Dom X - The Complete Box Set: Alpha Male Romance (7 page)

I
wanted out
.

I glared at the wall. The same fucking wall I'd been glaring at for the past three fucking months. It was still an off-white or gray shade, the sort of mediocre color that was supposed to be soothing or some shit like that. It had started to drive me nuts by the second week, and I was pretty sure it'd only taken that long because I was too out of my mind on pain meds to notice until April.

I'd spent my birthday staring at the damn wall. Not that I'd wanted to celebrate. Or even
had
anything to celebrate. One year shy of thirty and I was done. Done with everything.

Zed came to talk to me right before he and the rest of the unit shipped out in the middle of April. For the first time since I'd met him, he wasn’t smiling. I knew I should've reassured him. Made some joke about him being the pretty one now. Everyone knew that's what people in my position were supposed to do. Make the person who came to see them feel better about the situation.

I knew he felt guilty about what happened too. He told me as much. Somehow, he thought that if he'd been hanging out with me instead of hooking up with the yoga instructor or whatever the hell she was, I wouldn't have been in this bed. I knew that wasn't the case, and I didn't blame him. I told him that much, but I knew he wanted more from me.

I hadn't been able to give it to him. I didn't have anything left to give. It was taking everything I had just to make it from one minute to the next.

I was relieved when I heard the unit was moving out. I considered Zed my friend, but I didn't want to see him. I didn't know if I'd ever want to see him – or anyone else – ever again. I put up with the people here looking at me because it was their job, and I knew they'd seen worse. None of them looked at me the way everyone else did. Or the way I knew everyone else would. The way people looked at every disabled vet or any victim of a horrible accident. That combination of pity and revulsion, followed by shame at their disgust.

At least, the first lieutenant who'd come to see me last month had been able to keep his face blank with military perfection. He'd expressed his sympathy and then started to discuss my options.

What fucking options?

See if I could transition into some sort of desk job? Become a poster boy for the military: protecting us at home as well as overseas? Recruiting? I didn't blame the army for what happened to me. Hell, it was my own damn fault that I’d ran into that burning building. I had no one to blame but myself.

I still loved my country and my military. If someone asked me if I'd sign up again, knowing where it had led me, I'd answer yes without hesitating.

But I didn't want to be a fucking recruiter.

I was a soldier.

From the moment I signed those papers, it was all I ever wanted to do, all I ever planned on doing. The army had given me a sense of purpose, a direction. They were the closest thing I had to a family for a decade.

But I was no good to them anymore.

I was no good to anyone.

I started to turn my head, feeling the now-familiar tug of the scar tissue tightening around my cheek and jaw. It wasn't pleasant, but it also wasn't painful anymore. Not really.

Maybe I'd just gotten used to the pain.

I supposed that was part of it. Oh, it was still there, though not as bad as it had been when I first woke up, but present enough to still need pain relief every once in a while. I'd had them wean me off the drugs as quickly as possible, but there were times it was too much, particularly at night. I'd never slept well, and all of this made matters worse. Much worse. Those were the times I wanted meds.

Well, as much as I wanted anything anyway.

I heard the sound of footsteps slowing slightly and knew someone would be entering my room in a few seconds. The faintest hint of interest sparked inside me at the thought that it should be time for Nori's usual shift.

I finished turning my head, waiting to see the dark-haired nurse who was one of the few people I didn't mind seeing. The other nurses and doctors were all fine, but there was something about Nori that somehow managed to find a crack in the darkness I'd pulled around me. The darkness that wasn't a cloud, but rather a fucking shell.

From the moment I'd heard how badly I'd been injured and what it meant for my future, I'd lost interest in pretty much everything. Except her. I didn't know how or why, but that damn girl got to me more than I wanted her to.

It wasn't Nori, and I settled back under the black.

Dr. Catlin Fellner had been my primary doctor in the burn unit, and she was the one to give me the bad news. In her early fifties, she was a plain woman, but something about her demanded attention and respect. She was a little under five and a half feet tall, but I had a feeling she could've given some of our biggest drill sergeants a run for their money.

“I looked over all of your charts and progress reports,” she began in her matter-of-fact way. “No infections. The dressings on your arm, as well as a couple places on your chest and back, still need to be applied.”

I tuned her out, knowing the rest of what she'd say. Nothing much had changed over the past few days. There'd been some concern in the beginning about how the skin on my arm and my broken bones would hinder one or the other from healing. I didn't know all of the medical jargon or explanations for any of it, but I did know it hurt like hell and the mess of scar tissue I had left wasn't pretty. It hadn't been my arm, however, that had kept me here this long. That award went to my lungs since I needed regular breathing treatments for longer than they'd expected.

