanding tourist foot traffic," I overheard her saying. "We've had significant interest from boutique retailers and upscale restaurants looking to capitalize on the expected influx of visitors."
The couple nodded eagerly, and I found myself wondering if this was what Booker and Trace had envisioned when they’d first starting talking about regenerating the town.
I continued down the street, Daniel's words echoing in my mind. Life has a way of making us choose. That had certainly been true for me. For years, I'd thought my choices were limited to the path that had been laid out for me—medical school, a prestigious practice, a life that looked good on paper but felt hollow inside.
But now? Now my choices seemed both impossibly complex and startlingly simple.
I wanted Blake. I wanted Amelia. I wanted us, together, building a life that was messy and imperfect and entirely our own.
And I was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen—even if it meant relying on my father, the man I'd spent most of my life trying not to become.
Amelia babbled happily in her stroller, seemingly content with her place in the world. I envied her that certainty, that ability to be fully present in the moment without worrying about the past or the future.
"You're a wise girl, Amelia," I told her, adjusting her little sunhat as we walked. "One day, when you're older, I'll tell you all about how you saved me. How you and Blake showed me what really matters."
She yawned widely, her eyes growing heavy as the rhythm of the stroller and the warmth of the day lulled her toward sleep.
"But for now," I whispered, "let's just enjoy this moment. We'll figure out the rest as we go."