5. Xavier #2
I'd fed her those same lines at the banquet table without meaning a single one of them. I'd wanted her to crack, to confess that the years without me had been a living hell, that mailing that brutal letter had torn her up the same way reading it had wrecked me.
Instead she stood on the sidewalk, parroting my own indifferent lie right back at me.
Something splintered in my chest, fracturing along the same fault lines she'd cut the day I opened her package.
"Alright," I said, swallowing the bile in my throat. "Friends."
Her face broke into a brilliant smile, the one that crinkled her eyes, and I wished hard that I hadn't agreed to this.
"So when did you start collecting the ink?" I gestured to her bare arms, changing the subject.
She glanced down at her scattered tattoos, the tension bleeding out of her posture as a quiet, unguarded fondness touched her lips. "Gradually. Over the years. A few pieces at a time, whenever the mood struck."
"They suit you."
Her eyes darted up, searching my face. "You think so?"
"The Sloane I fell in love with was always going to get inked eventually." I let my eyes trace the artwork before settling back on hers. "I'm glad you finally did."
She held my stare, her breath going shallow, before her eyes dropped to the pavement and she retreated to a safe, neutral distance.
"I take it your father had nothing kind to say about the new look?" I asked.
The warm smile vanished, her features hardening into something closed and cold.
She gave one sharp shake of her head.
"My father and I aren't on speaking terms," she said, clipped and final.
I stared at her, stunned.
The girl I remembered had been paralyzed by Henry Ty. She'd carried his suffocating expectations in the rigid set of her shoulders, never daring to criticize the man, always molding her life to dodge his wrath.
Now she stood covered in rebellious tattoos, her shoulders loose and unapologetic.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.
She gave a flippant nod. "It is what it is."
I worked the lump out of my throat. "Well, you're an independent woman now. It was only a matter of time before you quit following his orders."
She let out a barking laugh, the first unscripted reaction I'd pulled out of her all night. "Are you seriously calling me a naughty girl right now?"
"That's not what I meant." My lips twitched.
"That's the tone you used," she said, her eyes flashing.
"It really wasn't." I tried to hold a serious scowl and lost, a wry grin breaking through.
"Back in college, I used to wonder when you were going to stand up to that tyrant.
I kept my mouth shut because my own parents weren't exactly a gold standard for healthy boundaries, but I thought about it.
" I let the humor fade into something honest. "I'm proud you finally did. "
She studied me, her dark brows pinching, her chin lifting. "So you basically thought I was pathetic and weak."
"I never said the word weak."
"You figured I had no spine." The armor slammed back into place. "And considering you were my—considering you were my boyfriend at the time, that feels pretty unfair."
"I had a lot of intense thoughts about you back then," I said. "Calling you weak was never one of them. I always believed you were the strongest, most resilient person I'd ever met."
The sneer fell off her lips, leaving her with nothing to say.
She stared at me, then at the passing traffic. When she finally brought her eyes back to mine, her jaw had loosened, but her gaze was locked down, refusing to give up a thing.
"I wasn't strong, Xavier," she whispered. "I was a coward."
"It takes a lot of strength to blow up a serious relationship."
"Xavier, please—"
"It takes real courage to pack your bags and walk away." I kept my voice steady, reading every flicker on her face. "I always hoped the breakup didn't take too much of your courage. Because if it did, that would mean I'd been a terrible choice for you."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Some people stay stuck in miserable situations because leaving costs more than they've got.
They need a catalyst to prove there's a life waiting outside the cage, and they need real willpower to walk through the door.
" I held her gaze and refused to let her look away.
"If it took everything you had to leave me, then I was doing something to hurt you. "
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "The last thing you were was traumatizing." She looked me dead in the eye, her posture unyielding. "You were perfect."
If I was so perfect, then why the hell did you write that letter? Why pick those soul-crushing words, the ones built to reduce my whole worth to a resident's salary? If I'd been so perfect, what was the flaw I couldn't see?
I swallowed the questions.
We'd just agreed to play platonic friends, and I refused to backtrack. I'd already wasted too many years stranded in that headspace.
She checked her watch and scanned the empty street for an exit.
"I really need to sleep," she said.
"I'll see you at the ceremony tomorrow."
She gave me one last, infuriatingly polite smile before turning on her heel. I stood rooted to the concrete, tracking her retreat until she reached the corner, flagged a passing yellow cab, slipped into the backseat, and disappeared into the city.
I stayed out in the freezing air long after her taillights faded, trying to convince myself this platonic distance was for the best. We needed to stay in our separate lanes.