Page 70 of Break You

“If you think we can just pick up where we left off before this shit show, you’re mistaken. I’m not going to forget everything you did or brush it under the carpet. I know we’re supposed to forgive and forget, or whatever the fuck, but that’s not me. I don’t do either easily.”

“And I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, but can we please get out of here, so we can discuss it between just the two of us?”

My gaze swung to Pete, who mouthed “I love you,” at me.

I flipped him off. I wasn’t ready to let either of them off the hook just yet.

“Okay.”

* * *

Outside the warehouse, Xavier paced anxiously. For someone who was generally the epitome of “Loaded Boy swagger,” and had just faced no fewer than ten guns like he gave zero fucks, his apparent nerves were worrying.

“Jesus, would you hurry up and spit it out already? After everything that just went down, how bad can it be, whatever ‘it’ is?”

“I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Something else, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, given all the secrets and lies that have come tumbling out of the closet today, what’s one more?”

He looked at me long and hard, then dug in his pocket and thrust a small square of card into my hand. I didn’t look at it right away, opting instead to watch Xavier a little longer. I studied his body language—the slump of his shoulders, the way he kept his eyes cast downward, avoiding my gaze as he toed a small pebble in the derelict parking lot.

Still keeping half an eye on him, looked down at the piece of card. It appeared to be blank, so I turned it over. I stared at it for an extended while before speaking.

“So you or whomever you sent to my room to mess with me, went through my shit, and took my photo. And? You invaded my privacy and broke the law the minute you, or they, entered uninvited. Everything after that is gravy. So you kept a memento. I mean it’s a little serial killer-ish—keeping a trophy from the ‘victim’—but in the grand scheme of this almighty train wreck, it’s really not that big of a deal. Thanks for giving it back, I guess.”

He met my eyes, finally. His were as dark as I’d ever seen them.

“It’s not yours, it’s mine.”

“We’re not even dating—I said I wasn't about to just forgive you like nothing happened—let alone at the ‘what’s yours is mine’ stage. And in any case, with your wealth, why the fuck would you want my one prized possession? It’s worth nothing except the sentimental value it holds for me.”

“No, it’s mine. And it’s worth everything.”

“Xavier, what the hell ar—. No, wait. Oh shit.” I squinted down at the photo again. It was exactly the same as the one that I still carried with me everywhere I lived—the one from the roller-skate box, except it was missing the inscription on the back—“Somebody loves you, XO.”

“But…” I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. Of all the fucked-up shit I’d just seen and heard, this was hurting my brain more than anything else.

“I don’t understand.”

“I gave you those skates. I wrote that note. It wasn’t kiss-hug at the end, it was—”

“XC. Xavier. Cross.” I finished for him.

Xavier

“Yeah. I should have said something when you first told me about the skates, but it was such a weird coincidence, and I was torn, because of all the other shit going on.”

“You mean the shit you were doing, or planning to do to me?”

“Yeah, that. Then, you mentioned the roller skates, and that photo, and I didn’t know what to do with that, especially when you talked about what you went through, and what you felt, what you were thinking of doing.”

I watched her carefully as she took in this new information. Her beautifully expressive face reflected each emotion as she experienced it—fear, confusion, anger, frustration—I was right when I said she couldn’t lie, not with her body, at least.

As though reading my mind, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, her head tilted back. I waited, letting her do what she needed to do. When she opened her eyes again and met mine, I carried on.

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