Page 133 of Even Beneath the Stars

But then, why do I feel blindsided? And like I still have something left to say? Like, what?Sorry I'm a mess? Sorry I keep pushing you away, but I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do, even if you don't realize it yet? And I'd rather be the one to do it, so we can just get it over with sooner?

Yeah, real freakin' noble.

The corridor stretches ahead, the music from downstairs pounding through the walls, a dull bassline rattling in my skull. The party is still going strong, but up here, it's marginally quieter. Too quiet. I should go back. Should grab another drink, sink back into the blurred chaos, let the noise drown out Maggie’s words.

But my feet don’t move.

Instead, I stand frozen at the threshold of the upstairs sitting room, my pulse hammering in my ears as I lean against the wall. Push my hands into my pockets.

Through the archway, I can see her. She’s in the alcove, her back half-turned to me, hunched slightly over her crafting table. The bright work lamp casts a glow around her, highlighting the slight tremble in her fingers as she wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Fuck.She’s crying.

A sharp pang twists in my chest. My instinct is to go to her, to fix it. Only, yeah— I'm the one who broke her.

Then I hear her voice—soft, thick with hurt.

"I’m just so disappointed, Mom. So freaking disappointed."

The words hit harder than they should, given it's exactly what I expected. But it's like a fist straight to the ribs. My jaw clenches as I shift my weight, torn between stepping forward and stumbling back down the hall.

I do neither. Duck my head instead; bring an arm up and clutch at the back of my neck.

"I should’ve seen this coming."She lets out a shaky laugh, hollow and humorless."I mean, how stupid was I? I knew what he was like."

My shoulders tense, the breath stalling in my lungs. There it is—thetruththat she’s been hiding behind her smiles and late-night conversations. The truth that she suspected all along exactly what kind of person I am. That I was never anything more than a phase, a temporary distraction she thought she could fix or change.

"No, I don’t think he’s even capable of loving, Mom. Because he’s never been loved before. Which, yeah—that's the other thing. He’s not capable ofbeingloved. It’s just… God, it’s so messed up. And I’m so fucking hurt. And so disappointed.

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp, painful hitch. It’s like she’s taken everything ugly and unspoken inside me and laid it out bare. Like she’s reading the secret truth of me back to herself.

“And I know it’s not his fault. I know that—that he’s just… Xavier Rockwell.”

My name fallsfrom her lips, heavy and final, like a sentence passed down by a judge. The kind of name that doesn’t belong to a person, but to areputation. A mistake she should have never made.

Something tightens in my chest, twisting until it feels like I can’t breathe. It’s not anger—it’s worse. It’s resignation. The familiar, suffocating acceptance that this is all I’ll ever be. The guy who screws up. The guy people regret.

The guy who pushes away the best thing in his life because he knows—knows—he’ll destroy it eventually.

I should walk away. Ishould. But I don’t. I stand there, rooted to the floor, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a stone slab, burying me beneath all the things I can never be.

"It’s just exhausting, Mom. Loving someone who won’t let you in."

I drop my arm, my hands curling into fists, knuckles paling as the truth of her words settles deep, lodging in a place I can’t reach or tear out. She’s right. Iwon’tlet her in. Because letting her in means giving her the power to see everything I hate about myself. And who in their right mind would stick around after that?

"Yeah, I know. I know, mom. But I can’t keep trying to convince someone that they're worth loving."

I close my eyes, the sting sharp and unforgiving.She was never supposed to try.She was supposed to see the truth and walk away before I had to watch her leave.

The silence stretches, punctuated only by the faint murmur of her mother’s voice on the other end of the line—soft, soothing, saying all the things I never could.

Good. She deserves someone who can love her the way she needs to be loved. Someone who isn’t me.

She exhales shakily, dropping her forehead into her palm. The sight guts me. Then her head lifts, like some invisible thread tugs her toward me.

Her gaze lands on mine.

She stills.

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