Page 107 of Even Beneath the Stars

She closes the book and sets it back where she found it, not lingering to read any of the words inside. Something in my chest loosens. It means something that she didn't pry or try to peek at my private thoughts splashed across those pages. She's good with boundaries, I realize. At understanding their importance. Knowing how to recognize them in others and draw them for herself. For my brother.

You'd think it's something everyone would be good at, but it isn't. I'm shit at it.

The moonlight catches in her pink hair as she moves away from the desk, and I exhale a long breath, my lungs needing to purge the stale air I’ve been holding in.

I adjust the telescope's focus ring, the familiar brass cool under my fingers. Maggie drifts to the glass cabinet, where my father's random collections sit gathering dust. Her reflection fragments across the glass as she peers inside.

"What's all this stuff?" She points to a pile of hand-carved jesters in various questionable poses next to the chunk of meteorite that I swear looks like a shrunken head.

"My father likes to collect things." The telescope creaks as I shift it. "Just whatever catches his attention."

"Huh… weird. But sort of cool." She taps the glass, studying a taxidermized squirrel wearing a tiny Victorian waistcoat and monocle. "The squirrel is creepy."

I chuckle. "But kinda cute."

"If you say so…" She makes a sound in her throat. "So, what's the connection? Between all these odd collections?"

I let out a single laugh, keeping my eyes on the telescope's eyepiece. "There is none. If he likes something, he wants to own it."

The words hang in the air between us. Maggie goes quiet, and I realize how that sounds—how it could so easily relate to my father's relationship with my mother. Probably with Finn and me—assuming the opposite likely holds true; that if hedoesn'tlike something, he wants nothing to do with it.

I'm sure she's already figured out Barron Rockwell never wanted kids. That he resents my existence because I'm the first thing in his life he wasn't able to conquer—a wild card, when he's a quad aces guy.

And I'm not going to tell her my mother had me because she loved the idea of having a "mini-Jacee" to dress up. Yeah, I was supposed to be a girl. So imagine her surprise when I showed up—doubly insulting, no doubt, because Jacee Rockwell always gets what she wants. Meaning, I've been disappointing my parents before I even left the womb.

And Finn is what my mother loves to refer to as a "happy accident". Emphasis on the "accident" part, because I'm pretty sure Barron is not Finny's biological father. I could be wrong. But let's just say it's more likely that I'm right on this one. Either way, doesn't change the fact that giving birth to Finn is my mother's single best accomplishment as far as I'm concerned.

The silence stretches, heavy with all the thoughts running through my head. A few minutes pass and Maggie asks softly, "That music box—the one by the coat room… Is your dad the one who broke it?"

I consider not answering. I know she wouldn't push if I didn't. But she's let down her guard with me. Respected me. The only thing I've given her so far is a fifteen-dollar pair of khaki leggings from Thrift-Easy and a twenty-pack of nuggets.

"Yep." I keep adjusting the telescope, pretending I'm absorbed in aligning it, although my hands have stilled on the controls. "Hurled it at the wall when I was a kid."

Maggie stays quiet, her gaze steady, giving me space I don’t deserve.

“He used to bring me up here sometimes when I was around seven or eight,” I say, staring at the telescope. “Black holes, quasars—he’d talk for hours. I didn’t get it, but I pretended I did, because I liked hearing him talk about something that made him so happy… I liked that he was talking tome.” My hands tighten on the focus ring. “Then he stopped coming up as much. Said he was busy. I kept asking. He told the nanny to keep me from bugging him.”

I run a hand through my hair, glance at Maggie. She doesn’t flinch.

I continue, “A few months later, I saw this star on TV we'd probably be able to see through the telescope. I thought maybe… I don’t know, maybe it’d bring him back up here. I went over to the East Wing, not knowing he was in a meeting. I barged in, started rambling about this stupid star. He told me to leave. I was pissed, yelling at him. Said I hated him. He was even more pissed—had a couple of staff drag me out.”

Maggie leans against the desk, her eyes soft but intent.

“Later that day, I was playing with the music boxes. I wasn't supposed to touch them, but no one ever noticed. Or cared, really. My dad came and found me. Still pissed. The business deal fell through. I'd embarrassed him." My chest tightens. “We argued. I talked back, and he, ah… My dad hates it when people question him. Anyway, he grabbed that music box. Told me what the Latin inscription means—To Conquer Is To Live."

He made me repeat it, about five or six times. Told me I would never conquer anything if I couldn't even conquer my own emotions—if I broke down as soon as I wasn't the centre of attention. He made me repeat it again, to make sure I memorized it." I rub the back of my neck, letting out a breath. "Then he hurled it across the room."

Maggie's lips part, her voice barely a whisper. “Xave…”

"It clipped my shoulder… Nine stitches.” I glance away, exhaling through my nose before looking back at her. “He didn’t mean to hit me,” I clarify. “Turns out Barron Rockwell's business savvy is a lot better than his aim.”

She doesn’t laugh.

I brush my knuckles against my jaw. "Yeah, so… he never came back up here after that. I kind of started to hate him. He started to hate me. Blah fucking blah. You know how the story goes." I turn my focus back on the telescope.

Her footsteps are quiet as she pushes off the desk and moves toward me. My heart speeds up with each step closer. When she lifts her hand, placing it against my chest, the world narrows to just that point of contact. Her fingers brush lightly over my shirt, and I forget how to breathe.

"You know that wasn't your fault, right?" Her voice is soft but firm. "The business deal folding. Any of it."

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