The Saints of the Cross (23 page)

“Okay,” I say and continue working on my paella. Xander tells me about his lacrosse teammate who was killed last weekend in a plane crash over the Florida Everglades. He’s telling me how this guy was going to be the Beckham of the lacrosse world when our phones ding almost simultaneously.

“Should we check those?” Xander asks.

“We’d better. It might be my dad with some news. He was supposed to drive down the coast to Virginia Beach and stop at all the hospitals along the way.” I fumble in my bottomless pit of a purse for my cell phone. Xander’s already got his out and checking it before I find mine. He groans and starts texting away. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but then I look down at my phone. It’s not my dad messaging me. It’s Camilla.

Evie, are you with Xander? I need to talk to him. Like now!

I want to text back:
of course you do.
But I don’t. Instead, I look up at Xander. “Let me guess—Camilla?” I say with more annoyance in my voice than there should be. I mean, she has seen me through some pretty tough times lately. I should have a little sympathy for her, but it’s highly annoying that I haven’t talked to her outside of class for two weeks, and now she wants to interrupt my date with Xander?

“How’d you know?” He says sarcastically. “She wants me to come down to Club Trinity. Something has got her worked up, I guess. I texted her back that I’m not available tonight.” But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, our phones ding again.

I look down at my phone and laugh. I laugh, because if I don’t, I might burst out in tears. Plus, I don’t want Xander to see how upset this situation is making me.

I read the phone message aloud to Xander. “Camilla says to get your ass down to Trinity now. She says you owe it to her.”

“Christ! I cannot believe her. She knew I was bringing you here for dinner—” Xander says, but then stops short.

“We’re done eating. Why don’t we just run down there and see what she wants? It’s only three blocks away. We could walk off some of those carbs.” I’m trying to be helpful, but Xander shakes his head.

“I’m worried that if I go down there, it could end badly.” He rakes his fingers through his wavy, dark hair, frustrated. “But if I don’t go, it could end up worse, I suppose. I’m probably screwed either way.”

“So we should just go.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. I know that if I say no, he won’t go. But I just can’t leave Camilla up in the air. She is my friend, even if her neediness and poor timing are highly irritating. What if something bad has happened to her?

“Yeah, I’m sure, let’s go,” I answer.

“I’ll make it up to you, however you want,” he says.

“How about a piece of chocolate cake for desert after we leave the club?”

“Well, that wasn’t what I was thinking of, but if that’s what’ll make you happy, then it works for me.” Xander smirks and throws his gold card down on top of the check.

***

Xander and I hurry to the club. The brisk fall wind bites at the exposed skin on my legs and face, and cyclones of reddish-gold fallen leaves swirl around us. When we arrive, Camilla’s sitting alone at the bar, and Christian’s doing a sound check on stage with Systemic Purgatory. We go over to Camilla, hand in hand, and she’s glaring at us as if we’ve done something unforgiveable. She looks down at our joined hands and a frown slowly etches her forehead. She glances up at me briefly, but then trains her eyes on Xander’s face and says, “Do you mind if I talk to Xander alone?” There’s an edge to her voice.

“Nope, not at all,” I say, honey dripping from my lips, but in my mind, I’m imagining my hands around her neck. I say to Xander, “I’ll be right over here.”

“Thanks, Evie. I won’t be long,” says Xander and I know that although he’s talking to me, it’s a warning to Camilla.

I go over and perch on a stool at the bar. The bartender, who has more piercings and tattoos than teeth, gives me a look, but I wave her away and glance around the club. Because it’s eight p.m. on a Friday night, the place is dead. Besides the handful of bar staff, there are a couple of requisite groupies admiring the band from the front of the stage and some shady-looking characters milling about the back of the room. But other than that, it’s just Xander, Camilla, and me.

What could she possibly be freaking out about? I try not to stare, but my eyes flick over to where Xander and Camilla are talking by the back door. He’s leaning against the wall, and Camilla’s pacing a line in front of him, lips moving frantically, her hands flying wildly around. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s coming unhinged. Xander’s lips aren’t moving, but his eyes follow her, and he’s wearing an exasperated expression. Finally, when she’s moved within reach, he grabs her by the wrist and spins her around to face him. He peeks over her shoulder at me, and I flick my eyes away. When I look back, they’re gone, and there’s a sliver of gray light from the street lamps just as the back door slams shut.

