“What is it?” Xander cocks his head to the side as his words pull me out of my own head.
I sniffle. “I just don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“You don’t even want to be with me, but you’re here. Do you know if my parent have been here?”
Xander’s eyes drift down as he purses his lips. That’s all the confirmation I need.
My heart tightens. “You came to my rescue again,” I mutter. “My parents couldn’t even be bothered to show up, but you did.”
I can’t hold back the tears. They flow down my stinging face as I try to catch my breath and steady my breathing.
“They’ll be here. The hospital might not have been able to reach them yet,” Xander offers as his thumb battled away the stream of sorrow that was cascading down.
“How could they not be reached yet? It’s been hours.” I screech.
Xander lets out a little sigh while pulling his cellphone out of his pocket. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but I think it is necessary.”
All of a sudden, to my horror and delight, Kriss Kross starts blasting. Xander leaps to his feet rapping along like a fool. And it brought me right back to what felt like a lifetime ago.
I can’t help but laugh. Even though it hurts, I can’t help it.
I try to wave my hand to get him to stop.
As he bops and jumps around like a fucking goofball, he shakes his head.
“It’s working. Can’t stop now,” he huffs out as he tries to catch his breath.
Once the song is over, he mutes his phone and sits back into the seat. “Better?”
“Only a little,” I admit. It’s true, his antics always did have a way of pulling me out of the darkest of moods instantly. But this time it wasn’t going to be enough. I was confused, hurt, and scared.
Leaning down, Xander’s soft lips brush my clammy forehead.
“At least it helped a little.” His breath is hot on my sweat-covered skin. “I love you, Char. And if it is the last thing I do on this planet, I am going to find a way to prove it to you.”
I fight to keep my eyes open, desperate to ask him to repeat those words since my ability to comprehend in my current state is questionable at best.
Did he really just tell me that he loves me? Or are the narcotics playing games with my mind?
“What?” I finally rasp, my mouth dry as a bag of sand.
“It’s true. It’s always been true,” he murmurs, brushing a piece of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “But I have to go.”
“Xander,” I whisper, trying with all my might to raise my head from the pillow, but it’s useless courtesy of the drugs.
“I’ll check on you again soon.”
My body stills as he leaves the room, my head feeling like a cement weight attached to my neck.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
So much pain.
So much heartache.
So many lies.
Too much pain.
Chapter 3
Xander
I fist my hair as I stalk out of Charlotte’s room, my head spinning fast and furious as I try to process everything I just said.
How am I going to prove to Charlotte that I love her and still protect her?
Rushing out into the nurses’ area, I glance around to find the way to the Emergency Room exit.
“Charlotte Hawthorne, my daughter. Where is she?” A familiar, pompous cocksucker voice cracks behind me.
Chuckie finally came to play.
I see red. Completely blinded by rage, heartache, and confusion.
Stomping over to him, I grab a fistful of his Armani jacket and shove him backward with everything I have. A self-satisfied smirk lifts my lips when I see the shock settle into his features.
Shock...followed by anger of the most intense kind.
The killer kind.
I know it well.
“Finally, you decide to break away from work to see your daughter who’s laid up in a room unconscious from all of the morphine they doped her up with for the pain? How many times did the hospital have to call before you even bothered to call them back and order one of your drivers ship your ass over here?” I growl, low enough that Charles Hawthorne is the only one who can hear me.
Ripping his arm free of my death grip, Charles narrows his eyes at me. “What in the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay away from my daughter!”
“At least someone cares enough about your daughter to show up when she’s in trouble. She could have died and you stroll in now? Hours later? What the fuck is wrong with you? What could have been important enough to keep you away from her? Your kid...your only kid! You still have one, remember? You didn’t lose them both! Stop treating her like you did!” My words whisk out like venom as my spine stiffens.
A flash of remorse clouds his expression for a brief moment, and although he opens his mouth, no words come out. No nasty retorts. No scathing comments. Nothing.
But his eyes say plenty.
His lips should really find the words, for his daughter’s sake.
“She’s amazing,” I say in a trembling voice, my teeth clenched. “When was the last time you told her that, huh? And she’s been lying back there, scared and alone, thinking that her own parents don’t give a shit about her. So if you want to yell at me for showing up when you’re not enough of a man to do right by your kid, swallow the fucking urge.”
“Get out of here,” he seethes, the vein in his forehead throbbing.
If only it would burst and kill him on the spot.
Wishful thinking.
“Don’t worry. I’m out. If I look at you for another second, something might happen,” I rumble, wishing my eyes could burn holes in him. God, I’d love to torch the bastard with my mind. What a fucking superhero I’d be then.
“Are you threatening me, Iazetti?” Charles steps toward me. “Because you never seem to remember who you’re dealing with and you continue to defy me. That proves to me you’re more of a fucking idiot than I thought. And if you have a shred of a brain cell operating in that otherwise empty head of yours, you’ll walk out that fucking door and not look back.” His face is now bright red and I wonder how much further I have to push to get the vein to pop.
“Oh, are you going to take over now? Be the father she needs? That’s nice. About fucking time, Mr. Hawthorne.” His name is bitter on my tongue as I fight the urge to deck him right here. At least we’re already in a hospital. A broken eye socket could really do ol’ Chuckie some good. And me? It would do me all of the good in the world to finally punch his damn lights out.
One can dream.
One can fucking dream.
“Charles? Xander?” Cammie Hawthorne rushes up to us, grabbing for her husband’s hand. “Have you seen her?”
I take a few steps backward, pointing down the hall. “Her room is down the hall on the right.”
“Thank you,” Cammie murmurs, pulling Charles along behind her.
I stand, rooted to my spot on the tiled floor, watching them pretend to be doting parents as they hurry down the hallway to their daughter’s bedside.
Better late than never. I just wish that it wasn’t all an act. I can smell the fake ass bullshit wafting off of them, and it’s a hell of a lot stronger than her mother’s Chanel No. 5.