Dom X - The Complete Box Set: Alpha Male Romance (10 page)

M
om and Dad were surprised
, to say the least, when I called them this morning to ask if we could have dinner when I got off. We didn't really get together. Ever. Birthdays and holidays were split between the two of them. I always went to them, scheduling my time equally between them on special occasions. We hadn't been together, the three of us since...I actually couldn't think of when.

I didn't tell either of them that the other would be present, but I did have them both coming to my place. I usually went to them so I felt certain they were both suspicious. This was their first invitation since I'd moved in. Even then, they'd helped me on different days, a gesture I’d appreciated at the time because I hadn't wanted to play referee. Whenever the two of them were anywhere near each other, someone had to take on that role.

I made sure to leave work on time, but only part of that was because I wanted to get back to my apartment before my parents arrived. The other part was because I didn't want to talk to anyone about the decision I'd made. I'd spoken with the people I needed to, gotten my vacation time approved – it helped that I was one of those people who piled up time off until the powers that be insisted it be taken – and let the hospital know that there was a chance I might not be returning.

I knew it was rude and unprofessional of me to not give a two-week notice and work my scheduled shifts, but I'd explained the extenuating circumstances and they'd been very understanding. Especially after they'd spoken with Father O'Toole. I didn't know what he said to them, but whatever it was eliminated any protests about my sudden departure.

The father booked my flight almost immediately after I agreed to try things out for the duration of my two-week vacation. It was an open-ended return ticket, meaning that I technically didn't have a specific date by which I needed to make a decision. I didn't know if it was because he was a man of faith, or simply an eternal optimist, but he seemed to think that I'd be staying until X was all better.

I wasn't sure if that was possible, either me staying or X being better, but I was determined to try.

But I wasn't only doing it for him. I realized that even as Father O'Toole was trying to convince me to go. I was concerned about X, and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to help him, but I'd been hit by a thought as I was trying to decide what to do.

This was my way out.

I still loved my job, but it took a toll. My parents weren't acting worse than usual, but after all these years, I was tired of it. Tanner and I were on good terms, but I couldn't go to him when I was stressed out anymore. And I didn't see that stress lessening anytime soon.

When Tanner and I broke up, I'd had the thought that this was the beginning of the change I wanted. I needed. This could be part of it as well. Getting away from my parents so they'd have to deal with each other instead of using me as the go-between. Taking a break from my job and trying something a bit different. I was sure working with X wouldn’t be a picnic, but it would be a change of pace. And if I didn't like it, I could always come back.

I hurried home and reminded myself to find my car title and put it in my ‘if I don’t come back’ folder. My car wasn't exactly the nicest thing in the world, but it was worth at least a couple hundred. If I came back, I'd have enough to buy a better one. If I didn't, my parents could split the money.

I hadn't really packed much of anything last night or this morning, but I wasn't planning on taking much either. Not when I wasn't sure how things would go. Besides, Father O'Toole had said that, at least for a while, I'd be staying in the house, which meant I wouldn't need any furniture.

I cleaned up the dishes that were sitting in the sink, put the chicken I'd prepared this morning into the oven, and waited for my dad to show up first. Despite his alcoholic proclivities, he was always early. Then again, maybe it was because of them. His way of proving to people – especially my mom – that he was capable of functioning.

Mom, however, was always late. Part of it was her scatter-brained nature. She was forever forgetting things when I was growing up. Notes stuck in her pockets only to come apart in bits and pieces in the washer and dryer. Pens that leaked. Part of it was because she was always so concerned with everyone else that she lost track of anything she was supposed to be doing.

I wandered into the bedroom and started looking through my closet. I didn't own a lot of clothes, so I'd probably end up taking most of them, but, at least, I wouldn't have to worry about needing a winter wardrobe unless I did end up staying long term. I pulled out a few things and tossed them onto the bed.

The apartment was small enough that I was able to hear the knock on the door and make it out before Dad knocked again. I opened the door and smiled, but he didn't return it. Not surprising. He'd rarely smiled before. Since Logan's return from the army years ago, Dad hadn't smiled at all. Or, at least, he hadn't around me.

“There a reason you wanted me to come here?” he grumbled as he headed for the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. I didn't drink it often, but I always had some on hand for whenever I felt the urge.

I was definitely feeling it now, but I didn't give in. I needed a completely clear head for what was about to happen.

“We're waiting for someone,” I said.

He scowled at me. “You and your mom ganging up on me?”

I shook my head. “It's got nothing to do with you.”

He took the beer into the living room and sat in the only chair, muttering something under his breath as he settled, but I didn't bother asking him to repeat it. I was pretty sure it hadn't been meant for my ears anyway. I knew I didn't want to hear it either way.