“You know, dear Evie, you really are wasting your time with that boy.” I turn around just as Christian hops on the barstool next to me. To the bartender, he says, “Double on the rocks, Love. And make it the good stuff.”

“I’m not interested, Christian, so you can just go away now,” I say. I turn my attention to the stage to escape his damned hypnotic blue eyes.

Christian chortles and then abruptly clears his throat. “Well, darling, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve got a type, and you ain’t it.”

I whip my head around and glare at him as he takes a drink of his Scotch, his face smug. I roll my eyes and turn away from him again, but he doesn’t take the hint.

“I’m just trying to be your friend,” he explains. “Friends do everything within their power to save each other from a whole lot of heartache. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m here to warn you. You’re chasing a guy whose heart belongs to someone else.”

I turn to face him. “Okay, I’m biting, Christian. What are you talking about?” I try to sound indifferent, but my pulse is racing, and I’m pretty sure it shows in the unnaturally high pitch of my voice.

“I suppose we’re both losing in the love department,” he sighs. He looks down at my empty hands. “Oh, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks.”

“I insist.”

“Fine. Diet Coke, please,” I say to the bartender, who’s been hovering nearby with a dreamy look on her face and hanging on Christian’s every word.
Give me a break
. I stare at Christian dead-on. “Now, can you please explain to me what the hell you’re talking about?”

“Camilla’s not in love with me. She’s in love with the idea of dating a rock star—”

“
Rock star
? Really, Christian.” I scoff and take a cooling sip of the soda that the bartender has just placed in front of me.

“Bloody hell, thanks for the support, Evie.” He’s wearing a wounded expression, but I know better.

“Did you ever think that she’s not in love with you because she can’t trust you?” I ask. To me it doesn’t seem like an earth-shattering revelation, but he’s looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. After a few beats, realization crosses his face, and he wags his head in disbelief.

“Let me guess, your boyfriend told you stories about what a womanizer I am,” he says, with just the right amount of irony on the word
boyfriend
to effectively make me take notice. “He’s told you how I’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over DC.”

“Something like that,” I say dismissively.

“Of course he’d tell you that,” he says and erupts in a strange, high-pitched cackle, his head thrown back.

“What do you mean?” My voice is ripe with irritation. I can’t help it. I wish he’d stop beating around the bush and just say whatever it is he’s trying to tell me. Holy hell, this man is infuriating.

“What I mean is that he told you those things so you’d not trust me.”

I look in his face, and I see something I’ve never seen in those blue eyes: vulnerability, innocence, and honesty. I swallow hard, because inside, I’m panicking. Why would Xander lie to me—unless he’s trying to hide something?

“Why wouldn’t Xander want me to trust you?”

“Because I know things that he doesn’t want revealed.” He lights up a menthol cigarette, and I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow, and I cock my head toward the ashtray that has magically appeared on the bar
(Thank you, enamored, tattooed, bartender lady.)
I mean, my God, isn’t smoking illegal in public places? “Sorry,” he says, and grinds the cancer stick into the ashtray.

“So you know some secrets? So what? Everyone has secrets.”

“Do you know why Camilla’s not in love with me? The real reason?” He takes another drink of his scotch and looks me square in the face. I merely shake my head. How the hell should I know? “Because she’s still in love with her first love. We never truly get over our first loves, you know?”

When he says this, a memory of Javier standing on the beach—mirrored aviators on, head thrown back in laughter—flashes in my mind, and I feel as though someone has punched me in the gut. The air is whisked out of me, and I’m left trembling. I have to set down my glass on the bar to keep from spilling it all over the both of us.

“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed in an expression that might pass for concern under normal circumstances. However, this is Christian Redfield I’m talking to, and I’m guessing that he has no concern for anyone but himself.

I take a deep breath and answer, “Yes.”

“Sure?” He peers closer into my eyes as if he’s assessing my mental status, which I find momentarily unnerving.

“Yes. Now finish what you were saying,” I demand.

“You think I’m some horrible bloke who goes around cheating on his girlfriend,” he says, and I give him a
you-got-me
shrug. “Did you ever think that maybe she cheated on me first?”

“Well, I don’t sit around thinking about your relationship. So no, I didn’t think about that. I have more important things going on right now.”

“Really? I think my relationship should matter to you, because she cheated on me with Alexander. I should say she
cheats
on me with Alexander. She always runs back to him anytime things get bad between us.”

