Not Catching Love (Accidental Love, #5)

by Saxon James

“No therapy.” I groan. “Don’t bring it up. We’re having a perfectly normal conversation, and I don’t need the reminder that all you see when you look at me is how fucked-up I am.” Derek sighs, and the sound tugs at me. “You’re not fucked-up.”

There’s still warm amusement in his eyes as he looks down at me. Then something shifts. “Xander … I do … care. You know that … right?”

“Not like a puppy, Xander. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” He lets go suddenly and nods, but I’ve swallowed my damn tongue. That actually sounded … genuine.

“Then stay,” I say, not above injecting some pleading into my voice. “I haven’t seen you all week. If you don’t stay, I might start to miss you, and then my brain will play tricks on me so I can see you at the pharmacy instead.”

“I can’t work out whether it’s a sign of optimism that you think anyone is capable of it or if you devalue yourself and what you do that much.”

I’m not thinking when I grab his wrist and steal my paintbrush back, but damn, his skin is soft. The warmth from his wrist wraps deliciously around my palm, and when I glance up, I’ve somehow tugged him closer. That stunning face holds nothing but surprise, and the thud of my heart gets more insistent. I’m stuck in his gravity, and it takes me way too long to let go.

My free hand settles high on his waist, which I assume will take some of the temptation away, but I’ve underestimated Xander. Touching him like this, where it’s casual, not clinical, is more than I’m prepared for.

“I hope you’re not accusing my new best friend of anything.” “Like what?” I play dumb. “Like helping me orchestrate getting to be your partner for a dance.” “I’d never suspect anything like that from you.” His smile takes on a wicked edge. “You should.” “You’re too sweet to be sneaky.” “And you clearly know nothing about me. You should fix that.”

This fucked-up ride isn’t going to end well. But then I look into his face, feel his warmth through his shirt, his slim side under my hand, and my craving for him deepens.

“Teach me.”

He’s flush against me, angles slotted with my grooves, and all my energy goes into controlling my cock rather than telling him to move the hell back. There’s something beautifully at war on his face that’s impossible to look away from. So I go with it.

He might not be able to dance, but he has no issues staying in time with my steps. My pulse is racing in my ears, and he’s all around me. His scent, the cute freckles, the way he’s gripping me tight. Every step has my groin skimming against him, and I’m dangerously close to getting hard. Just his proximity is doing it. Somehow, he’s even more stunning up close. Up close where I can make out the guardedness in his eyes, the way one side of his face holds tension, like he’s biting the inside of his cheek maybe, how the bow in his top lip is more pronounced on the left, and above it, in the middle of his cheek, an eyelash has fallen out to rest beside his freckles.

Why can’t he want me the same way I want him? Why can’t he feel this same body-prickling need? All I could think about with his hands on me was him ducking his head to bring our lips together, and even imagining that has such violent butterflies taking off in my stomach that I worry I’m going to throw up.

I stand there, and he stands there, and after a moment of soul-searching eye contact, he swallows thickly and walks away. Like everyone always does. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’m not.

Give him the hard truth that I’m a worthless fucking man who’s growing feelings for him that I really fucking shouldn’t be. That I’m not worth whatever it is he sees in me.

He won’t let me talk to him about therapy. His roommates won’t push him toward it. It … it feels like we’re giving up on him. But how the hell else are we supposed to react when he gave up on himself a long time ago?

“Are you okay?” “Don’t act like you actually give a shit.” Act? The urge to bite back is strong. “I know this is hard for you⁠—”

“You are my patient. The stupid and sick part comes and goes.” I’d never normally say that, but all week, he’s had my nerves on end, and the usual patience I have for him isn’t there. Despite saying he was leaving, Xander doesn’t make a move, just redirects his glare to the wall. Then … a tear drops onto his cheek. Shit.

“Stop trying to act like you actually give a fuck about me. Stop trying to act like you care. I’m a job to you, I get it—message received loud and fucking clear. I won’t bother you with my friendship anymore, and in fact, I’ll stop coming here. You’re not the only nurse in the entire goddamn fucking world.”

“That’s enough.” My voice is louder than I expect it to be, but this is it. I’ve hit my fuck it moment. It’s been simmering there for a while now, and even if I wanted to hold it back, I can’t. He thinks I don’t care? Like I haven’t somehow spent the last few years of my fucking life centered around him and what he needs?

“I don’t fucking care?” I echo. “Why don’t you pull that pretty head out of your fucking ass for a goddamn minute. Why do you think I’m always here, Xander?