“Xavier, are you listening to me?” The doctor's voice was sharp.

My eyes jerked back to her. “Not really,” I answered honestly.

Dr. Fellner's eyes narrowed. “I know you don't want to be here, but I won’t release you until I'm satisfied you're well enough to go home.”

I almost scoffed at her and asked what home I was supposed to go to. My home for the past ten years was wherever the army sent me. Except, if I was truly honest, I'd never really thought of any of those bases as home. Despite all of the shit in my past, Philadelphia was still what I thought of when I heard the word
home
. As long as I had one person in that city who cared about me, it was still home.

And I had that, no matter how much I didn't want it anymore.

I knew what I wanted didn't matter to Father Doron O'Toole though. Not when it went against what he believed was right for me. The problem was, everything he'd done for me since the moment we met had made me want to be a better man. And I'd tried my hardest to succeed.

I walked down the street, resisting the urge to pull my hood up. It would hide my face, but it would also keep me from having my peripheral vision. I wasn't an idiot. I knew I was in some serious shit. I'd been away for nearly two years, fending off the threats that Martinez had sent my way. Now that I was out, I knew he'd come after me even harder.

After all, I was the reason he was rotting behind bars.

What a lot of people didn't understand about the kind of life I'd lived was that the concept of honor among thieves wasn't entirely inaccurate. To use less than noble purposes to take out someone else's crew was one thing.

But no one liked a snitch.

No matter what Martinez had done to make me want to betray him, no one in my world would ever forgive me for what I'd done.

I couldn't forgive myself.

But not for turning in Martinez or testifying against him. Those were the only right things I'd ever done.

Ever.

And it had all been for nothing.

I heard the footsteps behind me, and for a few seconds, I thought about running. Jumping a train into the center of the city and getting lost there. I could run somewhere else, start new. I could get a job that paid in cash, make a life for myself.

I didn't move any faster. What was the point? I'd kept myself alive in juvie, somehow thinking that when I got out, things would be different. But as soon as I stepped outside, I knew that was a lie I'd told myself. I didn't believe it anymore.

The first hit didn't take me by surprise. The fact that there were three of them told me that Martinez's people thought I'd fight back.

Or maybe they just wanted me dead.

That was okay.

I lost count of how many times they hit me, and it even stopped hurting after a while. Everything stopped. I drifted above it all, feeling my body jerk and twitch under the assault.

I waited for it to be over.

Except I heard someone shouting, saying the cops were on the way. I heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked. Then more than one person running away.

Then I heard the voice again, closer this time. A man's face blurred in my vision.

“Oh, kid. What'd you do?”

I'd been almost as close to dead then as I'd been when I arrived here. Broken ribs, fingers and collarbone. Bruised internal organs. A concussion.

The man had picked me up and carried me to his car. I barely remembered anything until a couple days later. That was when I'd come to and found out that my savior was a priest in his late fifties. A priest who'd pulled a shotgun on three gang members.

Even I had to respect that.

Father O'Toole hadn't stopped there either. He'd stayed with me in the hospital, given me a couch to sleep on and a place to work. He'd helped me get back into my senior year of school and graduated. He'd supported my decision to become a soldier and had been there to see me off when I'd left for boot camp. He was always there when I went back to the city. Always ready to give me words of wisdom.

He really was my family.

“I was going to tell you, Xavier, that we've decided to release you.”

The doctor's words immediately pulled my attention back to her.

“You have?”

She gave me a thoughtful look. “You've been doing that a lot lately, haven't you?”

I shrugged, not quite sure what she was asking.

“Disappearing inside your head,” she clarified.

I didn't say anything. It wasn't like I was going back to the army and had to worry about some shrink's profile, but if she thought I was depressed, it might make her change her mind about letting me go.

“We want you to be healthy, Xavier.” Her voice softened. “Body and mind.”

I said what I knew she needed to hear. “I'm just stir-crazy, doc. Not used to lying around. Eager to get out of here.”

Her expression was skeptical, but she nodded. “Tomorrow evening. Let Father O'Toole know when to pick you up.”

I nodded in agreement, my thoughts drawn back to the father.

Father.

I'd always hated that word until I'd met Doron. He'd shown me what a father was really supposed to be. It didn't matter that he'd had nothing to do with my creation. He'd shown me what it meant to be a man, what it meant to be loved.

He was also the only reason I hadn't killed myself yet.

I
wasn't working today
, but Dr. Fellner told me yesterday that X would be released this evening. I wanted to say goodbye.

It was weird, this strange relationship we'd established over the past three months. It wasn't anything close to romantic, or even what I'd call friendship, but there was something between us I couldn't deny.

