To Fall (The To Fall Trilogy Book 1) (25 page)

37

Abby

We made it back to the SUV and Xander texted someone before hopping in. On the way home, we picked up sandwiches for dinner. Instead of taking the turn to my development, Xander veered west toward the White Tank Mountains.

Gentle droplets sprinkled the windshield, and ominous clouds hung over the peaks, tamping down the setting sun’s brilliance. Nearing the mountain, he drove onto an unassuming road. A warning sign read “No Trespassing, Private Road.” Where were we going?

“Did you find another practice spot for us?” I asked.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Something like that, but better.”

He continued to drive into and up the mountain as the storm splintered around us. Thunder boomed and the rain came heavier and faster. The red-orange sky mixed with intermittent flashes of lightning, and the wipers chased a continuous sheet of water on the windshield. I was afraid the SUV would lose traction on the slick dirt road. With the care of a stunt car driver, Xander maneuvered turn after turn on the invisible path ahead with me gripping the armrests. I could imagine this was what amusement park rides were like. With one last, sharp right turn, we faced an enormous single-story ranch home. There wasn’t another living soul for miles. I doubted I could find this place again.

Xander turned the engine off. “This is my house.” His look was hesitant, and mine was disbelief.

I had wondered where he lived, what his siblings were like outside of school, and what his dad was like. Once I asked where their mother was and he clammed up. I didn’t ask again. At times, he was so closed off it was hurtful. He kept me on the outside, begging to be shown any part of him. Facing his house, a spark of hope bloomed that I would finally know all his secrets tonight.

His home was farther away than I thought; he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t live anywhere near me. Through the waterlogged windows, I saw a closed four-car garage. The front yard was simple but nice with desert landscaping. Whatever his dad sold, he must sell a lot of it to afford a place like this.

Xander held my hand as we sprinted to the front. He unlocked the ornate glass door, guided me in, and left me to grab dry towels.

Windows were everywhere, barren of blinds and curtains, and the last gleam of orange from the sun storm bled into the home. From each window, the mountain stayed in view, wrapping around the house with natural peaks and valleys like battlements of a castle. The interior was inviting and warm with simple but elegant furnishings of grays and whites.

Xander wrapped a soft towel around me and showed me the rest of the house. Plush gray couches in the front sitting room surrounded a stone fireplace. Deeper within was the family room with two more of the same couches and a mammoth flat-screen television.

The room opened to the kitchen that was straight out of a magazine, a chef’s kitchen. Racks of silver hung above an island; each sized pot and pan dangled over a butcher block. The appliances were state of the art, stainless steel. Dark ebony wood cabinets—that I couldn’t reach without a step stool—lined the walls. Margaret would love this kitchen.

He put our dinner on the marbleized gray granite counter. The windows extended to every room, and from the kitchen, I could see the backyard from all angles.

Off the kitchen, a hallway led into the dining room. A rustic wood table seating eight was planted in the middle with modern art on the walls. He led me down the hall and the bedroom doors were open. He didn’t take me into them, but as we passed, I saw each had a large bay window with the view of their mountain. Each room had its own bathroom. Four rooms with one bed in each. That didn’t add up—there should be five of them. Where did their dad sleep when he was home?

Through the house, I noticed there weren’t any family pictures, which I thought was odd, but maybe they hadn’t unpacked everything yet, or they were the type to keep them in their bedrooms.

Xander guided me to the last door at the end of the hall. Stepping inside, he said, “This is my room.”

I was in awe. The wood of his bedroom furniture and desk were distressed and dark. The fabric of his bed and curtains were satin gray with light gray walls. The walls were bare, but the room somehow was warm and cozy. A large bay window sat opposite his bed; the blinds were drawn up and curtains were pulled back to view the setting sun over the mountain peak.

“I have the smallest bathroom, but I have the best view. I like to watch the sunset from my bed. It’s my third favorite thing to look at.”

I asked, “What’s second and first?”

“The sunrise is a distant second to you.”

Blushing, I turned. This wasn’t like my room, which was clean, but I still had mementos and pictures littered on my nightstand, dresser, and desk. He only had a laptop and lamp on his desk, and there was something oblong and brown on his dresser—the football from the night we met. I picked it up. “I wondered what happened to it.”

He tilted his head with a shy smile. “You left it at the party. Beth put it down. It reminded me of you and I wanted to keep it.”

I returned it to the dresser with a shake of my head. “This whole time?”

He nodded. “Abby, I’ve imagined you in here many times. This is a little surreal for me.”

“What were we doing?”

Grinning, his cheeks flushed. “Practicing.” I couldn’t help but feel giddy over his admission that he thought of us in here…like
that
.

If this was the smallest bathroom, I wondered what the other bathrooms were like. Gray granite lined the sink with brushed nickel hardware and more of the same dark wood cabinets. There wasn’t a tub, but the shower was large enough for five people. Tiled granite made up the shower walls and it was enclosed by frameless glass etched with a detailed desert theme. With the exception of the water closet, the entire wall of the bathroom was window, completely exposing.

Back in the kitchen, we ate our sandwiches. Xander glanced over with a smile playing on his lips as if he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell me.

I excused myself to his bathroom; luckily, I had the forethought to bring a toothbrush and hairbrush. Being here was surreal for me, too. I wondered where his family was. And why did he keep his house a secret until today?

