Page 43 of Never To Suffer (The Hollywoodland #4)

NOTHING brEAKS LIKE A HEART

DAMIANO DAVID

I should have known better than to get involved with Xander. But sometimes, the heart convinces you to take a shot you’re guaranteed to miss reminding yourself life sucks and there’s no escaping it.

I’ve left a few voicemails since he stopped answering my texts.

I’m sure he’s moved on, either finding someone better, or maybe his relationship with the girlfriend isn’t as open as he led me to believe.

I pick up my phone, stare at it for a few seconds, and set it back down again before I make a move for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, and I have everything I need for an emergency baking session, now for the question I should ask myself.

Is this for before or after the call? Or both?

Baggy purrs, wrapping herself between my legs like she senses my stress, which I’m sure she does. Although, she probably hopes I start stress baking now so she can get whatever falls on the floor. Sometimes, she thinks she’s a dog.

Shit, even thinking about cats and dogs reminds me of Xander. I grab my phone again.

Look, as a concerned neighbor, can you at least tell me you’re okay?

My finger hovers over the send button, and finally, when I accept that the words aren’t going to send themselves, I mash it and flip to the phone app.

Sliding down through my contacts to the S names, remembering too late that I don’t have her listed under Sylvie.

She’s listed under P for Pixie. It rings until her voicemail picks up, which I expected, and yet, I still don’t have a message prepared, so I stumble through one.

“Salut, Pixie. ?a va? Look, I’m supposed to say I’m sorry.

Marie already yelled at me, but you’re an adult.

I don’t want to lie to you. I knew it was your birthday, and I didn’t call.

I made that choice. I, uhm, I figured you didn’t want me to, and I wanted to respect your decisions. The problem is, now I feel like shit.

Sylvie, I miss you. I’m going to put this out there. I’m booking a flight, and this time I’m getting on the damn plane. I’ll leave a week from tomorrow, which gives you time to think it over. If you want to see me, I’ll be at the cafe at eight.”

Je t'aime, Pixie. Even if you don’t show. Always.”

I toss the phone on the counter and lean against the sink in time to watch Baggy jump up next to me and beg for love. Or food.

“Yeah, it’s stupid. I’m stupid. I’m screwing this up with both of them, aren’t I?

” I rub her ears, and she rumbles, pushing against my hand.

“I mean, I’m doing the best I can, aren’t I?

No, you’re right, I should have called her, and I should have left him alone.

But…shit. Everything has blown up in my face.

” My phone buzzes and I’m too quick to snatch it up, only to see it’s neither of the people I’m hoping for.

Kennedy

Coffee this morning?

No, I’m taking my morning calls from home. Be there in a few hours.

Glancing over at the cooking supplies, I wave them off and go back to the couch to answer emails and check my schedule for the week.

Before I get to that, though, I close the window with the flight information from Paris to Tokyo, and book my ticket to Paris for a week from today.

I send a message to Kennedy to revise all my appointments that week from in person to online or reschedule them.

Next, I shoot off an email to Marie to tell her I’ll be in France and give her the dates in case our paths happen to cross.

There’s a buzz from the kitchen, and when I glance over, I can make out the light of my cell phone. I’m sure it’s Kennedy again. Just as I’m about to go back to my emails, it buzzes again, so I walk over to see if it’s anything important.

Political ad junk. As I swipe to delete the message, my phone lights up with an unknown number, and I end up answering it accidentally.

“Uh, hello? Dr. Clay here.”

“THEO! It’s Xander,” he slurs into the phone.

“Xander? What the hell, are you okay?” I thought I’d be upset with him, tell him he could have called or texted, maybe yell a little.

But there’s something off about the entire situation.

As quickly as my emotions rocketed up to a high from hearing his voice again, they’re now taking my stomach and plummeting down.

“I’m… I fucked up. I’m uhm, I’m sorry about not calling.

I don’t… I don’t know where I am. A hotel I think?

Fuck. I’m so sorry, I just, I searched for you online and found your office.

I tried to call, but it was the weekend, and then I had to beg the shit out of the girl who finally answered.

Oh, weird story, I know her—anyhow, I just, uhm ? —”

“Xander, take a breath.” The word baby desperately tries to fall out of my mouth, but I don’t want to rock the boat. “Have you been drinking?”

“I’m sorry,” the words crack, followed by a sniffle and sobs.

