Alpha Male Romance(31)

“Never,” I promised despite the fact that I was still laughing.

“Then what is it?”

He didn't sound annoyed, and I took that as proof that our friendship was still intact.

“Earlier today, I was thinking about how something in my life had to change. I just never thought it'd be this.” The laughter died even as the tears came.

Tanner's arms tightened around me. “I know, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head again. “I know.”

It wasn't necessarily a bad sort of crying, more the kind that naturally came with change. Like at a graduation or wedding. Not that this was exactly a happy thing, but it wasn't something I was grieving over either. I was sad that things had changed, but I was glad that they weren't ending badly.

Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, Tanner wasn't in bed next to me, but the familiar smell of bacon and eggs came from the kitchen. On Tanner's pillow was a note.

I'm making breakfast. Take a shower and come on down. I hope you'll stay and eat with me. We can talk over good food. If you're not comfortable with that, I completely understand and won't say a word when you leave.

I smiled as I sat up. When I first woke up, I'd worried that our conversation last night would end up being the result of post-coital afterglow and not something that would carry over to morning. Now, however, I could relax. I didn't need to rush out, hoping to avoid Tanner. I could take my time in the shower, dress in something clean, eat breakfast and have an adult conversation that wouldn’t end in screaming or crying.

As I got up and walked toward the bathroom, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I knew there were still things I needed to look at, areas in my life that would need to change if things were really going to be different, but for the first time in a long time, I thought it might be possible.

Who knew a break-up could make things look so good?





Chapter Four





Xavier





I wanted out.

I glared at the same fucking wall I'd been glaring at since I'd gotten back to Philadelphia. Okay, not exactly, since I hadn't been confined to a single room like I had for the most part back in Texas, but I still wasn't happy about being here.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I knew I shouldn't complain. There were plenty of vets who were so much worse off than I was. Whose injuries alone were far more devastating. I hadn't lost my eyesight or hearing. I had all of my limbs. No brain damage. While there were a few limits I'd always have to place on myself, if I hadn't been in the army, my life wouldn't have changed at all.

As for my current accommodations...I felt like a total ass for being even the slightest bit frustrated with them, especially when so many veterans were homeless. And the ones who weren't, ones like Zed and the other men in my unit, they were over sleeping in some shit-hole overseas, putting their lives on the line while I was whining like a fucking baby.

And living in a fucking mansion.

That wasn't really an exaggeration either.

When Father O'Toole had saved my life that night more than ten years ago, I'd woken up in this same room. The belligerent little bastard I was, when I'd finally been able to talk, I'd made some smart-ass crack about him skimming from the church. Instead of giving me the slap upside the head I'd deserved, he'd sat down next to the bed and talked to me.

Apparently, Doron O'Toole was the only surviving heir to some old money Philadelphia family. When his mother died, he'd inherited a sizable sum of money, as well as several pieces of property. He'd put the money into a trust to maintain the two biggest properties, and those he'd set up to house various charities over the years. This one was near Rittenhouse Square. The other was closer to downtown. I hadn't needed him to tell me that he'd put me in this one because he'd wanted me away from the men who attacked me.

When I asked him why he stayed a priest after he'd gotten all that money, he told me that he'd made the decision to join the church when he was only thirteen. He'd known then that he had an inheritance coming. I'd essentially called him an idiot for turning it all down to be someone who, as I'd so delicately put it, 'couldn't drink, curse or fuck.'

I still couldn't figure out why he hadn't thrown me out on my ass. Hell, I still wondered why he saved me in the first place.

And now he'd brought me back here.

I told him that I'd get a place in San Antonio, not because I really wanted to stay in Texas, but because I knew he wouldn't want to leave his parish, not even for me. And if he was away...

I pushed the thought aside. I couldn't think like that now, not living with him. I knew that was one of the reasons he'd worked so hard to convince me to come back. Even though I hadn't said anything since that first night after I'd woken up, I knew he hadn't forgotten my note. Since then, I hadn't tried to convince him that I wanted to live because I'd known he'd see right through it. I'd hoped that by not talking about it at all, he'd forget about it, think I was okay.