Country music turned on from somewhere. Looking up, I noticed speakers in the ceiling placed throughout the house.

The rain had stopped and the sun set for the day. Walking down the hall, the lights were off and the house was dark except for a soft glow in the kitchen. I called Xander’s name.

“Out here.”

Stepping out of the glass door into the backyard, I saw him by the pool looking to the water, lost in thought. I crossed a patio covered in travertine, and onto the grass that was cold and wet under my feet. The hot night air was thick with moisture and smelled of fresh rain and earth.

On the patio was dark wicker and red cushioned furniture encircling a stone fire pit. Red, yellow, and orange flames licked the fire glass, and above it was an awning strung with twinkle lights.

The side yard had a volleyball net over a pit that looked well used with large divots in the sand. Along the stone wall was a full outdoor kitchen and another seating area covered by a matching awning. Placed around the yard in gravel were tall palm trees and beautiful flowers of bright reds, pinks, purples, and yellows. The rectangular pool, the color of midnight, was deep with a diving board, reflecting the few stars peeking through broken clouds.

Xander took out his cell and I watched him set the alarm. He put it down on a table and I giggled at him. “What? Hey, you laugh now, but if I brought you home late, we might not be able to do this for a while.”

The thought sobered me. I doubted my parents would forbid me to see Xander, but I didn’t want to break their rules and disappoint them. “Where’s your family?”

He looked thoughtful. “My dad’s away, of course. And” —his fingers trailed down my arm to my right hand— “my brother and sisters are giving us space.” He kissed my palm and smiled. “Dance with me.”

Xander didn’t wait for my answer and he didn’t need to. Wrapping my hands around his neck, he pulled me against him. Space didn’t exist between us; we were two bodies yearning to fit together. After one slow song, my feet left the ground and he took us to the couch by the fire.

Sinking into the cushion, he kissed me, his tongue tracing and exploring as if committing me to memory. Dipping his head, his mouth went to my throat, leaving a trail of kisses behind and I craned for more. His lips grazed my collarbone; for a moment, I thought he would take it further, but his mouth returned to mine and I fought the swell of disappointment. We stayed that way as time drifted into the unknown.

My hands wandered into his hair, playing with the cropped strands that tumbled over my fingers. The next thing I knew, I was in his lap, straddling him. This was intimate like the wave pool, only the thin fabric of our bathing suits between us. Tugging me closer, I gasped, feeling
him
, his response to my kiss, my body, to me. I liked knowing that I could do that to him, feeling his physical need for me. A layer of him was exposed and I finally saw him unguarded, as he trusted me with a piece of himself.

Xander’s strong arms cinched around me and held me to his hard frame. His lips were an intoxicating drug I couldn’t get enough of; our tongues slid along each other like warm velvet. A burst of heat deep inside my belly pooled and escaped to the rest of me. My breaths came faster and my heart beat erratically.

He skimmed my skin from the soft pads of my feet, along the length of my legs, gentle enough to tickle. Two large hands snuck under my shirt, and soft fingers drew along my spine. Itching for more of him, I pulled his shirt up to touch his ripped stomach and my fingers strummed along the etchings of muscles under smooth, firm skin. Xander broke our kiss long enough to yank his shirt off as though it was an unwelcome barrier between us.

His lips went right back to mine. The warmth of his body radiated through my thin clothes, almost too warm to touch with bare skin. I felt along hard muscles, past the breadth of his shoulders where those two marks hid in plain sight, and the pads of my fingers outlined them. My shirt inched farther up and Xander’s stomach melted against mine.

His thumbs brushed the skin just under my bikini top and he kept my shirt bunched up. Xander whispered, “Abby, I want you to share this with me.”

Though I was more than ready for us to take the next step, panic surged into me. He would see it. “Xander—” I cringed.

His hazel eyes held mine. “It’s a part of you, your history. You never have to hide from me.”

I relented, choosing to trust him. Holding my arms up, he slipped the shirt over my head and kept his eyes on mine. He didn’t look, and the tension keeping my body locked, eased.

Closing his eyes, he kissed me. He kept one hand wrapped around me, pinning our hips together and I restrained from rocking against him to quench a building ache in my center. The other hand drew a line with his fingers from my collarbone to my scar, sliding along the raised, mottled skin. Smooth and unhurried lips kissed my jaw and down my throat, forcing tingles up and down my body.

Xander laid me back and cradled my head in both hands. His lips left warm kisses over my chest, then my scar.

So much overwhelmed me. His touch was intimate and exploratory. His kisses were gentle and reverent. He revealed me, a part of my physical being that I kept hidden from the world. A burden—that for this night, this moment—he stripped away and exposed. Deep within me that fear remained. When he opened his eyes, he would see my scar as I did—an ugly blemish marring my skin, a mark of weakness. But he touched me so lovingly, as no one had before, and tears flooded my eyes that I didn’t know would come.

Xander brought me back up, took one hand from behind my head, and rested it over my scar. His hand was so large, at least three times bigger than the weak heart beneath it. His lips returned to mine and my tears fell; the salt tingled on my tongue. He wiped them away with his fingers as though he expected them to be there and welcomed their release.

Drawing away, Xander’s head dipped, and his dark hair tickled my chin. His eyes were open now, looking at his hand, moving his fingers to trace the scar. I watched in trepidation, not expecting what came next.

His voice was raw and quiet. “Abby, I’m in love with you.”