Page 52 of Even Beneath the Stars

The words sound good. Professional. Like I'm just being a responsible caregiver focused on my charge's wellbeing. But there's this annoying flutter in my stomach that calls me out on my bullshit. Because yeah, Finn does need consistency, but that's not the only reason I'm turning down a longer break.

I tell myself it's just because I've gotten used to having Xavier around, even if most of our interactions involve trading jagged barbs. That I'm only concerned because seeing anyone hurt stirs up basic human empathy. But there's this image I can't shake of Xavier rattling around in that massive, empty mansion all alone tonight, trying to patch himself up.

The thought makes me weirdly restless, which is ridiculous because Xavier Rockwell is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He's made that crystal clear about a thousand times. Besides, this is the guy who's been making my job almost impossible since day one. The guy who throws parties when he could be helping with Finn's bedtime routine. The guy who…

Who jumped into a fight to protect his friend without a second thought. Who tries so hard to be everything Finn needs, even though he's barely more than a kid himself.

I cross my arms tight against my chest, trying to squash down this unwanted surge of concern. It's just because I'm tired, I decide. Just the adrenaline crash making me feel weird and protective over someone who definitely doesn't need or want my protection.

But I know I'm lying about that too.

ChapterTwenty-One

Maggie

"That cut on your lip looks nasty." Denise leans closer to Xavier from the driver's seat in the dim parking lot lighting. "Oof." She winces. "And the one above your eye… You might need stitches."

"I don't need stitches." Xavier jerks away from her touch, but Denise isn't having it.

She clicks on the overhead light and gently sweeps his hair back from his forehead to get a better look, her lips pursing at the sight of his injuries. "Xavier James Rockwell, if you think I'm going to let you—"

"I said I'm fine." His voice has that dangerous edge to it, but Denise just raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed.

"What about your ribs? Can you lift your shirt for me?" When Xavier doesn't move, she adds, "Now, please, Xavier."

From my spot in the back seat, I watch him grudgingly comply, peeling up his shirt to reveal a canvas of purple-blue bruising spread across his ribs. But beneath the angry marks, there's no hiding the sculpted muscles of his abs, the way they flex slightly as he breathes. The faint trail of golden-brown hair tracing down his stomach, following that V-line where his hips narrow, the twin paths of muscle disappearing beneath the dark waistband of his underwear sitting low on his hips.

Some guys have abs; Xavier has a goddamn geography lesson carved into his torso.

Heat creeps up my neck and I quickly look away and study the empty parking lot through the window like it's suddenlyfascinating.

In my periphery, Denise probes carefully at the bruised area. "Does this hurt?"

Xavier's jaw clenches. "Nope."

"How about here?"

A sharp inhale, and then, "It's fine."

Every probe of Denise’s fingers is like a lie detector test, and Xavier’s failing spectacularly.

She presses slightly harder and Xavier jerks away. "Jesus, Denise. I said I'm fine."

"We should get x-rays to be sure nothing's cracked."

"I’ve had a cracked rib before." He drops his shirt and my gaze slides back to his battered face. “This isn't that." His eyebrows lift slightly, and he levels her with a serious look. “I play hockey, remember? I can handle bruises and a couple of cuts.”

Denise studies him for a long moment, her expression caught between concern and exasperation. Finally, she sits back with a defeated sigh. "Fine. But if you can't breathe properly or the pain gets worse—"

"I'll tell you," Xavier cuts in. "Now, can we go home?"

I catch Denise's eyes in the rearview mirror. The look we share speaks volumes about stubborn, self-destructive boys who think they're invincible.

"Seriously." Xavier sighs. "Let's all go home and get some sleep."

Denise starts the car. "You're icing those ribs as soon as we get home. And I'm checking them again in the morning."

The engine purrs to life and we pull out of the parking lot, leaving the harsh fluorescent lights behind. I catch myself stealing another glance at Xavier's profile in the rearview mirror and quickly look away again, annoyed at my own inability to stop watching him.

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