Page 43 of Even Beneath the Stars

He waits a beat before answering.

"He's a kid," he eventually says. "Trust me, he's happier staying up and hanging out with his big brother and being a little tired at kindergarten than being forced to follow arbitrary rules pulled from some parenting book."

"You know what would make him even happier?" I fight to keep the bite out of my voice. "Having more than just his brother wanting to hang out with him. Having other kids his own age asking him to join them during playtime. Getting invited for playdates and sleepovers… Because just like the nannies, Xavier, eventually you're going to have to leave too. For college or a job or whatever. And then who will Finn have?"

He pulls back a little. Actuallywinces. "Finn's got plenty of friends."

But I can tell he's questioning it, even as he speaks the words.

"Yeah? When was the last time he went to another kid's house for a playdate? Or had someone over?" I watch him, waiting for an answer he's got no ready response for. "Who's his best friend? Or can you name even three buddies he hangs out with?" I nod slowly, then raise my index finger. "And you and Seb Murdoch don't count."

"He's fuckingfive…his friends change all the time."

I'm surprised how much it hurts me to see the doubt creeping into his eyes right now. I said those things specifically to jar him into facing reality. But I also know how much Finn means to him, and I'm realizing now that the way he acts with his brother truly is because he thinks it's what will make him happiest.

I can't help it; I feel bad for him.

"He has so much fun with you, Xavier," I say more calmly. "I mean, you're honestly the coolest older brother I think I've ever seen. It's just… Finn needs other friends too. Kids don't have the patience to play with a dude who freaks out every time he doesn't get his way. And who doesn't ever want to compromise or share, or melts down over nothing because he's tired all the time." I shrug. "I mean, at the Kids Club, the other kids thought he was funny and they liked so many of the ideas he came up with for games and stuff, but… " My eyes meet his. "Well, I'm sure you remember when you were that age and there was another kid who was always having a meltdown when he didn't get his way…and how you'd react to that."

"Finn is not that kid," Xavier says, his voice deep and gritty. Not far off from the way it sounded a few minutes ago when he was singing. The roughness in his tone catches me off guard—there's something raw and defensive there, likeI've struck a nerve. His jaw tightens as he stares me down, daring me to argue. So I don't.

"Anyway," my own voice sounds a little like sandpaper, too. "I'm going back downstairs." I shove my hands in my pockets, gaze lowering to my orange bumblebee slippers. "I swear I do really love your brother. And I'm sorry if it feels like I'm trying to butt into your life. And for being judgy… It’s just…" I lift my shoulders, rack my brain for the right words. "I guess I have issues with… money. Rich people and stuff." My words come out in jumbled clumps. "I'm sorry," I say again.

Xavier goes completely still except for the slight movement of his throat as he swallows, his earlier intensity draining away. His eyes fix past my shoulder out the window, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I shift my weight, waiting for him to say something, but his expression has gone completely unreadable.

"That song really was beautiful," I say softly, and his eyes finally meet mine, but they're distant now, like he's looking through me rather than at me.

He gives a slight nod, then takes a few steps past me so he's standing at the window above the cushions.

"Right. Well…" I take a step backward toward the door. "I should go get Finn to bed."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. Just keeps staring out at the night sky, completely closed off now. It's like watching someone build a wall brick by brick, and I hate that I care enough to notice.

I pause at the doorway, studying his profile in the dim light. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. Even in shadow, there's something magnetic about the way he stands there—shoulders tight, hands shoved in his pockets, like he's trying to hold himself together. It's a side of Xavier Rockwell I bet most people never see. For someone who usually radiates such bolstered confidence, he seems oddly hollow right now.

"Kay… Good night, then," I murmur, slipping out into the hallway, leaving him alone with his guitar and the stars and whatever demons he's wrestling with tonight.

The last thing I see before I close the door is Xavier sinking back into the cushions, his fingers trailing absently over the guitar strings without making a sound.

Chapter Seventeen

Xavier

The neon lights from the arcade machines in the Games Room cast weird shadows across Dylan's face as he leans into the foosball table, where I'm watching Seb demolish him. Even with his obvious inexperience, Dylan's movements are controlled and precise—like everything else about him.

"You're getting destroyed, man." I chuckle, wandering over from the glass fridge, taking a pull from my water bottle.

Dylan flicks his tongue along his lip ring. "First time playing."

Maybe I should feel bad for un-wittingly calling attention to something that links back to the fact that Dylan's had such a fucked up life, but I get the feeling the guy would rather be treated like a normal person than like he's fully combustible, the way most people seem to. So, until he shows me otherwise, I'm gonna keep dishing out a slightly tamer version of the razzing I give my other guy friends.

"Seriously?" Seb's amused grin flashes as he spins his foosball players with way too much enthusiasm. "Dude, we need to get you out more."

Seb's abiding by the same philosophy, but in his case it's just that it would never occur to him to treat anyone differently. He's always been that way—what you see is what you get. Same guy whether you're the top tier of the cool crowd or the bottom ranks of the geek squad. Or a kidnap victim with a boat load of triggers, apparently.

It's cool Dylan decided to hang with Seb and I before we meet the girls later at the Foundry. It's pretty rare he goes out to any kind of social gathering, and when he does, it's usually with Scarlett. But Scarr's stuck at some fancy familydinner thing. She and Caroline are going to meet us a little later. I'm guessing Caroline is doing homework. Like usual.

I vault over the back of the purple velour couch beside the foosball table and sprawl out, pulling a guitar onto my lap from one of the other cushions.

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