I know he’s waiting for some dramatic reaction by the way he’s studying my face, but I keep my cool. I’m not completely floored by what he’s just revealed. I have always known something was up between those two.

“What the hell are you talking about? They’re just friends.”

“You fell for that, did you?” he says. Trying to show sympathy, he places an awkward hand on my shoulder. “Sweetheart, they were each other’s first; and you should know, it’s not easy to let go of your first.”

“Now I definitely don’t believe you,” I say and shrug away from him. I glance over toward the back door, but there’s no sign of Xander or Camilla.

“Why? You didn’t think those two were virgins, did you?” He guffaws. “They were together before I met her. Ask anyone at Holy Cross. It’s common knowledge. As is the fact that Alexander will do anything for her. He will drop everything for her at any time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Then what are you doing here right now?”

Damn, he’s got me there.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” I counter. “If they’re still so much in love, why was Camilla trying to play matchmaker between us? We were like her pet project. She seemed excited when we started dating—well, as excited as I’ve seen her.”

“Who knows why? I sure don’t. All I know is that Alexander gives her comfort that no one else can when she’s upset, which seems like all the time lately. But when she’s had her fill of him, she always runs back to me.”

I know what he’s saying is true, because I can relate to it. Xander has given me so much comfort and warmth over the last few weeks—well, actually, since the first night I met him at the Redfield house. I can completely understand why Camilla wouldn’t want to give that up because I sure don’t.

“If what you’re saying is true, then why do you keep taking her back?” It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not about to say this out loud—his head is quite inflated enough already—but Christian can have any girl he wants. He’s got them literally falling at his feet, on stage and off. Why would he put up with Camilla cheating on him, on top of all her other craziness, and then take her back, time after time? I am hugely perplexed at his motive.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” he says simply. I give him a look, and he pours out his feelings. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s so incredibly passionate, creative, and intelligent. And, my God, she’s gorgeous. When we’re together, it’s like we were always meant to be. I feel at home with her.” He hesitates. “I love her.”

I am stunned by Christian’s confession. He’s staring down at the lowball in his hands, with a tormented look on his face. I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

“I’ve never told anyone that.” He exhales as if a weight has been lifted off his chest. Before me is not the egotistical, rock-star Christian Redfield, charismatic front-man of Systemic Purgatory. I see a broken-hearted, vulnerable, insecure twenty-one-year-old boy who’s in desperate need of a friend in whom he can confide. I decide to be that friend, regardless of everything I’ve been told about him, because I believe he’s trusted me enough to show a side of himself that no one else has seen.

“Why don’t you tell her this?” I say in a sage voice I had no idea I possessed.

“She’d never believe me. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he whispers. “I did those things because I was hurting. And I guess I wanted her to hurt, too.” He sighs. “Now I think I’ve destroyed her trust in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The reason she’s so upset—” he hesitates and glances toward the back door. “The reason she called Alexander to come here tonight.”

“Go ahead, Christian, you can talk to me.”

“A girl came into the club about an hour ago,” he says and pinches the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger. “She marched right up to us, to Camilla and me, and announced that she’s pregnant with my baby.”

“She
what
?” Okay, now I’m floored. “Who is this girl? Is it true?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if it’s true, or you don’t know the girl?”

“Both.” He grimaces and seems to shrink in his seat by at least a foot. “I’ve seen her around the clubs we’ve played, but I don’t know her name.”

“Well then, it’s not true. Right?”

“Not necessarily.”

“What are you saying? Are you telling me you had unprotected sex with a girl you don’t know?”

“That’s just it. I don’t remember doing it,” he says, his voice full of shame. He hesitates a moment, and his gaze moves upward from the floor until it locks with mine. That’s when I see the fear, worry, and uncertainty in his face. “I have a problem—”

“What kind of problem?” I’m trying to keep my voice even so that I can keep his trust in me, but it’s an increasingly difficult task. Right now I just want to smack the crap out of him.

“It’s the drugs,” he says finally. “It’s the drugs and the alcohol.” He lifts the lowball and takes a long swig of the scotch. When he puts the empty glass down, I fully expect him to start coughing fire, but he doesn’t. His beautiful, blue eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol or his broken heart. I’m speechless. I flounder for something to say to make it better, but fortunately he speaks first. “I don’t remember half the shit I do when I’m out with my mates. I just black out.”