Page 40 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Xavier will be going to bed soon, too. He just—"

"NO!" The comic book flies across the tiles. "You can't make me! You're not the boss!"

And we're off. Finn's face crumples as he launches into full meltdown mode—screaming, crying, the works. I watch him flailing on the ginormous sleek tiles, my tolerance for Xavier hitting rock bottom. Every single night this week, it's been the same thing. Xavier completely undermining any attempt I make at establishing healthy routines for Finn. Confusing indulgence with love—which, okay, I totally get now—why Xavier doesn't know the difference. But he needs a crash course. Fast. Because Finn's the one who is suffering as a result of Xavier's issues. And it's going to mess him up worse and worse, the older he gets, if it doesn't stop soon.

"Finn. It's time for bed. Let's go." I reach my hand out and he just bats it away. Then levels up the howling.

I amexhausted.Done. Scarlett's words a few moments ago, although they were well intended, put me over the edge. Hearing what a great guy Xavier can be while being forced to endure his constant antagonizing is really,reallyhard. And I feel like a sucker, bending over backwards trying to placate him, while he does everything he can to make my job hell. Spoils his brother in a way that is only doing him a huge disservice, and cancelling out all my efforts.

I've. Had. Enough.

Once Finn's tantrum subsides to sniffles, I turn to Scarlett. "Would you be cool watching him for a few more minutes?"

"For sure. We still have two issues of Zita The Spacegirl to get through."

Wow. This girl takes her comics seriously.

"Awesome, thanks." I stand. "Next question: any idea where Xavier is?"

She scrunches one side of her face. "Not sure… sorry. He does this sometimes at his own parties. Just takes off." She glances around, as if he might be hiding somewhere in plain sight. Her eyes return to mine. "Could be hooking up with someone, but honestly, half the time he just takes off alone somewhere."

Huh. Weird.

"Okay. Thanks." I brush my palms along my thighs, determination settling in my bones. Time to find Xavier and deal with this bedtime situation once and for all.

"Give him hell." Scarlett grins, surprising me that she appears to be on my side after she just admitted how close she is with Xavier.

I flash a conspiratorial smile in return. "Oh, I plan on it."

Chapter Sixteen

Maggie

Icheck Xavier's room first, bracing myself for whatever scene might greet me.

Empty.

The massive bed's still made, no sign of any hookups happening here. Color me shocked as a jack-o-lantern. I peek into a few other upstairs rooms—nothing but gold and canopy beds and expensive claw-footed furniture.

Back downstairs, low music thrums through the Smoking Room, where a few people lounge on velvet couches and a couple of guys shoot pool, their laughter echoing off the mirrored walls. Still no Xavier.

I head back upstairs, frustration building with each step. That's when I notice it—a sliver of light spilling from a door I hadn't noticed before. Pushing it wider reveals a narrow hallway, dimmer than the main ones, then two flights of stairs that creak under my feet. Music drifts from somewhere up ahead. Soft. Melancholy. I follow the sound until I reach another slightly open door. Through the gap, I see Xavier.

He's sitting on a pile of cushions against a curved wood-panelled wall, acoustic guitar in his lap. Moonlight streams through a glass dome overhead, catching in his messy waves and turning them into tarnished bronze. The shadows play across his sharp cheekbones, softening the usual edge of his aristocratic features as his full lips move almost lazily, mouthing words that mingle with the soft strumming.

I’m spellbound by the lyrics because there’s something so unique about the way the words are strung together. Like they’re rough and haven’t beenpolished, and that’s exactly what makes the meaning beneath them feel real—like footsteps in the dirt. Fresh and gritty and unapologetic.

It’s a song about standing in the middle of nowhere and realizing the world doesn’t owe you anything, and the push and pull between wanting and letting go. About solitude—someone who’s rarely alone but is lonely.

And somehow I just know, in my gut, that he wrote this.These are Xavier's words.

I could kind of tell, the other night when he was messing around on the guitar with Finn, that he had a good voice. But I never imagined anything like this—a voice that is the total opposite of the polished marble and curled gold that surrounds him in this place. It’s raw and cracked around the edges. Grit in every syllable, like he’s scraping the words out of himself. Not unlike the lyrics I'm almost positive he wrote.

I press back against the doorframe, not daring to move; mesmerized by the quiet, stripped bare honesty of the words. The mix of coarseness and warmth of the melody. Byhim.The way he looks right now. The moonlight reveals tiny details I never noticed before: a small scar near his temple, the slight furrow between his brows, the way his lashes cast feathered shadows on his cheeks. And it's jarring to see him like this—unguarded and vulnerable. Stripped of his signature smirk and calculated indifference, he seems younger somehow.

His head is resting against the dark paneling, throat exposed, his usually guarded eyes unfocused and distant, lost in the words of the song. The silvery light transforms him from untouchable rich boy to something altogether more human. And while I try to remind myself that this is still Xavier Rockwell—entitled jerk extraordinaire who's currently letting his five-year-old brother run wild at a party downstairs—illuminated by moonlight in this hidden room at the top of his ridiculous mansion, it feels like maybe that isn’t all he is. Like that's just the tiniest sliver of him, and the real Xavier is so much more. Messier and rougher and more scratched up—but also more insightful, possibly even self-aware, and definitely insanely talented.

But I almost prefer the Xavier who drives me crazy with his entitled attitude and calculated jabs.ThatXavier I know how to handle. This one… this one makes my chest feel tight in a way I don't want to examine too closely. Makes me forget why I came up here ready for a fight. The version of Xavier Rockwell who sings about solitude and emptiness, and whose voice cracks on the high notes in a way that makes my throat tight, I don't know what to do with him.

---