I went back into the kitchen to check the chicken I'd made. It was almost ready, which meant my timing was perfect because another knock came just as I was closing the oven again.

“Smells great, sweetie,” Mom said as she came inside. “I love what you've done with the place. Looks so much better than when I was...” Her voice trailed off as she stepped out of the small entryway and into the living room.

“I know you like getting the kid involved, Joan, but this is going a bit far.” Dad's voice wasn't slurred, but I was pretty sure half the beer was gone already.

“I'm not responsible for this, Eban.” Mom tossed her purse onto the couch even as she turned toward Dad, her hands automatically going to her hips in a gesture I'd seen a million times.

“Before this escalates,” I cut in, “how about you both take a seat and I can tell you why I asked you both to come over. Then we can move over to the table and eat because I'm sure you'll have questions and a lot you'll want to talk over. Might as well do it over a meal.”

“Well, that doesn't sound promising.” Mom sat down on the couch, taking the seat closest to Dad. “Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

I shook my head and decided that this would be easier if I stood. That way, I could see both of them...and keep some distance.

“I got a job offer.” I figured I'd bury the lead, get their support on the job before telling them about where it was.

“Thought you like where you worked?” Dad took another swallow of his beer. “Isn't that why you didn't want to be a doctor?”

I didn't bother reminding him that I'd never actually wanted to be a doctor. It had always been nursing.

“I do like working at the medical center, but it's a really stressful job.” I caught Dad's skeptical expression and forced myself to focus. “I've been thinking for the past couple months that maybe I needed to take a vacation. But then I got this offer and I'm thinking I might take it.”

“What is it?” Mom asked.

“It's in the private sector,” I explained. “One of my previous patients, he went home on Saturday but still needs some assistance. I was offered a position where I'd be taking care of his house and making sure his dressings are changed.”

“So a glorified housekeeper,” Dad sniped. “I didn't pay for college so you could clean houses.”

I took a slow breath and reminded myself that this was one of the reasons leaving was a good idea. I didn't need to start a fight by reminding Dad that he and Mom had helped with my tuition, but I'd paid most of it through scholarships and work.

I continued, “They need someone with medical experience who isn't afraid to help a bit around the house, do a little cooking. And since I have a psychology background too, they thought it would be a good idea.”

“'They' who?” Dad's eyes narrowed. “Who's got the kind of money it'd take to pay you what you need? You said
he
. Why can't his wife or kids take care of him?”

“He's not married,” I answered calmly, ignoring the way my heart gave a little lurch at the thought of X being married. “And he doesn't have kids.” At least, I didn't think he did. None had come to see him. “He used to be a soldier.”

“Then he really can't afford you,” Dad said.

“There's a trust.” No way was I going to try to explain the whole priest part of the equation. My family hadn't gone to church much, but I knew that, now, Dad had no use at all for religion. Bringing that up would guarantee we'd never get to the real discussion. “Money's not an issue.”

“I don't understand.” Mom's expression had shifted and I knew she finally realized I wouldn't have called them over just to tell them I was switching jobs. “Does Tanner not want you to take the job?”

Dad muttered a few choice words expressing his opinion about my now ex-boyfriend. He'd never been a fan.

“Tanner and I broke up.” I held up a hand before Mom could say anything. “And, yes, I'm okay. It was mutual. We realized we weren't going in the same direction anymore.”

“And this new job, it's the direction you're going?” Mom asked.

“I know what you're thinking,” I said. “And the answer's no. I'm not running away from him. The two of us ended on good terms.”

The look she gave me clearly said she didn't believe me. “What aren't you telling me?” She glanced at Dad. “Us, I mean.”

No more tap-dancing around it. “It's in Philadelphia.”

Silence for nearly a full minute.

“Pennsylvania?” Dad leaned forward.

I was impressed I'd managed to distract him from the beer. “Yes. That's where the job is.”

Mom was already shaking her head. “You can't leave. You especially can't move to Pennsylvania!”

“I'm taking vacation time now.” I hurried on. “Going out for a couple weeks to see if it's a good fit. If it is, I'll accept. If not, I'll come back.”

“So you just plan to walk away from your responsibilities?” Dad asked.

He was one to talk. “I'm taking care of my responsibilities,” I said instead. “I've spoken with the hospital, made arrangements there.”

“And what about your apartment? Your car? Your friends?” he pressed. “You just expect us to take care of all of it?”

I wanted to tell him that he owed me that much, considering how many times I'd cleaned up after him, but years of playing this game had taught me self-control. “I'd appreciate some help selling the car, but I'm paid up with my rent through the end of next month. I'll come back for the rest of my things before then if I decide to take the job.”

“Why are you doing this?” Mom asked. Her eyes welled up with the tears I'd known were coming. “How could you leave us? We need you.”

I sighed.

