Ten Thousand Words (21 page)

Until the plane took off. The second we were airborne, my boiling rage went icy.

What the fuck did I do?

As the g-force pressed me into the back of my seat, every memory Xanthe and I had created together blasted my aching heart.

On the flight from Amsterdam, Xanthe had been guarding herself against someone she thought was a prick. She’d known who I was when I knocked her over. She had known she’d have to meet me and work with me.

If I had been in her shoes, what would I have done?

I would have introduced myself as Elaine, if for nothing else than to make said prick extremely uncomfortable. But Xanthe wasn’t a prick. She’d decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, see what I’d have to say. She’d given me a second chance.

Oh, God…

I had told her to fuck herself and left her shaking and crying.

“If you had known Elaine was me, would you have even sat next to me and spoken to a person you considered mentally unhinged?”

Xanthe put her thoughts, her hopes, and her desires out there for anyone,
everyone
, to simply pick up and dig around in. She’d spent nearly her whole life having her mental health be in doubt. Elaine H. Ford was just a shield between herself and the rest of the world.

When she’d been with me, she had simply been Xanthe—not a writer, not an author on the verge of exploding all over the mainstream. She was just a woman who had smelled steak and wanted some, who laughed at herself for thinking that watching
Ancient Aliens
was the best form of entertainment on a Thursday night. She was a woman who had shown me what she was afraid of when I’d asked.

I
scared the shit out of her, and still, she had taken a chance on a man who had a reputation for fucking ’em and leaving ’em hanging.

She’d tried to tell me about Elaine before our last date; I realized this now.

Xanthe was cautious. She thought shit through before she did anything. It had taken me four times of touching her hand before she had even considered touching mine back. From that moment on though, she had opened up to me.

Even when I was being a jerk, sick with jealousy over her spending the night out with some other guy—and, incidentally, his wife and child—she’d taken pity on me and rescued me from the situation I had gotten myself into while trying to make her jealous.

Holy shit, I’m a complete and utter fuckwad!

A prisoner of my own making on this flight, I was unable to change my course. I couldn’t go to her. Worse, I had abandoned her! And it wasn’t just at the convention—and I was going to be in a shit-ton of trouble for that—but she was now driving to Boston.

She was going to a cemetery—
alone
.

Oh God.

Xanthe Malcolm, an only child, was visiting her dead mother and grandmother by herself. Their deaths had set her upon a course that had her constantly questioning her sanity.

She was so wonderfully, amazingly, incredibly
normal
.

She hardly ever let anyone into her life. Circumstances had made her build a fortress around her heart, shutting people out. The friends she spoke of and the ones I had met were friends she’d had for a long time. She kept them close and loved them with her whole being.

When I had told her there was nothing between us, that it had all been a lie…the look on her face…she had let me in, and what had I done? I’d shown her I didn’t deserve to be anywhere near her heart.

For nine hours, I sat in my seat, torturing myself with thoughts of Xanthe—all that I knew of her and everything I had yet to learn. She had earned my heart; she hadn’t stolen it. I’d given it to her for being the perfect woman for me.

The minute the plane landed in Frankfurt, I turned on my phone, seeing a ton of missed calls and messages. Grabbing my carry-on from the overhead compartment, I hurried off the plane and ran through the terminal, phone glued to my ear.

“Oliver, it’s me…”
said a tearful Xanthe as her message came through.

The sound of her voice, sad and in pain, constricted around my chest. Tears burned in my eyes as I listened to her tell me how she understood that I wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

Dropping weakly onto a bench, I whispered, “Xanthe Love.”

“I just wanted you to know…”
Her voice broke as she choked around her words.

Miserably, I sat with my forehead in my hand.

“I felt it, too.”

“Oh God…” I gasped, sobbing like one destroyed, in the middle of the airport. Wiping my face, I sat up and pressed the button to call her back. I was going to set this straight right the fuck now.

An automated voice answered, “The number you’re trying to reach cannot be completed as dialed.”

I tried again. And again. And again. I resorted to sending a text, and even that was rejected.

Unable to send.

What the fuck?

Depression settled heavily over me now. It was fucking imperative that I reach her! She had to know that I was sorry—again—and that by no means was it over.

I hadn’t slept on the flight, and I was sorely lagging. I needed coffee and probably some food, but I had no appetite. I wasn’t able to think straight for shit. Standing up, I threw my bag over my shoulder, hunted down the closest coffee stand, and ordered a triple-shot mocha latte. It was fucking delicious. No wonder Xanthe had been so heartbroken over that lost cup.

Finding a seat in the little café, I opened up my bag, looking for my camera. I spotted a first-edition paperback and went for that instead. I was nearly finished with
Haunted Bonds
. Unable to bear the thought of that, I opened it and started at the beginning.

Once again, I became lost in the story. This time, knowing that it came from Xanthe…it was like seeing her all over again. New. Transformed. There was darkness within her, and it was quite profound. She described horrors as though she had seen them in the flesh.

What happened to her to make her think this way? Was it merely the death of her mother and grandmother?

The evil that Lindsey Sparks fought against…
were they Xanthe’s nightmares? Her demons?

