Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1)

“No.” She shook her head. “He was really solid like that. He’d never drink and drive.”

“It was just the two of you?”

“Yes.” She gripped the sheet over her icy body. “We’d gone out for dinner. I’d finished the champagne myself. We were celebrating. We danced.”

“You were happy.”

“So happy. And silly.”

He waited a long moment. “What did you do?”

“It was quite a drive back to my parent’s house. They live a bit out of town.”

She rolled to her stomach and stared at the pillow between them. She couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. “I wanted to have some fun. I wanted to do something for him.” She bent her head. “I turned the music up loud. It was one of those sexy dance anthems. I did a strip. Distracted him. I didn’t even realize we were on the bridge. He was laughing,” she said. “He was looking at me and laughing. And I was laughing back at him.” She’d never tried such a thing before. “I was trying to act sexy but I was self-conscious at the same time.”

“You didn’t usually vamp for him?”

She shook her head. “I was young and shy and not that experienced…”

“But you wanted to.”

She nodded her head. “And he loved me. I wanted to play up for him. Wanted to give him something he’d never forget. You know, ‘how to blow his mind’—like something you read in those damn magazines.” She closed her eyes—bringing the darkness back—but she forced herself to keep speaking, recounting the horror. “Next thing I know the horn is blaring and the car is sinking and it was so dark. There wasn’t any traffic behind us. No one saw. I was frantic. I unclipped my belt. I was a strong swimmer, Xander. Always been a strong swimmer…”

“But your leg?” he prompted.

“Got crunched in the smash. Broke in three places.”

“But that didn’t stop you swimming down to save him.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I’ve never told anyone. I figured my clothing could easily be explained from the swim out. But…”

He waited, his eyes compassionate.

“He was still fully dressed. Jeans.” She frowned. Denim dragged a person down in water. “I’d been going to undo his fly. Was going to get him to pull over and I’d…” She stopped. “I should have owned up. I’m so guilty.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” she sobbed.

“No.” Xander leaned towards her, his words tumbling. “He could have been distracted by anything—a bug on the windshield, a tyre could’ve blown, a truck coming the other way with lights on full beam… so many things.”

“But it was me.” She sat up. “For crying out loud, I was all but naked and about to go down on him. It was me.”

“It was still an accident,” he said firmly. “And you tried to rescue him. No one could have tried harder.”

She paused, tears streaming down her face. “I dived and dived. I tried so many times. And I finally got him freed—got him to the surface. But he was already dead. He was killed on impact.” There’d been no water in his lungs. He’d died before he’d had the chance to drown. She’d tried so hard to save him and it had been too late.

“You hadn’t known that.”

“I thought he was knocked unconscious. I couldn’t leave him to drown.”

“No,” he said. “Hell Chelsea, I am so sorry.”

Not as sorry as her. “I’ve never told anyone. Not my parents. Not his.” Her whisper was so small she could hardly hear herself. “They supported me so much and I feel so guilty.”

He looked at her somberly. “You want their forgiveness?”

She nodded. She did. She wanted it all to be okay. She wanted to turn back the clock. Nearly two years on and she still couldn’t move past it.

He leaned closer. “You need to forgive yourself first.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You loved him. You never wanted to hurt him,” he said quietly. “Maybe you have to trust in fate. Maybe it was just his time. If not distracted then, then hit by a bus the next day.”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It was a mistake. Wrong timing. He could have told you to stop.”

She shook her head.

Xander put a hand over her fist, holding her firmly. “You have to let this go or you’re never going to be able to move on. You have to accept that what happened, happened.” He looked at her. “Is this why you don’t like to initiate sex anymore?”

Shocked, she gaped at him.

“You need me to take control,” he continued firmly. “You need to please me.”

She yelped in distress then clamped her mouth shut.

“You’re a generous person, and I see what you’re doing.” Xander kept talking. “If you make it good for me, make it all about what I want, then that makes it okay for you to enjoy it too. Because you’re putting my wants first. Is that how this is working for you?”

“Xander.” She was appalled and horrified that his words hurt her so deeply. “I’ve just told you something so… so personal and all you can do is bring it back to sex? To this thing—”

“This thing with me is about sex for you.”

Oh but it wasn’t only about sex. Not now. It was about trust and honesty and understanding and wanting and needing so much more. She shot out of bed, grabbing some clothes to pull on.

“Chelsea.” He too left the bed. “Don’t get mad with me for speaking the truth.”

His truth. She looked away from him. “I’m not mad.”

“Don’t lie either. The truth is you’re afraid to act up, to play, to open up. You want to, but you’re inhibited—like you think you can’t or shouldn’t.”

“I just opened up,” she snapped back angrily. “And you’re hardly the poster-boy for deep and meaningful sharing.”

“Fair point, but I share what I can.” He thrust his tee over his head. “You can share more.”

“I just told you my most horrible thing ever. What more do you want?” She stared at him, furious that this was only about sex with him. “You want to know what I really want?” She spat. “You want to know my deepest, darkest fantasy?” Irate, she wanted to test him. “Me with another man. Two men.” Take that, you bastard.

His eyes narrowed like he knew she was goading him. But he inhaled deep. “I can almost cope with the idea of another man watching you,” he answered

infuriatingly evenly—like they were discussing the weather. “But any man touches you, I’d have to hurt him. I wouldn’t like that. Nor would he. Nor would you.”

“You’d go Hulk on me?” she laughed bitterly. As if Xander-effing-Lawson would get jealous? He so didn’t care enough. “I don’t think you’re capable of really hurting someone.” Not physically. “You’re a lifeguard,” she taunted.

“Actually, I get angry about all kinds of things. But it can’t become rage. It can’t become uncontrollable.”

Control. There it was again. She gazed at him, barely noticing his breathing was as uneven as hers or that her blood was rushing in her ears. “Control is important to you.”

“As it is to you.” He sent her a hard look.

“Okay yes, I liked you taking control.” He’d released her from her self-restraint, let her enjoy sensual freedom without guilt. But she wanted more now. She’d opened up so much, but he had only shared a very little. It wasn’t fair.

“Because you don’t think you deserve to have a good time anymore,” he said.

“Stop trying to analyze me.”

“Well someone needs to. You’re caught in your inability to communicate. Your family—his family—would be appalled if they knew you were sabotaging your life because of misplaced guilt. It’s time to talk. Time to give it up. You don’t talk honestly to anyone. You can’t even ask your mom to call you an hour later.”

“Well I’m not going to talk to you. I thought superheroes didn’t speak. They only act.” She picked up his jeans and hurled them at him.

“That’s right, try to shut down the conversation.” He caught and pulled them on in record time. “I take it I’m not welcome to stay.”

“You said it was your preference not to stay the night,” she snapped coolly.

For a moment something like admiration crossed his face, before that bland expression settled again. Permanently. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened.”

Yeah and look where that had gotten her—hurt. She’d told him her ‘anything’ like he’d said he wanted—and then he’d twisted it. It was awful, awful, awful because she had the horrible feeling he was right. And this had to end before her heart broke over something that could never be.