By breaking things off, he’d taken her choices away. And given how pushy both her mother and agent were, he should have known better than to tell her what was best for her. Sasha ought to make those decisions for herself. Even if he was the one hurt in the end. Amazing what a bottle of tequila and a night of drunk talking to himself would accomplish.

Throughout last night, he’d weighed his options. Not always easy when drunk, but he did his best. And when it came down to losing Sasha for good or dealing with her career, in whatever form she wanted it to take, he’d decided to deal. Fuck it all. He would cope with the paparazzi, the travel, the fans, all of it if he could have Sasha in his life.

If he had to visit his old therapist and work out leftover stress and PTSD issues from his time abroad, he would do it. Anything to make them work. Now he just had to apologize and convince her that this time would be different.

Plan in mind, he showered, dressed, and headed out.

His car was parked in front of the house, and he opened the door to find Sasha, her hand in the air about to ring the doorbell.

Chapter Twelve

Sasha pulled her sunglasses off and Xander immediately saw how exhausted she was. She had dark circles under her eyes and her mouth was drawn tight. He had no doubt she was in pain.

All the apologies he had planned fled in the wake of seeing her hurting. “What the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t have been on such a long car ride with a concussion,” he grumbled, pulling her inside.

“I closed my eyes and rested on the way here,” she said defensively.

“Is that why you look like you’re about to fall over?”

“I was too pissed off to wait until I felt better.” She glared at him, her anger at him massive.

He deserved every bit of it.

Thanks to him, they might be technically broken up and she might not want him to touch her, but fuck it. He’d do what he needed to. After kicking the door closed, he picked her up and settled her in his arms.

“Xander, what are you doing?” she asked, but she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on.

Without answering, he carried her down the hall and into the master bedroom, placing her gently onto the mattress. “Kick off your shoes, lie back, and rest. I’ll be right back.”

Turning, he strode to the kitchen to get an ice pack and Aleve for her head and a glass of apple juice and a box of graham crackers in case she was hungry.