I look to the side, and the well breaks. Holding the umbrella above us, Xander wraps one arm around me, stroking my hair gently, letting me soak his shirt.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, a sentry to my grief. A solid pillar to rely on in my darkest moment.
I don’t know how long we stand there while I grieve my father and this relationship, but eventually the door is open, and people file out.
Xander moves to step back. “I’ll—”
“Stay,” I blurt, gripping the lapels of his coat. “I can’t do this—”
“Okay. I’m here.” He nods and steps behind me, holding the umbrella as I accept the condolences from people who knew my father.
“I’m sorry I told him to come.” Saar hugs me.
“It’s okay.” I hold her for a bit longer, and then dothe same with Celeste and Lily. In the sea of Dad’s acquaintances, these are the people I want around.
And the man standing behind me, a silent guard to my pain.
It’s ironic that my ex-husband holds an umbrella above me while Tessa’s ex lingers in the doorway, keeping his distance.
“I guess you found your gentleman with an umbrella,” Tessa says.
Gentleman perhaps.
But no longer mine.
Once everyone is gone, Xander puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me away.
“I got something for you,” he says, walking toward his car.
I don’t even question the fact that he is not my ride. “I hope it’s not another island.”
He chuckles, pulls me to him, and kisses my crown. The whole thing is so instinctive, so us, so normal… it spreads pain through my chest all over again.
He opens the door of his Lambo, and I slide in.
He rounds the car and gets behind the wheel. From behind the seats, he pulls something out and then sets it in my lap.
A box of Zinfandel. Not a premium vintage. Not an organic version. Six bottles of a cheap brand hedrank with me that night we talked about our birthdays.
“Thank you.” I sniffle.
“I know I’m the last person you wanted to see today, but I needed to make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m not.”
He reaches over and takes the box from my lap, shoving it behind the seats. Then he reaches again and buckles me up. His scent invades my senses. It would be so easy to get lost in him. To escape the pain in his arms.
He doesn’t retreat to his side, but lingers, his gaze on me, full of compassion and sadness.
He tucks a strand behind my ear. “I wish I could do something, but I learned recently that grief is a beast I can’t conquer.”
He’s been grieving. Us?
“Imagine when you get a double-whammy. Lucky me.” In my head, the self-deprecating nonsense made more sense.
Out loud, floating between us, it only deepens the wounds, reminding us of our own loss.
Xander tenses and withdraws to his side. The loss of his warmth is staggering. I hate that he doesn’t joke, doesn’t lighten up the mood.