This was going to be a fun night.

B
y the time
my parents left my apartment last night, I was grateful Father O'Toole had wanted me to come out immediately. I knew if I stuck around to wait to sell my car, or finish out my lease, or do any of the other things my parents tried to convince me to do, they'd manage to guilt me into staying. Well, Mom would use guilt. Dad would just make me feel like I was being foolish, moving across the country when I had a perfectly adequate job here.

When I boarded the plane Friday morning, the sense of relief that went through me was more than the anxiety at what I was doing. No matter what they said, I knew I needed to do this, even if it was only for a couple weeks. Sometimes they acted like what happened to our family only happened to them, forgetting that I'd been hurt just as badly. They needed time by themselves to realize that they had to be adults and deal with things on their own, that they couldn't always count on me to be the grown-up for them.

The relief, however, didn't mean my nerves weren't stretched to the limit. I spent the last hour of the plane ride going over all of the possible ways this could go wrong. Not the least of which was that things here would end badly, and I'd have to slink back home, only to find that I had nothing back there either. I'd worked hard to get where I'd been back home, and my dad had been right in thinking that it was foolish to give it up on a long-shot. What I was doing might've been foolish, but I was equally as certain that it was necessary.

As I walked off the plane, I was seriously considering heading straight to the ticket counter to ask if my open-ended return ticket could be moved to today. Then I saw them. A handful of soldiers ahead of me, their uniforms telling me they were Air Force. The branch of service didn't matter. These were men and women who served the country. Like my brother had. Like X.

That's what I had to remember. As much good as this trip was doing for me, it wasn't about me. This was about X, and making sure that he was okay. Father O'Toole hadn't gone into any specifics about X's mental state, but the actions the priest had described worried me. His urgency also told me more than his words.

I didn't go to the ticket counter, but rather to the rental car I'd arranged to have waiting for me. Father O'Toole had offered to come pick me up, but I'd declined, saying I'd rather get the lay of the land, so to speak. I didn't mind driving, and it would give me a chance to clear my head from the flight. It'd been three hours, but the time difference meant that I'd arrived here four hours later than I'd left, making it early afternoon here. At least an hour wasn't much in the way of jet-lag.

The directions Father O'Toole had given me were good, so I had no trouble finding my way to Rittenhouse Square. What he hadn't told me, however, was the sort of neighborhood it was in. When the priest told me that there was a trust to pay for my expenses and a house where I'd have an entire floor, I'd assumed it was some cramped fixer-upper the church had given him for X, and I'd be staying in an attic. I hadn't really thought of it being a bad neighborhood, but I definitely hadn't expected anything like this.

Three story, red brick. Not exactly colonial, I didn't think, but definitely somewhere close to that time period. How in the world had a priest gotten his hands on this place? For the first time, I considered the possibility that the trust he'd mentioned had nothing to do with his parish.

I parked in front of the house, unsure where he'd want the car, then took a deep breath and checked my reflection in the mirror. Despite the make-up I'd applied before leaving, the shadows under my eyes were still visible. I adjusted the clip holding my hair back and hoped I was presentable enough. I didn't want to fuss over my appearance and make it look like I was trying to look good for X. Business presentable. That's what I wanted.

I exhaled slowly, then got out of the car. It was quieter here than I'd imagined it would be. I thought all big cities sounded the same. San Antonio was certainly full of noise, though I had to admit that I rarely ventured outside the small area that included work and home. I couldn't speak for all of Philadelphia, but this part was definitely much nicer than I'd anticipated.

I walked up the short front sidewalk, up the stairs, and knocked on the door. A minute passed and it opened. Father O'Toole beamed at me, and I couldn't help but smile back. I had a vague memory of my Grandpa Prinz smiling at me like that.

“Welcome, my dear. Come in.” He stepped to the side and swept out his arm. As I walked past, he asked, “No luggage?”

“I have a couple bags,” I said. “They're in the car. I figured I'd take a look around before bringing them in.”

The father nodded. “I understand. You won't want to bring any additional things until you're certain you're staying.”

“That's right.” I felt bad for saying it, but I had to make sure he understood, up front, that it wasn't guaranteed. I knew all too well what false hope could do.

“Let me show you around,” the priest said. His smile looked tighter now, but no less genuine. “On the first floor, we have the living room.” He gestured to our right. “The dining room.” To our left.

When he started to walk, I followed, the knots in my stomach tightening more with each step. X was here, but he hadn't come down to meet me. I didn't know what that meant. Had the father not told him I was coming? Or did X not want me here? I wasn't sure which scenario to hope for.

“Here's the kitchen.” Father O'Toole paused in the middle of it. “Since the chef is gone, I appreciate some help keeping the kitchen stocked with decent meals. None of them have to be elaborate, and I don't expect you to cook to X's tastes. If you want to spend one day making meals for the next five or six days, that's fine. I just don't want X eating any of those pre-packaged things.”

