Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
It had beenweeks since Jordan crawled out of my arms and abandoned me. Since then, I’d exhausted every avenue to find her, barely sleeping, eating, or doing much else.
The only other thing I managed to do was attend practice and show up at games to vent my rage. My track record had never been better—or worse, depending on who you asked. The games were also a way to communicate with Jordan, whether she watched them or not was yet to be determined.
As soon as the games ended, I was back to living a life of oblivion and nothingness. My little jailbird broke out of her cage and took my heart with her when she ran from me, and now all I am is a vessel of rage at myself and heartbreak over her.
“Xander.” Jasper walked into my room, his expression laced with concern.
“What?”
“I’m flying back to New York tonight. I won’t be back until next weekend.”
Jasper had been annoyingly present, flying back every weekend as soon as he was done with his classes. I knew he was worried about me; he had expressed his concerns over how hard I was pushing myself on the ice.
Some days, I spoke to him. Other days, I didn’t have the energy to engage. Even though I’d been treating him like shit, he kept returning every weekend. Apparently, whatever madness he saw in me warranted him turning into my keeper.
“Bye,” I said distractedly, staring at the footage of the hotel Jordan had stayed at. It never occurred to me that she might have gotten hold of Henry’s phone. I had a PI track it, but the phone went dark the night she stayed at this hotel.In a frustrated rage, I drove down there and demanded to check into the same room where she had stayed, and spent the night staring at the ceiling, stroking myself, and imagining that it was her hand touching me as I wondered where the fuck she had gone.
“Dude,” Jasper rasped, staring at my desk. Massive amounts of paperwork were spread on it, anything with information on a blonde woman resembling Jordan’s description. If only I could put all the pieces together… “When was the last time you ate something?” he asked.
I blinked, then took stock of my messy bedroom. There were pillows on the floor to prop up the laptop. The television I had hooked up was playing with the recording from a different angle. My phone was supported by a book on the nightstand. I needed access to all three to check the different angles of this security video.
Despite the optics of it, I wasn’t deranged. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
This flow made sense because any of those angles might give me a glimpse of her beautiful face.
But judging by Jasper’s concerned eyes, he disagreed.
“I hired a PI,” I explained. “He told me Jordan was last seen at a hotel parking lot. It seems she stayed there one night, but when I went there yesterday, no one knew where she’d gone, so I ended up spending the night in the room she stayed in. This is all the footage the PI could get me. The parking lot had three cameras set up at different angles, but she walked out of there instead of taking a cab. The streets don’t have cameras, so where could she have gone?”
“What?” Jasper said. “You stayed in her room?”
I barely heard him, mulling over my thoughts. She walked out of the hotel, took a turn on a street without cameras, and simply stopped existing. How? There had been no clues in her room, either.
“Dude, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” His sad eyes stared at me for so long that I finally caved and glanced at him.
“What do you mean?” The way he was looking at me… I wasn’t crazy—I wasn’t. There had to be a logical answer for where Jordan went.
“You need to get out of this room, Xander,” he started slowly. “Just look around. This isn’t healthy.”
“I have to find her.” My voice broke.
Jasper blew out a breath. “Jesus, dude. What happened between you two?”
Swallowing thickly, I pulled in a shaky breath. “I fucked up so bad,” I admitted.
He nodded, prompting me to continue.
Having drained all my other resources, I had no option but to simply talk. So, I told him of all my sins—the sordid details, all I had done to keep the woman I loved with me.
As I finished, I braced for Jasper’s reaction. I didn’t want him to think I was a monster, but from his clipped tone, he was clearly holding himself back from lashing out at me. “Why did you do those things to her knowing how Henry treated her? How Henry treated Mom?”
“I lost my fucking mind,” I confessed. “I thought she’d leave me at the first chance if I didn’t have leverage on the relationship. But then she ended up leaving me anyways.”
“I-I…” he trailed off as if unsure how to finish. “Do you think she loves you?” he finally asked.