I'd never been anything but professional with him, but I couldn't deny that he occupied my thoughts more than any other patient ever had. It wasn't like I was having romantic daydreams or anything like that. It was more like I worried about him. A lot.

At first, I told myself it was because his injuries were severe and I'd cared for him from the moment he'd come into the hospital. I was simply more invested in his well-being because of that.

Except I knew that wasn't entirely true. After all, I hadn't been pulled into caring for him at first. It had been my choice to volunteer. I could've just as easily headed up to the burn unit to wait. Or I could've gone with one of the other patients who'd come into the ER that morning. I hadn't though. He was the reason I'd wanted to help.

Sometime in April, I'd given up trying to figure out why. As long as I didn't cross any lines – and I had no desire to do so – and as long as my care of other patients remained exemplary, I had no reason to continue to overanalyze things.

I knocked on his door as I paused in the doorway. It felt weird to wait for him to ask me to come in, but I wasn't here in an official capacity. I wasn't even wearing my scrubs. It was June here in San Antonio, which meant my shorts and t-shirt were appropriate casual wear. When I'd come to see off Ivar Durward in May, one of my former patients, I'd dressed similarly. There'd been several of us there then, wanting to say goodbye to one of the unit's favorite patients.

I was the only one here for X.

He'd never been the kind of patient who cussed us out or thrown things or anything like that, but he was far from pleasant. Surly was probably the best word to describe him, though I was sure there were less pleasant ones that had been used.

“What do you want?”

As I said...

I gave him a smile as I entered the room. I knew X well enough to know that unless he specifically said for me to leave, it was okay to come in. I studied him as I walked toward the bed. The scars on his face were healing nicely. He hadn't said anything about it, but I had a feeling he was growing his dark blond hair out to draw attention away from the damage on his cheek and jaw.

“I hear you're leaving tomorrow.” I leaned against the wall rather than sitting in the chair.

Aside from the times at the very beginning when I'd been working myself to death, I tried to avoid sitting when I came in to see how he was doing. Somehow, it felt more casual to stand than it would have if I'd sat to talk to him.

He shrugged and I saw a flash of pain go across his azure eyes. He was still a handsome man, the scars on his face not really detracting from his features. His shoulders were still broad, and he pushed himself enough in PT that his muscles hadn't lost much of their definition. He was physically strong and would probably be able to eventually get back to a normal life.

Rather, the normal life of a civilian. And I knew from experience that kind of normal wasn't the same thing to a soldier.

“Not working today?” His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

There was no doubt about the challenge on his face. Crossing his arms like that would be pulling at the tight scar tissue, possibly breaking it. It had to be painful, but he was still doing it. I knew he was waiting to see what I'd say if I reprimand him or if I'd come over and check his bandages.

“Nope.” I shook my head, refusing to play his game.

He'd done it before, in dozens of different ways, like he was trying to create a reason to dislike me. Push me away. It was a common defense mechanism, I knew. And I wasn't going to let him win.

“Why'd you come then?” He stretched his left arm back out.

“I wanted to see you before you left,” I answered honestly. “You have such a charming personality, after all.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't smile or laugh. That wasn't surprising. He hadn't done either as far as I knew, not since arriving here. That little twitch told me he hadn't quite given up all the way. A part of him was still there, and that meant he could still make it.

“Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?” X asked, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “I'm sure you have better things to do with your time off than spend it at work.”

I ignored his question and his comment. “Is Father O'Toole picking you up?”

X nodded.

I met the priest shortly after he arrived here, and I'd taken an instant liking to him. I'd never had much use for religion, not after what happened to my family, and I found most religious figures to either be so hypocritical I couldn't respect them, or so legalistic that I couldn't understand why anyone would want to be part of something like that. Doron O'Toole, however, was like no one I'd ever met before.

He hadn't shared much about X's past, only that he'd taken X in and had practically adopted him as a son. I'd been curious, of course, about the circumstances that would've brought together someone like X and a priest, but I hadn't pried. I understood that if X wanted me to know any of it, it would have to come from him.

The father's respect of X's privacy had been one of the things that first made me like him. Over the past three months, I'd gotten to know more about him, and everything I learned made me like him more. His faith was genuine, sincere, but he never tried to preach or pressure. He never judged or made me feel like he was criticizing anything about my life. I knew that if I ever wanted to talk to anyone about what happened with my brother and with my parents, I would want to go to him.

“I know Father O'Toole's been staying at Saint Mary's,” I continued, hoping to draw him into a conversation. “Is he planning on getting an apartment or house around here? I could recommend a couple good areas.”

X's eyes flicked up to mine, then away. “We're not staying in Texas.”