I nodded. He'd mentioned the cooking before. I didn't mind. I actually enjoyed it, but rarely had time to do more than zap something in the microwave. The kitchen wasn't elaborate, but everything in here was top of the line. Definitely a job perk.

“There's a door to the basement,” he continued. “It's pretty much just used for storage right now, but it's clean and well-lit. There's a walk-in pantry and a supply closet over there.” He started back the way we'd come in and went through the living room this time. “The first-floor bathroom is through there.” He pointed. “Then the library slash office.” He gestured to another door. “It's not huge, but it has a decent collection. There's a pull-out couch in there that I've been using the past few nights.”

“You don't have a room?” I asked.

He shook his head. “This was my family home, but when I started using it for charity work, I ceased keeping a room here. My work keeps me downtown most of the time, so I rarely come out here.”

I wasn't sure why this came as a surprise to me, but it did. I hadn't realized that I'd be staying with X alone.

“You'll have the top floor,” Father O'Toole said, walking back through the living room to the stairs. “There's a bedroom, full bath, and an extra room that I had set up as a living room of sorts. You're welcome to make any changes you wish. I want you to think of it as yours for as long as you're with us.”

I didn't want to think about how long or short that would be.

He started up the stairs and I followed.

“X has the second floor. There's a bedroom, full bath, living room, and I turned the fourth room into a therapy room for him. I had his physical therapist order the latest equipment. You'll meet him on Monday. He's the only one X hasn't chased off.” The priest paused on the landing and gestured down the hall. “We keep all of the medical supplies in the therapy room. First door to the left.”

I nodded, wondering which room X was in, and why he was hiding. Unless he was sleeping, which I didn't doubt was a possibility. He'd slept fitfully in the hospital and I doubted it'd gotten any better here. If it had, I wouldn't be here.

Before I spent too much time wondering, the first door on the right opened and a billow of steam rushed out.

Bathroom.

Then X followed, confirming my guess as he stepped into the hallway, drying his hair with the towel hanging around his neck. His skin glistened with moisture and I watched a drop of water make its way down his chest.

And then I realized that he didn't have a towel around his waist.

Heat flooded my face as I pulled my gaze up just in time to see his eyes narrow.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

The words felt like a blow. I hadn't expected overwhelming happiness, but I'd at least thought he'd be cordial.

“Xavier!” Father O'Toole said sharply.

He stepped in front of me, as if to shield me from the sight of X's naked body. Or maybe to protect me from the words. Probably both.

“It's not like she hasn't seen a naked man before, Father.” X's voice was full of bitterness. “And she won’t cringe away from the scars. You don't need to block her. Let her see that I'm fine and she can go back to her boyfriend and parents and job with a clear conscience.”

“She's not here to appease her conscience, X.” Father O'Toole remained firmly in front of me. “I hired her to help here.”

“I don't need her help,” he snapped. “You hear that, Nori? I don't need you here.”

“You obviously need something.” Father O'Toole's voice hardened. “You weren't supposed to get those bandages wet. You're going to make things worse.”

The pain I heard in X's brittle laugh twisted my heart.

“I doubt it. Why don't you just leave me alone? I can take care of myself.” He raised his voice slightly. “Go home, Nori. I don't want you here.”

A door slammed and I watched the priest's shoulders slump. I forced myself to keep my face blank. People who were hurting always said things they didn't mean, or even if they meant them, they came out more cruel and cutting than they would have under normal circumstances. Sometimes it was anger that they were broken and the people around them were whole. Sometimes it was fear of rejection. I had a feeling that it was both for X. I reminded myself of that and pushed the hurt aside.

“This way.” The father continued up the stairs and I followed.

It was slightly smaller up here than the second floor had been, the walls and ceiling clearly sloped to accommodate the roof. It was still the same size as my apartment back in Texas.

Father O'Toole turned to me. “Feel free to explore and arrange things to suit your tastes. All of the rooms are furnished and the linen closet is fully stocked. If you decide to stay, you can bring whatever you want from home. There are plenty of places these things can go where they'll do good.”

“And if I don't stay?” I asked quietly.

The priest's eyes saddened. “I'd never pressure you, my dear, but I do hope you'll stay on. What you saw downstairs...in the week since he's been back, he cycles between rude and belligerent, to not wanting to even get out of bed. I'm not sure which is the most frightening.”

I swallowed hard. I knew all too well what the father was feeling.

“I've helped all I can,” he continued. “But I'm afraid that if something doesn't change for X...” His voice trailed off for a moment. “I believe you're the only person who can help him.”

I said the only thing I could in response to that. “I'll do my best.”