“I think so.” She might hate me, but I think she loved me, too.
I’d never forget her haunted eyes after I saw her again. She was miserable the years we were separated. She was dying on the inside the way I was dying without her.
“I love her,” I added. “I can’t live without her. I’m lost without her, and she’s just gone. I can’t fucking breathe without her, and I can’t find her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything. What do I do if she never comes back?” Pain burst through my chest at the thought, and I had to stop talking.
Jasper relented. “Before we even go there, you first need to decide how you’ll stop history from repeating itself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You saw what Henry did to Mom—he ruined her life. That’s why Jordan was fighting you. She didn’t want a repeat of the life she ran away from. Say you find her tomorrow and force her to return, but nothing changes. Then she’ll just find another way to run from you again. It won’t solve anything. You’ll be right back here a year from now.”
His words churned in my head for several moments, and even after he left for New York.
Later that day, I tore up the application for Jordan’s conservatorship and asked my lawyer to appeal to the court that Jordan no longer needed supervision.
After Jasper discovered that I had dropped the conservatorship application, he seemed marginally more willing to help with my cause. He promised to go through his previous exchanges with Jordan to see if anything sparked a flicker of where she might’ve gone.
His only other suggestion was to call Jordan’s ex-best friend Piya.
It was good advice.
The Maxwells used to have a longstanding rivalry with Piya’s family, which recently ended after her daughter, Poppy, got together with my cousin, Damon. The news of their union broke the barrier, and I knew, at the very least, she’d be willing to hear me out.
Damon reluctantly passed me Piya’s number, but otherwise, didn’t want to be involved. Don’t fuck with Poppy’s family, were his exact instructions.
I tried the number immediately.
“Hello.”
“Piya Trimalchio?”
“Yes? Who is this?”
“This is Xander. Xander Maxwell.” The line went so quiet that I wondered whether the call had dropped. “Hello?”
“Yes, I’m here,” she said. “How can I help you?”
The coolness in her voice confirmed it. Piya had been in contact with Jordan but had been instructed not to inform any of the Maxwells of her whereabouts.
I didn’t want to force Jordan’s hand through Piya. It was something Henry would’ve done. If Jasper were right, repeating history would only make Jordan hate me more.
Instead, I talked to her. I told Piya the gist of our story—Jordan left my father, we fell in love, I repeated the same mistakes as Henry, and Jordan ran from me. I omitted some things that felt like it would betray Jordan if I revealed them without her permission. Mostly, I owned up to my mistakes.
After all these days without Jordan, I realized how differently I could have handled things. She ran away because of me, and if she never returned, it’d be my doing.
I was shocked when my honesty was met with understanding rather than the vitriol I deserved. It was almost as if she’d had experience of her own with morally gray behavior. Or perhaps she empathized with the misery in my voice.
After the initial phone call, I spoke to her almost daily in my desperate attempt to feel closer to Jordan through her best friend. Piya was also my last resort. Without Jordan, my life had narrowed down to missing her, thinking of her and searching for her. And I knew Piya was the key to finding Jordan.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked her one day.
“My answer is the same as yesterday, Xander,” Piya said indignantly. “I haven’t spoken to Jordan, nor do I know where she is.”
I expected her to say as much. Of course she was lying. I had my PI look through Piya’s phone records, and there were text exchanges with Henry’s phone, though none were useful. Since then, I was positive Piya had been using a burner phone to communicate with Jordan.
“Then, will you tell me something else about her?” I was grasping at straws for any contact with my girl, and chatting with her best friend made me feel like I had access to Jordan. Every day, I asked Piya to tell me something new about my girl, anything I could hold on to, to feel a little closer to her.
Piya sighed. “What do you want to know today?”
“How did Jordan get that scar above her lips?” For all the time I knew her, I never asked her about something so simple. Why didn’t I?
