Breathe for Me (25 page)

“You didn’t.” He inhaled deep.

“Xander, please.” She squirmed with embarrassment, sliding right under the sheet.

He was silent for a while, then sighed. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

“No.” She shook her head, pushing back the sheet so she could look at him again. She hated the way he’d retreated—his expression now blank. “It’s okay.”

It
was
a fair enough question, she was just too inhibited to answer properly. It should be okay to tell Xander anything. He’d told her often enough.

As she lay looking at his strong features, she felt the slipping of a barrier within herself. She
could
tell him. He didn’t judge, wouldn’t. He was utterly accepting. Finding someone like that was rare. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

Was it that simple? Could she tell him anything and he just listen and not judge? Her burden had become too heavy. Xander was so strong, she had the incredible urge to offload to him.

“The accident was my fault. I caused it.”

He immediately rolled to his side to face her, his eyes serious, concerned, sympathetic. “What happened?”

She breathed in. “I’ve never told anyone.”

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t try to console her. He didn’t move. Just kept looking at her with that strong, steady gaze. “You can tell me.”

“I know.” She did know that now.

He still didn’t move. Didn’t smile. But she sensed the slightest softening.
 

“We’d been out,” she started, her voice hideously wobbly. “It was a really big night but—”

“You fought?”

“No,” she whispered. It had been so much worse than that. “We’d gotten engaged that night. I was a little drunk.”

“Was he?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He was really solid like that. He’d never drink and drive.”

“It was just the two of you?”

“Yes.” She gripped the sheet over her icy body. “We’d gone out for dinner. I’d finished the champagne myself. We were celebrating. We danced.”

“You were happy.”

“
So
happy. And silly.”

He waited a long moment. “What did you do?”

“It was quite a drive back to my parent’s house. They live a bit out of town.”

She rolled to her stomach and stared at the pillow between them. She couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. “I wanted to have some fun. I wanted to do something for him.” She bent her head. “I turned the music up loud. It was one of those sexy dance anthems. I did a strip. Distracted him. I didn’t even realize we were on the bridge. He was laughing,” she said. “He was looking at me and laughing. And I was laughing back at him.” She’d never tried such a thing before. “I was trying to act sexy but I was self-conscious at the same time.”

“You didn’t usually vamp for him?”

She shook her head. “I was young and shy and not that experienced…”

“But you wanted to.”

She nodded her head. “And he loved me. I wanted to play up for him. Wanted to give him something he’d never forget. You know, ‘how to blow his mind’—like something you read in those damn magazines.” She closed her eyes—bringing the darkness back—but she forced herself to keep speaking, recounting the horror. “Next thing I know the horn is blaring and the car is sinking and it was so dark. There wasn’t any traffic behind us. No one saw. I was frantic. I unclipped my belt. I was a strong swimmer, Xander. Always been a strong swimmer…”

“But your leg?” he prompted.

“Got crunched in the smash. Broke in three places.”

“But that didn’t stop you swimming down to save him.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I’ve never told anyone. I figured my clothing could easily be explained from the swim out. But…”

He waited, his eyes compassionate.

“He was still fully dressed. Jeans.” She frowned. Denim dragged a person down in water. “I’d been going to undo his fly. Was going to get him to pull over and I’d…” She stopped. “I should have owned up. I’m so guilty.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” she sobbed.

“No.” Xander leaned towards her, his words tumbling. “He could have been distracted by anything—a bug on the windshield, a tyre could’ve blown, a truck coming the other way with lights on full beam… so many things.”

“But it was me.” She sat up. “For crying out loud, I was all but naked and about to go down on him. It was
me
.”

“It was still an accident,” he said firmly. “And you tried to rescue him. No one could have tried harder.”

She paused, tears streaming down her face. “I dived and dived. I tried so many times. And I finally got him freed—got him to the surface. But he was already dead. He was killed on impact.” There’d been no water in his lungs. He’d died before he’d had the chance to drown. She’d tried so hard to save him and it had been too late.

“You hadn’t known that.”

“I thought he was knocked unconscious. I couldn’t leave him to drown.”

“No,” he said. “Hell Chelsea, I am so sorry.”

Not as sorry as her. “I’ve never told anyone. Not my parents. Not his.” Her whisper was so small she could hardly hear herself. “They supported me so much and I feel so guilty.”

He looked at her somberly. “You want their forgiveness?”

She nodded. She did. She wanted it all to be okay. She wanted to turn back the clock. Nearly two years on and she still couldn’t move past it.

He leaned closer. “You need to forgive yourself first.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You loved him. You never wanted to hurt him,” he said quietly. “Maybe you have to trust in fate. Maybe it was just his time. If not distracted then, then hit by a bus the next day.”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It was a mistake. Wrong timing. He could have told you to stop.”

She shook her head.

Xander put a hand over her fist, holding her firmly. “You have to let this go or you’re never going to be able to move on. You have to accept that what happened, happened.” He looked at her. “Is this why you don’t like to initiate sex anymore?”

Shocked, she gaped at him.

“You need me to take control,” he continued firmly. “You need to please me.”

She yelped in distress then clamped her mouth shut.

“You’re a generous person, and I see what you’re doing.” Xander kept talking. “If you make it good for me, make it all about what I want, then that makes it okay for you to enjoy it too. Because you’re putting my wants first. Is that how this is working for you?”