My smile stayed on my face even though my stomach twisted. I knew that was a possibility. X and Father O'Toole were from Philadelphia. It only made sense that they would go back. A part of me was hoping against it though.

“Back to Pennsylvania then?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

He gave a curt nod. “He's been away from his parish too long.”

I didn't suggest that X stay here alone. That wouldn't have made any sense. His friend's unit had been sent overseas. While he still had contacts at the base, none were close enough for the sort of support he'd need. He wasn't an invalid, but he'd need assistance changing the dressings he was left with. He'd also need help getting back to full strength.

No matter how hard he pushed himself in PT, living on his own would be a completely different experience, especially since he'd never done it before. For someone who'd joined the army young, transitioning into a civilian life was difficult enough. Adding on the limitations he would have at first would make it more so.

“So he's going to help you get settled there then?” I kept my voice light and gentle, shoving my personal distress down deep.

He lifted a shoulder. “I guess.”

I gave him a hard look. He'd been wanting to leave the hospital since long before he was ready. Now he was getting what he wanted and he didn't seem to care. I knew they'd had a counselor talk to him a couple weeks ago, but I also knew that X was smart enough to tell a therapist what they needed to hear to believe he was okay.

Concern seeped into the sadness I felt at the idea of his leaving. “Aren't you excited about going home?”

His gaze met mine, eyes cold. “Actually, I'm tired. Do you mind?”

I pushed myself off the wall and tried not to let him see how much his dismissal bothered me. In fact, I didn't want to even think about it myself. It shouldn't have hurt me, not really. I never took anything my patients said to heart, and this was far from the cruelest thing I'd had directed at me.

“Get some rest,” I said, pleased to hear my voice sound completely normal. “You'll need your strength for your trip.” I started toward the door, then paused in the doorway. I didn't look at him as I added, “Take care of yourself, X.”

“Bye, Nori.”

The words were so quiet that I almost missed them. I didn't turn around or even acknowledge that I'd heard. I preferred to keep that farewell rather than risk him closing himself off again if I tried to prolong a conversation.

I barely registered the elevator ride back down to the lobby or even the walk to my car. Even the heat from outside did little to attract my attention. I was glad X was doing well enough to be released, and I was thankful he had someone like Father O'Toole to help him. But I knew I would miss him.

That wasn't what was bothering me though. For the first few days after Ivar left, I'd missed his easy-going personality, his smile, but he eventually faded away into the hundreds of other patients I'd attended over the years.

I didn't think that would happen with X though, and that worried me. I'd invested far too much in him, in his recovery. Going into nursing, I'd known that my past might cause me to get too close to my patients, to see in them a way to fix things that were already broken. Until now, I'd always managed to keep those two parts of my life separate. Something about X had changed things.

As I climbed into the driver's seat of my car, I winced as the hot leather scorched the backs of my legs. I'd forgotten to remote turn it on while I was on my way out so that the air conditioning would cool it down. Even as I started the car, my phone rang and I cursed as I dug in my purse for it. I swore again when I saw my mom's name on the caller ID, but I answered it.

“Hey, Mom.” I closed my eyes as the air in the car began to cool. My head was starting to throb. “Everything okay?”

“No.”

She sounded more agitated than upset.

“What's wrong?”

“Your father.”

Of course. Mom didn't really love being a waitress, but she rarely complained about her job. She didn't really have any friends. She'd pushed them all away years ago. That left me and Dad. Even though the two of them had been divorced for years, he was still the center of her life. I'd tried telling her once that she'd divorced him because being with him hadn't been healthy anymore, which meant still being a part of his life wasn't exactly healthy either.

She hadn't given me a response.

“Is he okay?” I wasn't even really worried when I asked. I was sadly used to this sort of conversation.

“I went by the bar this morning on my way to work.”

Of course she had. I didn't bother to point out that the bar Dad liked to go to on the occasions he didn't feel like drinking at home was nowhere near her new place or the restaurant where she worked.

“His car was still there.”

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. I knew how this would go. I'd remind her that he could've left it there last night and taken a cab home which was actually responsible of him. She'd say that it didn't matter, that he drank too much. I'd say I knew that, but there wasn't anything we could do because he was an adult. She'd say that we should try to help him. I'd remind her that we already had tried, dozens of times and that they'd both made their decisions. She'd guilt me into promising to talk to him since I was a nurse and knew all that medical stuff. I'd promise, and then have to plan another awkward discussion with my father where I came off sounding like the parent. What neither of them would do was ask me if I was okay.

The cyclical nature of all of this had gotten old years ago, and I really didn't feel like going around in another circle right now.

But I wouldn't interrupt her or cut things short simply because I knew where they would end. This was just how my life went and I was trapped in it. Something needed to change, and soon, but I didn't know how.