Piya laughed at my question. “Oh, that. I had this shitty ex-boyfriend in college, Michael, who took my car on a joy ride, then crashed it. Jordan was pissed and called him a dingus, and he threw the car keys at her. It hit her on the lips, and she ended up needing stitches. But the first thing Jordan did after we got out of the hospital was to flood his social media accounts with the comment dingus, then she got all of our friends to do the same and even paid students on campus to call him dingus to his face. By the end of the year, even the teachers thought his name was dingus. God, she was such a badass,” she spoke with pride, trudging up fond, nostalgic memories.
Meanwhile, I could barely suppress the urge to track down the fucker and kill him. I kept my voice perfectly normal as I asked, “Interesting. What did you say your ex’s full name was?”
I nearly heard Piya roll her eyes. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that. You’re not tracking him down and killing him.”
“How did you know?—”
“I’m not stupid, Xander. I have a little bit of experience with men like you. Right now, I’m talking to you from my bathroom, and there’s a reason for it.”
I was quiet for a moment.
She heaved another heavy sigh as if struggling with herself.
“Tell you what, Xander,” she said at last. “I’ve been researching you and asking Damon about you, and from everything I’ve heard, I think you’re a good guy who’s made some mistakes. And if anyone can empathize with people needing a second or a third chance, it’s me. As you can tell, I’ve had a wild past. So, here’s what I’ll tell you—I don’t know where Michael is, but I do know where he isn’t—and that’s Paris.”
I stilled; the whole world came to a stop as well. Then, my heart started beating erratically.
Fuck, was that her way of telling me that Jordan was in Paris without betraying her trust?
“Do you mean to say?—”
“Consider it a birthday gift,” she interrupted. How did she know it was my birthday? Damon? “I presume you’re spending it looking for leads in some dark, messy, villainous-looking room. Frankly, that’s too depressing, and I’ve always been a sucker for love.”
“Paris is huge. Will you at least give me a postal code or something?—”
That was when someone else took control of her phone—a male—and snapped, “Who the hell is this, and why the hell are you calling my wife?”
Before I could answer or she could respond, the voice spoke again, I assumed after seeing the caller ID.
“WHO THE HELL IS XANDER? If I find you, Xander, I’m going to fucking kill you?—”
I hung up, leaving them to their marital squabbles.
I had bigger fish to fry, such as booking a flight to Paris… and finding that damn café Jordan used to visit, the one that reminded her of Henry’s country club.
“It was the last place I was truly happy.”
That was what she had said to me, so that was the place I had to start. How many cafés could there be in Paris?
Jordan
The small café on Rue Perrée was bustling, the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft murmur of conversations around the quaint table I had secured for myself. This was the place I had told Xander about when we had our lunch at Henry’s stupidly overpriced club. I couldn’t believe it was still there; it happened to be my favorite, and I came here daily.
I finished my croissant and gazed out the window and onto the cobblestone street while I sipped on some noncaffeinated tea. It didn’t have the same kick as coffee, but it would have to do for now.
I closed my eyes when a gusto of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains and lightly grazed my skin, reveling in its warmth. The golden hue illuminated my contemplative mood, tinged with a hint of melancholy.
For the hundredth time, I glanced at my phone. My message to Xander glared back at me.
Happy Birthday!
He never responded to it. Perhaps I should have said more than just Happy Birthday?
He had sent me all these messages, and now my simple two-word reply seemed beyond lame. I pulled out my phone again and typed something new, something flirty and cute, then I deleted it with a groan.
Ugh.
How do I even start this conversation?
My intricately carved wooden chair creaked slightly when I shifted, my fingertips absently tracing the delicate patterns etched into the tabletop. Everything around me was unbelievably romantic. Why did I choose the most romantic place on earth to get over the romance of a lifetime?
Memories of Xander danced at the edge of my consciousness like they did daily, the bittersweet remnants of our unfinished love story tugging at my heartstrings. The pang of longing for his presence, a yearning for the familiarity of his laughter and the comfort of his embrace hit me the hardest when I was around others.
