“Alexander. Patrick. Stone.” Alex’s tone was loud, sharp, and overflowing with angry father. “You will let me say this. And then I’ll leave and you can go back to hating me.” He didn’t wait for Xander’s agreement, just kept talking, although lowering his volume. “Gale left because she didn’t believe. She swore something bad would happen to me if she stayed. When she left… I almost don’t have words to describe what happened to me. I left too. I was gone. But not gone. I couldn’t think clearly or see clearly or feel anything. Nothing made sense or computed right, except for work. The only clarity I could find was in my research. Maybe because it was the only link I had to Gale.
“It wasn’t until…” His voice warbled, high and low. “Until…she…died that I finally broke free from the prison I’d been locked inside all that time. Free to feel all the guilt, anger, and, my God, the regret.” He aimed tortured eyes at Xander. “I know everything I missed. I know I wasn’t there as a father, a mentor. I wasn’t there for all the small wonderful moments of your childhood, and I especially wasn’t there when you almost”—his voice faltered—“died. I will carry that responsibility and remorse for the rest of my life.”
In the silence following Alex’s speech, no one moved. Her heart turned puffy soft with compassion toward both of these men who needed each other so badly, but the distance of time and pain separated them.
Alex nodded his head once, stood, and waited as if he expected Xander to say something, but when the quiet continued, he headed toward the door. He paused, hand on the door handle. “It would’ve been more merciful if someone had just shot me in the head and put me out of my misery.” He opened the door and looked back at Isleen, pinning her immobile with the intense sadness of his gaze. “Don’t you ever do to him what Gale did to me.”
*
If Isleen responded to Dad’s parting words, Xander couldn’t hear it. He was lost inside his own thoughts. If this thing between him and Isleen was similar to what Dad claimed to have had with Gale, that granted Isleen the ability to annihilate him. To turn him into the same person as his father. That Xander had let himself go down this road—refusing to listen to Matt’s warnings—made him fifty kinds of stupid.
Shit fucking goddamn. Matt had been right all along. Wouldn’t the guy just about get wood from being able to say told you so?
Xander forced himself to his feet, fighting the physical urge to be close to her. He refused to look at her and fall under her alluring spell. Oh, but his body wanted her, and yet his mind knew the consequences. He needed time to think, time to figure things out, time alone.
“I got some work to do.” Liar, liar, tighty-whities on fire. He walked to the front door. “I’ll have Hopkins walk you back to the main house.” He opened the door and peered out at the BCI guy stationed on his porch. “Hopkins, see that she gets back to the main house.”
“Will do.” The guy nodded one of those professionally curt nods, then looked beyond Xander to the interior of the cabin. Hopkins’ eyes softened, his facial features melting into a soft, slightly girlish look of pure compassion and sympathy. He glanced at Xander and his expression went terminal, as if Xander were a hot, steaming pile of fresh dog shit mashed into the grooves of his brand-new tennis shoes. What the fuck was that about?
Xander flipped on the listening switch. From habit, he tensed, waiting for the first thump from the frequency connection opening, but Hopkins thoughts glided into his ears on a wave of no-pain.
After everything she’s been through, you do this. Dick.
“Do what?” Xander asked, more than a little attitude in his tone. What was it with every guy—except his father and Matt—always acting like he wasn’t treating Isleen right? He’d never hurt her.
Hopkins ignored him and held out his hand. “Miss Isleen, don’t worry. I’ll see that you get there safe. No one will hurt you. I promise. There’s no need to cry.”
She was crying? Xander whipped around so fast he nearly ass-planted on the floor. She stood in front of the couch, chin quivering, tears slicking her cheeks. “I can’t go there, yet. Gran… It was the last place… I don’t think I can face it. Is there someplace else I can go? Someplace that’s not here or there.” She might be crying, but her words were strong, spoken in a quiet voice that carried latent power and neatly sliced through his bullshit. Jesus fucking Christ.
Hopkins was right. After everything she’d been through, Xander had been about to abandon her on Dad’s doorstep. Total dick move.
He slammed the door without even looking at Hopkins and started across the room, but she held up her hand in the universal sign for stop. He obeyed.
She stood up straighter, lifted her chin, and looked him square in the eye. “I am tired of being the victim. I’m tired of feeling like everything happens to me and I don’t have control over any of it. I can take care of myself. You don’t have to feel obligated to take care of me.” She used the palms of her hands to wipe the residual wetness off her cheeks. “I am going to cry. I can’t seem to help it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle things or that I’m weak. It just means I need to feel things.”