“Xander.” She was appalled and horrified that his words hurt her so deeply. “I’ve just told you something so… so personal and all you can do is bring it back to sex? To this thing—”

“This thing with me
is
about sex for you.”

Oh but it wasn’t
only
about sex. Not now. It was about trust and honesty and understanding and wanting and needing so much
more
. She shot out of bed, grabbing some clothes to pull on.

“Chelsea.” He too left the bed. “Don’t get mad with me for speaking the truth.”

His
truth. She looked away from him. “I’m not mad.”

“Don’t lie either. The truth is you’re afraid to act up, to play, to open up. You want to, but you’re inhibited—like you think you can’t or shouldn’t.”

“I just opened up,” she snapped back angrily. “And
you’re
hardly the poster-boy for deep and meaningful sharing.”

“Fair point, but I share what I can.” He thrust his tee over his head. “You can share more.”

“I just told you my most horrible thing
ever
. What more do you want?” She stared at him, furious that this
was
only about sex with him. “You want to know what I really want?” She spat. “You want to know my deepest, darkest fantasy?” Irate, she wanted to test him. “Me with another man. Two men.”
Take that, you bastard.

His eyes narrowed like he knew she was goading him. But he inhaled deep. “I can almost cope with the idea of another man watching you,” he answered infuriatingly evenly—like they were discussing the weather. “But any man touches you, I’d have to hurt him. I wouldn’t like that. Nor would he. Nor would you.”

“You’d go Hulk on me?” she laughed bitterly. As if Xander-effing-Lawson would get jealous? He so didn’t care enough. “I don’t think you’re capable of really hurting someone.” Not physically. “You’re a
lifeguard
,” she taunted.

“Actually, I get angry about all kinds of things. But it can’t become rage. It can’t become uncontrollable.”

Control. There it was again. She gazed at him, barely noticing his breathing was as uneven as hers or that her blood was rushing in her ears. “Control is important to you.”

“As it is to you.” He sent her a hard look.

“Okay yes, I liked you taking control.” He’d released her from her self-restraint, let her enjoy sensual freedom without guilt. But she wanted
more
now. She’d opened up so much, but he had only shared a very little. It wasn’t fair.
 

“Because you don’t think you deserve to have a good time anymore,” he said.

“Stop trying to analyze me.”

“Well someone needs to. You’re caught in your inability to communicate. Your family—his family—would be appalled if they knew you were sabotaging your life because of misplaced guilt. It’s time to talk. Time to give it up. You don’t talk honestly to anyone. You can’t even ask your mom to call you an hour later.”

“Well I’m not going to talk to you. I thought superheroes didn’t speak. They only
act
.” She picked up his jeans and hurled them at him.

“That’s right, try to shut down the conversation.” He caught and pulled them on in record time. “I take it I’m not welcome to stay.”

“You said it was your preference not to stay the night,” she snapped coolly.

For a moment something like admiration crossed his face, before that bland expression settled again. Permanently. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened.”

Yeah and look where that had gotten her—
hurt
. She’d told him her ‘anything’ like he’d said he wanted—and then he’d
twisted
it. It was awful, awful, awful because she had the horrible feeling he was right. And this had to end before her heart broke over something that could never be.

Just before he got to her door he turned. “You cannot blame yourself anymore. You have to forgive yourself. Tom wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy. Or so unfulfilled.”

Oh hell, it hurt to hear that. “I’m not,” she argued, her teeth clenched together. “I’m okay.”

Xander took a step back to grip her chin, forcing her to keep facing him, to keep her eyes on his. His were narrowed. “You sure?”

She’d lied so many times to so many others. Said she was fine when she was bleeding inside, her heart ripped to shreds. So she could do it again. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. And now she knew she was going to have to do something about it.

Chapter Twenty

“Where are you?” Xander frowned, vastly relieved at the same time. She’d finally answered her phone. The first seven calls had gone to her message service. He’d resorted to checking her Twitterfeed. She’d maintained regular updates, he’d thought she was still in town at least. But he’d been down to the pop-up and to Wroxton, and she wasn’t at either place. Neither Luisa nor Steve knew where she’d gone or when she’d be back. So he asked. “You’ve gone away?”

He held his breath for her reply. She might have finally talked, but he didn’t know if he could handle the true cost. He wasn’t ready for this to be over.

“You go away,” she said lightly.

But he could hear the defensive note. “At least I tell you.”

“It was a last minute thing.” She brushed him off. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

Of course he was worried, he could hear the stress in her voice. She was beating herself up and he couldn’t find her to help her. Hell, he didn’t know
how
to help her. He’d screwed up the first chance already and he didn’t know if he was going to get another. “When?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“What about the pop-up?”

“Luisa will cover me.”

“Okay,” he said shortly. “Have a good trip.”

There was a micro-pause. “Thanks.”

She disconnected before he could say anything else. His muscles tensed, talking to her hadn’t eased his concern at all. She was nervous. Why? He wanted her to tell him everything. To try again. He’d listen hard this time, try to help in whatever way she needed. He knew it wasn’t fair of him when he didn’t tell her everything. But there were things he told no one. Could never,
ever
tell.

So now he faced the prospect of who knew how long without her. All the next few nights alone. He could go away too. He could schedule in a work trip or something. But he didn’t move from the sofa. His apartment felt stupidly huge and cool and empty. He liked hers better. He missed the plants and the scent and the cramped delight.