That’s why they say you’re the loneliest when surrounded by people.
I observed the other patrons at the café when I caught sight of a couple engaged in a heated argument at a nearby table. The tension between them was palpable, their gestures animated and voices rising in crescendo. They were speaking quite fast, and my French was elementary at best. From the words I picked up, putting together a concrete story was difficult.
Something about him being a pervert.
Maybe he was looking at other women?
The first hint of a smile in days graced my face. My mind whirred as I crafted imaginary scenarios to explain the fight, each more elaborate than the last.
I almost jumped when someone spoke from the table behind me in a distinctly American accent, “What do you think they’re fighting about?”
The voice, spoken level with my ear, made me want to jump out of my seat. I barely managed to stop myself from screaming. It can’t be, I thought, as my heart began to pound. There was no way.
“What, no theories?” he pressed when I couldn’t force myself to turn around.
A smile played at the corners of my lips at the voice that was all too familiar to me. It had been ingrained in my soul so deeply that I could never yank out.
Instead of pulling my eyes away from the altercation and glancing back—because I knew once I looked at him, everything else would cease to exist—I kept my gaze steady on the couple. “He definitely checked out another woman in front of her.”
He laughed, and the sound twisted my heart until I thought I’d die. “Such a big reaction for such a small crime.”
I pouted. “It’s not a small crime.”
“Trust me. It’s not something I’d ever do, but does it deserve the punishment he is getting?” he asked as the woman picked up her purse and smacked the man with it.
I burst out in laughter. As I wiped away a tear at the corner of my eye, I asked, “Fine. What’s your theory, hotshot?”
“Cheating, for sure,” he replied smugly, his voice so deep that it was almost tangible. It made me want to whimper from need at just the sound of it, and I hadn’t even been graced with the power of his looks.
Such was his effect. He wielded a power that could make any woman lightheaded and weak in the knees, just like I was right now.
I shook my head. Stay strong. Focus on the task at hand.
“No way!” I told him. “If he cheated, there wouldn’t be a public fight. They’d be at home, and she would be lighting his stuff on fire.”
“Maybe she already did that, and it wasn’t enough.”
“Was there a fire in Paris, according to the newspapers?”
We continued concocting elaborate narratives about the couple”s disagreement, each theory more outlandish and amusing than the previous one. Despite not facing him, his presence anchored me to earth, like I’d been floating without him, and my soul had finally been returned to me.
“Can I say something?” I asked after the woman stormed out and the man chased after her.
“Anything, jailbird.”
“I love you.”
He was quiet for so long that I was unbelievably tempted to turn around, but I knew I”d break completely if I looked at him.
“Can I say something?” he said at last, his voice thick and heavy.
It made my own voice choke, nearing tears. “Yes?”
“I love you so fucking much that I can’t breathe without you. I’m dead without you, Jordan.”
And that did it. I broke down in tears as his big arms wrapped around me from behind. He picked me up as I cried and placed me on his lap, the comfort of it making me think that I could happily die right now.
Fuck, it had been so long since I’d felt him around me. I wanted to melt into him and never let go. His scent overruled the delicious smell of pastries and coffee, rewiring something in my brain that told me it was okay to feel alive again.
He let me sob uncontrollably in his arms, even though I couldn’t get myself to look at him.
Other people watched us curiously as we created a giant scene in the middle of the café. I bet another young couple was making up stories about our dramatic encounter as it unfolded.
I didn’t care.
At some point, Xander had twisted my body so my face was nestled against his broad chest, seeking solace in what I thought I’d lost for good. I couldn’t look at him; I wasn’t ready, and he didn’t push me. Repeatedly, he kissed the top of my head, telling me how fucking sorry he was and how much he loved me.
As his thumb kept wiping away the tears that fell, I sniffled and said, “I have to tell you one last thing.”
“Anything, baby.”
“I’m pregnant.”