“The next time you call, it won’t be me waiting here. I’ll make sure someone is … but it can’t be me.” The glare blinks away as tears take over, and that’s enough to make my eyes water too. “D-Derek.”

“I care, Xander.” My voice lowers. “Too much.”

“You can’t. Please. Don’t go. I need you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say any of it. I was mad, please

“You’re not going to be here anymore?” “I can’t.” “But—” “No.”

“What are we supposed to do?” “Get. Him. In. Therapy.” I’m fucking shaking.

“It would kill me.” He looks ready to cry too, which isn’t something I thought I would ever see. “I’m sorry.” I huff. This is it, then. Holding back my tears is getting too hard, and I need to get the hell out of here. “Then fuck you too.”

“I have been way too invested in you and Derek since I met him for you to give up now.”

“Well, I can’t be happy if Xander’s not happy, and he won’t be happy unless he has Derek, and Derek won’t be happy if Z’s not in therapy. Do you see the problem here?”

Seven lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. Then he does something I never, ever thought he’d do in our entire lives. “If you don’t go to therapy, you don’t really care about me.” “What?” I recoil. “Fuck you.” He shrugs. “Say whatever you want. There’s only one way to prove it. Go or don’t go. That’ll give me my answer.”

“Well, you’ve proved that you love him by being here. Now, why don’t you prove you love yourself by letting me help you?”

don’t want to be here at all,” I say, testing him. “Then it’s very possible you’re not ready. And that’s okay. Healing is something that can only be done on your own timeline, Xander, but your first step is accepting that you deserve it. Because you do.” “I don’t deserve anything.” “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“Can I ask you something?” “Yes,” I say, like I’m latching onto anything. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?” A rush of emotion prickles behind my nose. I can’t answer him.

This is my cue to go. The thing I’ve been waiting all session for. Something keeps me in that chair though. Something thick, and restricting, and annoying. And almost hopeful.

He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him, and something tells me that going in there will ruin all that. The reality sets in like a slow trickle that Xander … he’s better off without me.

I’m about to turn the corner when⁠— “Derek?” I should have given him more credit. Preparing myself for his anger, his disgust, or his total lack of care that I’m back, I turn around. “Fuck …” slips from his lips. Then he’s running. I get my arms open in time to catch him. Xander hits me with a soft ooof,

I nod, wanting to tell him I missed him and I’m sorry, but then he looks up, and my whole train of thought is derailed. “Your eyes are gray,” slips out before I can think it through.

Xander immediately drops his gaze, but I tilt his face back up to mine like I’ve done countless times before. Our eyes lock, and while the purple was pretty, this is real.

“So …” He focuses somewhere mid-chest. “Are you back for good?” “I haven’t figured that out yet. I think I’ll volunteer again because I really loved it, but maybe not for so long next time.” “Why so long this time, then?” It’s a brave question since I’m sure he already knows the answer. So I’ll be brave right back. “Needed some space from you.” A familiar resignation crosses his face. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Not like that,” I whisper. “Then like what?”

This whole thing with Xander was supposed to be that my feelings came about because of our proximity. The time apart was supposed to drive in how wrong it was and how many lines I crossed. It didn’t work though. The distance killed me.

He’s biting the corner of his lip, waiting for me to reply, and I can’t say what I’m supposed to. I deserve to lose my fucking license for this. “I … well, if you want, maybe after this, we could catch up?”

“He’s pretty too,” I bait, hating how easily I drop back into bad habits. “He is. He and Seven look good together.” “I look good with them too,” I insist. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were dating them.”

“Why did you need space from me?” He sighs and meets my eyes. “You know why.” A bucketload of hope dumps over my head. “You care about me? Or … cared? Care?”

“I treated you for years. It doesn’t matter how I feel or how I felt because nothing can happen, even if we were both on the same page.” “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” “Actually, the rules are there for a very good reason.”

“Does that mean … are you saying … so if you’d never treated me, I’d have a chance with you?” “I …” “Yes or no?”

“I have no idea what your thoughts are⁠—” “My thoughts are that I want this coffee date to be an actual date.”

“You’re all I can think about.” “Then—” “No.”

“So you don’t care about me at all.”

His hand crosses the table to cover the one I’m not leaning on. “Please try to see where I’m coming from. This isn’t easy for me.” “Then why did you come back?” “Because you were here.” “But—” “I know.” He