“I’m, uh, shit! Everything’s gone wrong and…

and I don’t know what to do. I just—I needed to hear a voice and Beetle didn’t pick up.

I don’t know where I am or when he’s coming back.

I can’t think straight. I need someone to tell me it’s going to be okay.

She hates me. She’s gonna leave me for this. ”

“Xander, what happened? What’s—” my voice drops, and without thinking, I go into therapy mode. “Xander, did someone hurt you? Did you meet up with someone while you were there?”

I’ve dealt with awful cases of abuse in my career, but I’ve always found a way to keep my personal opinions out of it, to take a step back and not get pulled down into that darkness.

But asking Xander if he slept with someone else and let them use him again becomes a ten-inch serrated dagger I’ve plunged into my own gut and started twisting to see how it would feel.

The silence on the line knocks the wind out of me, and I slide down the cabinets and onto the kitchen floor. I need to keep my head, pull myself out of this and compartmentalize it. I prepared for this, didn’t I?

“Theo, I…I don’t think I…I’m scared,” his words quaver until they break apart into a wail and I listen to him breakdown over the phone. “I’m scared. I don’t know where I am, and he drugged me. Shit! I hear him. He’s back. I need to go! Don’t call this number!”

“Xander? Xander!” I shout into the phone, heart stuck firmly in my throat. “Xander? Hello?”

The call ends and I’m left with silence and questions.

“Good morning, Doctor Theo!” Kennedy’s chipper voice reminds me of nails on a chalkboard this morning, I shouldn’t have come in. “The weirdest thing happened this morning, like right after I texted you about coffee. I answered?—”

“Kennedy, push my clients back. I’m busy and I’m not to be disturbed.” I head for my office, stopping to turn back and add, “If anyone from Japan calls, you interrupt me, understand? Anyone! Otherwise?—”

“You mean, anyone like Xander Maxwell?”

Weird story. I know her.

“Yes!” Wonderful, more questions to race through my mind. Kennedy and Xander are closer in age, but out of the millions of people in Los Angeles, I never thought the two of them would have a history. Before I can ask, the door opens, and my first client comes in.

“Oh, hey Doc. Am I early?”

“Yes, Parker, you’re always early. Excuse me, I need a few minutes to get things in order,” I tell him, and turn back to Kennedy with a whisper. “We need to talk after Parker. Try to reschedule what you can. Interrupt me if Xander calls, or anyone calls about him, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” She gives me a salute.

She’s never seen me like this, a hectic mess losing control.

I’ve been on the phone with a police department in Tokyo who think I’m crazy.

I've tried to call Alexis to see who she rented the apartment to and if she has any other contact information. Every time I try to call Xander’s number, which has been about every two minutes, it goes straight to voicemail.

Don’t call this number back!

In my office, I toss my bag next to my desk and head straight for the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and taking deep breaths.

Clients can’t see me like this. I’m supposed to remain calm, steady.

I cover my face with a towel and take one more deep breath in, holding it for an eight count, and slowly release it.

When I open my eyes, I at least look less frazzled than I’m feeling.

Now to get through the day without telling half of my patients to buck up and stop their bitching so I can go find my boyfriend.

Jesus, he’s not even my boyfriend. Good luck, me. Today has gone straight to hell.

I place a quick call to a friend of mine to see if they can help, but I doubt I’ll get far sending an American investigator a case based in Japan when I don’t know a damn thing about Xander that’s any help.

An hour goes by, one client down and no interruptions.

Kennedy messaged me a few minutes ago saying my next client agreed to reschedule.

I settle in behind my desk, entering the name Xander Maxwell into the computer.

Nothing helpful. I try the long form of his name, Alexander and—bingo!

The screen fills with articles, pictures, videos, and blog links.

Also, holy shit.

Charles Alexander Maxwell. The son of billionaires Charles and Victoria Maxwell.

Those names I’ve heard before, hell, anyone not living under a rock has heard of them.

Xander shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor of a cheap ass condo in the arts district.

He should own the building while he lives in a damn castle. What the hell is going on?

There’s a knock on the door and Kennedy pops in. “I’m going downstairs to grab lunch. Want anything?”

“How do you know him?”

“Dude, you need to switch to decaf if you’re going to come at me like that. Who?”

“Xander. Alexander Maxwell. How the hell do you know him?”