And then there were the memories that went further back, to when Parker was alive, to the cute little family they’d been and how happy they were together. A visceral pain scored deep inside and reminded him anew that he’d never see Parker grow up. Pain laced with guilt that he’d been the one to leave their front gate open and that he’d been the one to throw the ball Bozo had chased out onto the road. Only two small things, each taken on their own, but put together they’d led to a tragedy of inestimable proportions.
The bitter irony that his little family had faced the same awful loss as his parents had hadn’t escaped him. But he wasn’t his father. He wouldn’t give in and buckle under the grief he felt. Instead he’d locked his feelings down. He would not be weak or needy. He would not, above all things, need Olivia more than she needed him. When it had become clear to him that she didn’t need him at all, that she’d moved past their tragedy without him, Xander had left.
He groaned out loud. This was doing his head in. He needed a distraction, but what? Or who? He picked up his phone again and scrolled through his contact list. He wasn’t in the mood for testosterone-driven company. His finger hovered over Rachelle’s number. She’d made it more than clear these past few weeks that she was interested in picking up where they’d left off before his accident. In fact, she’d also made it clear she was willing to jump a few steps on that particular ladder.
Was that what would finally dislodge Olivia’s presence from his mind? He could only hope so.
* * *
Rachelle arrived within thirty minutes of his call, and she glided into his arms as if she belonged there.
“I’m so glad you called,” she said with a sultry purr as she lifted her face to his.
He kissed her and tried to feel something, anything but indifference, and failed miserably. Maybe he was just out of practice, he thought. But what about Olivia? You didn’t need any practice there, came the insidious voice in the back of his mind. He pushed the thought away and led Rachelle into his sitting room.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered.
“Sure, a pinot noir if you have it,” she replied, settling herself on the couch and crossing her legs.
He couldn’t help but notice the way her skirt rode up on her shapely thighs. She might be petite, but there was nothing about her that wasn’t perfectly formed—and she knew how to dress to highlight those assets, he acknowledged wryly. Again he anticipated the surge of interest, of desire, that should be starting a slow pulse in his veins. Again, nothing.
Xander snagged a bottle of wine from the wine rack and went to the kitchen to pour them each a glass. He returned to where she sat and passed her the wine. They clinked glasses.
“To new beginnings,” Rachelle said with a glow of hope in her dark brown eyes, flicking her glossy black hair back over her shoulder. “And happy endings,” she finished with a smile.
Xander nodded his head and took a sip of wine. Even that didn’t taste right. In fact, nothing about this evening felt right at all. Rachelle began to talk about work—she’d recently received a promotion and was excited about bringing new ideas to the table. Xander enjoyed her lively conversation and approved many of her ideas, but when she turned the conversation to more personal matters and placed one dainty hand on his thigh as she moved a little closer on the sofa, he knew he had to bring the evening to a premature end.
“Rachelle, look, I’m sorry, but—” he started.
Regret spread across her face, but she mustered up an attempt at a smile. She lifted her hand from his leg and placed her fingers across his lips. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can feel you’re trying, but it’s not working, is it? And, really, you shouldn’t have to try. The problem is—you’re still too married to Olivia. Maybe not on paper and maybe not in your mind, but—” she placed a hand on his chest “—you most definitely are still married to her here, in your heart.”
She leaned forward, put her wineglass on the table and rose from the sofa. “Don’t get up,” she said as he started to rise, as well. “I can see myself out. Oh, and I guess I’d better leave this with you, too.”
Rachelle pulled a key out of a side pocket of her handbag and put it on the table next to her glass.
After she’d gone, Xander stared at the key on the table. He’d given it to her about a week before his accident. They’d been scheduled to attend a client function together, and he’d offered his place for her to get ready since she lived fairly far away. As she’d finished work ahead of him, he’d given her the key so she could let herself in and they’d then traveled to the venue together. He hadn’t asked for the key back that night, or the next day, either, thinking that they would be developing their relationship further. He couldn’t have been more wrong about that—accident or no accident.