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I sleep for a while. I don’t know how long. When I wake up, I look around, searching for Xave. I’m the only one in the room. After a few minutes staring at the ceiling, I grow restless, my mind swirling with everything that’s happened. My thoughts keep going back to Xave and the sanity of my decision to tell him what I feel for him.
Nearly dying can seriously impair one’s decision-making abilities. Before I almost ended up as crocodile bait, I’d decided I had nothing to offer him. One punctured lung and several bruises later, and I’ve spilled my heart out, putting us in a situation that could have devastating consequences for our friendship and even IgNiTe.
In spite of everything, I can’t back down now. I won’t. Nearly dying isn’t that much different than actually doing so. Not when you’re at war, and death looms like a hawk stalking prey. I won’t miss the chance to be happy with Xave, not when it could be my last and only opportunity.
I’m sitting, staring at my hands, when there’s a soft knock on the door.
Xave peeks in. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Dr. Albright said you’ll make a quick recovery,” he says, walking in the room.
“Yeah,” I mumble. My thoughts are jumbled. Xave frowns, probably puzzled by my hot and cold attitude. I brush aside my worries, knowing it isn’t fair to him. I was the one who got us into this mess.
We exchange nervous glances and, if awkwardness was visible, we’d see a wall between us. The usual easy feeling of his presence is replaced by caution and doubt. We don’t know how to be anything else besides friends. As I watch Xave fidget, I wonder if there are even more reasons that make this a mistake. Will we work out as a couple? Agent or not?
“Um, what’s going on out there?” I ask. “I’m getting bored stuck in here.” As wrong as it is, I’d rather have picked the conversation back up where we left it before Kristen interrupted us, but we have to start somewhere.
Xave eagerly jumps to answer. “You’re better off in here. Believe me. Blare isn’t making things easy for anyone.”
“No,” I say with mock skepticism. “Not Blare.”
We both laugh.
“There’s a wheelchair out there. You’re sitting now. I don’t see the difference. I’ll roll you out, so you can take a look at this place. It’s something.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like to see it.”
He leaves for a minute and comes back with the chair. I start to get out from under the covers.
“Hey, don’t move,” he orders.
I freeze, remembering I need to pretend my injuries aren’t healing as quickly as they are. I don’t think playing the helpless patient will come naturally to me.
Hesitantly, Xave puts an arm around my back, then slides another under my bent knees. My five-foot-five lean frame is nothing for his six-foot-two muscular one. I wrap shaky arms around his neck. He buries his nose in my hair and inhales. Xave’s torso is hard and sinewy against the side of my body. I remember all the times I’ve seen him without a shirt and start feeling tingly all over.
As he sets me down on the chair and pulls his arm out from under my legs, goose bumps travel down my spine. He’s close, with his left arm still around my back and his face next to mine.
Suddenly, he pulls me tight in a desperate embrace. “Thank God you’re okay.” His voice is a warm whisper beside my ear, his relief as real as the solid arms that envelop me, transporting me to the safest place I’ve ever known.
Xave pulls away slowly, grazing my cheek with two-day-old stubble. “Marci.” He says my name like some sort of sacred vow. I never knew it could sound so beautiful and mean so much to someone.
From ear to chin, my jaw is electrified as his face slides along mine. He only pulls away when the corner of his mouth is about to touch mine. We gaze at each other. At this moment, his eyes are dark green with flecks of brown.
“I don’t care who walks through the door,” he says.
Slowly, he leans in and kisses me.
Xave’s lips are gentle and slow at first. His cinnamon breath is almost edible, and I know that—from now until forever—a stick of Big Red will always remind me of him. His hands hold my face tenderly. He pulls away and looks me in the eye for two quick seconds, then kisses me again, this time deeper. I forget myself and forcefully press my mouth against his. His breath catches before he joins in with the same intensity. The world comes to pieces, disarmed by the force of the emotions surging through my body.
Suddenly I realize this is no mere kiss. A kiss is just a kiss until it becomes more than just two mouths pressed together. A friend only a friend until the day you feel whole in his arms. A heart just a muscle until the embrace of a lifelong friend lights it on fire and makes you suspect you’ve never been truly alive.
I gasp. Xave pulls away alarmed, his gaze flickering to my injured side. He thinks he’s hurt me, when what he’s done is awaken a deep hunger within me.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks and rests his forehead against mine, inhaling and exhaling deliberately, getting his agitated breaths back to normal. “Got carried away. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” I blurt out, hoping he’ll kiss me again.
Xave grazes my lower lip with his thumb. “That was ...” He shakes his head, words failing him.
“I know.”
He pushes away, taking all the oxygen with him. I need him near me again. How I ever survived when he wasn’t around is suddenly a puzzle.
“I need to take better care of you,” he says. “I’m not being a good ... boyfriend.” He searches my face for a reaction.
I smile, letting him know he can call himself whatever he wants. “No, you’re not. You stopped kissing me.” He smiles back, hazel eyes a lighter shade of green now.
Biting his lower lip, Xave leans in and gives me a lingering kiss, one that we both have a hard time pulling away from.
“I can’t wait till you’re all better.” He sighs then straightens. “C’mon, let’s tour the place, before we get in trouble.”