And Donovan was now something else for me, too. He was the only one strong enough to bring Lindsey out of herself. He showed her that there was more to live for than her obsession with her work, than destroying evil.

The more I read, the more I saw into the woman I had been helplessly falling for. I didn’t want to be helped. I wanted to be the one to discover all the things that made Xanthe who she was. I ended up spending two hours glued to her pages.

Checking the time, I saw I had half an hour to find my gate. Stowing the book in my bag, I pulled out my phone and called Xanthe again. Same deal. I was going to panic soon if I didn’t speak with her.

I did the next best thing. I called Trey.

“Trey Fawkes speaking.”

“I’ve fucked up.”

“You don’t fucking say!” he shouted.

“Trey—”

“Do you have any idea what sort of shit this does for FairFawkes? If people get wind of this, no one will want to work with us! I just got off the phone with that Mandy woman.”

Shit.
The fucking contract.

“We came up with an excuse. She let Dreamstone know that you got a call after the convention, an emergency that required you to leave immediately. She told them something happened in our family but disclosed nothing more than that. I’ve called Mama and Papa already—”

“Jesus—”

“You’d better fucking pray, Oliver, because this is bad. If Xanthe hadn’t called me this morning—”

“You spoke to her?” Joy exploded inside me. “Was she okay? What did she say?”

“She was quite upset that you’d vanished. What the hell? I thought she was everything you’d been waiting for!”

“She is. I was just so fucking furious. I didn’t stop to think.”

“She told me that she’s Elaine Ford.”

Breathing in deep, I replied, “Yes. It’s what set me off. I found out when she came into the convention.” Just the memory of my Xanthe in that fucking dress had me slowing to a stop and closing my eyes. “I…I’ve never been so mad at anyone in my life. It wasn’t until I left that I realized she had been trying to tell me for a while.”

“What you’ve said about Elaine, wondering about the sanity of the mind that came up with those stories—the ‘torture, rape, and dismemberment’—it’s
my
mind. Those are
my
stories.”

She had told me. I just hadn’t been listening. I’d been terrified that she was trying to find any excuse to back out of having a relationship with me.

“She wanted me to tell you that she was sorry.”

“I know. She left me a message. I’ve been trying to call her, but it says the number can’t be reached. And my text messages won’t send.”

“Oh, damn.”

“What?”

“It sounds like she’s blocked your number.”

“What?” I spluttered. “Why would she do that?”

“Maybe because you violated the contract? Left her alone to face the masses of rabid Donovan fans waiting to meet the man who fulfilled the role of their hero? Hurt her feelings? Take your pick.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I had done much worse than hurting her precious heart. Making it to my gate just in time, I handed over my boarding pass and was ushered through.

“Trey, please call her and—”

“No. No way. This is all on you. You fucked up. You fix it.”

“How can I if she’s blocked me?” I fumed.

“Figure it out. She’s a client of ours. Don’t make me do that.”

Damn it!

“When do I pick you up?” he asked.

“In about three hours.”

“See you then.”

He hung up, and I knew that I had to fix shit with him, too. I rarely pissed off my best friend, but when I did, I did so spectacularly.

Needing to figure out a plan of action, I was too exhausted and hungry to think clearly. My mind kept wandering back to the first time I’d met Xanthe, how she had resisted the urge to let me sit and speak with her. She’d begrudgingly taken my hand, shaken it like a man, and given me the name of a goddess.

That had been
it
—the moment I had lost myself to her.

I read more of
Haunted Bonds
.

By the time the plane made its final descent and landed, I was numb. Never had I hurt like this before. This wasn’t normal. I was head over heels for this weirdo hipster woman. There was no help for it.

I went through the motions of collecting my things. Through customs to luggage claim, I moved within a dazed fog. After finding my suitcase, I headed out, hoping Trey was waiting for me.

Trey was prettier than most women. Polished, his sandy-blond hair was perfectly styled. His face was angular—square jaw, strong chin, and aquiline nose. H was dressed to kill just to pick up his best friend from the airport, and he had an angry scowl on his handsome face.

Trey took one look at me, and his scowl changed into shock. “Oh, shit!” he said.

It was all too much. Exhausted and heartsore, I slumped into his arms and dropped my head on his shoulder. His arms squeezed me tight. He was smaller than I was, but right then, he had the strength to hold me up.

“It’ll be okay, Oliver. It’s going to work out.”

“I’m so screwed,” I whispered as I hugged him back. “I’m seriously fucked, Trey.”

Xanthe

Arriving back in Manhattan late Saturday night, I spent one last restless night in New York with Lilla, Ronen, and little Maddison.

“I’m calling Ricki,” Ronen said hotly when I’d told them everything that had happened. “I warned that motherfucker. He’s losing his gonads.”

“Just forget it, Roney,” I said. “I was at fault, too.”

“The fuck you were!”

Shrugging, I pretended to let bygones be bygones. Ollie had a nice pair and a decent-size cock. It’d be a crime against humanity to sic Ricki on those privates.

Sunday evening saw me going back to Newark for my flight to Heathrow.

Ronen was driving me, leaving Lilla at home with their daughter. “You know we’re just a phone call away, sweetheart,” he said as we unloaded my luggage from the boot. “You say the word, and Ollie’s a eunuch.”