Page 54 of Even Beneath the Stars

I slide out of the backseat, hugging my arms against the bitter wind. The motion-sensor lights flood the driveway with harsh brightness, making Xavier's injuries look even worse. The cut above his eye has started bleeding again, a thin line of red trailing down his temple.

Denise notices too. Her lips press into a tight line. Above us, the mansion looms, extravagant and silent. The three of us climb the steps to the boys' entrance, our shadows stretching long across the stone. Xavier fumbles with his keys, hands slightly shaky, though whether from cold or pain I can't tell.

Denise reaches over and takes them from him, unlocking the door herself. The foyer lights flicker on automatically as we enter, harsh against my tired eyes. I hang back awkwardly, not sure if I should head up to my room or…

"Come on." Denise gestures for us both to follow her. "Kitchen first. I want proper light to look at those cuts. You can help, Maggie."

Looks like I’ve been promoted to field medic in the Xavier Rockwell Survival Squad.

Xavier shoots me a look I can't quite read before trailing after her, his movements stiff and careful. I hesitate for a moment, then follow. Once we're inside, I lean against the marble counter, watching Denise guide Xavier to one of the hideous gold shell stools.

"Sit still," she orders, tilting his chin up. She clicks her tongue at the split lip, the darkening mark along his jaw. "Lord, what were you thinking?"

Xavier leans away from her touch. "I was thinking Dylan needed help."

"I'll go grab the first aid kit," I announce, glad to do something besides hover awkwardly.

"Thanks, Maggie," Denise says without looking up.

I take my time making my way to the pantry, and when I return, Denise is removing an ice pack from the freezer. The harsh lighting accentuates the dark circles under her eyes. She looks exhausted.

"I can clean the cuts," I tell her as she hands the ice pack to Xavier. "Go get some sleep. There's no reason for you to stick around when I can easily do this."

"Gosh, no. I'll just—"

"Seriously. I've got this."

She hesitates, eyeing the antiseptic wipes I'm still holding. "I don't think—"

"It's just cleaning a few cuts… and I'm first-aid trained."

"Okay…" She nods. "Alright." Then she adds, "The couch would be better, Xavier." She's clearly struggling to shift out of management mode. "You need to apply ice to those ribs for at least fifteen minutes before you head up to bed."

Xavier pushes off the stool. "Sure. Whatever gets everyone to stop hovering."

"I'll have my phone on," Denise tells him as he makes his way to the sitting area. "Call me if—"

"If the pain gets worse, yeah, got it." He drops onto the couch.

"I mean it, Xavier. Any problems at all."

"Yup." He tugs his T-shirt over his head, and I nearly drop the antiseptic wipes. The bruising along his ribs looks worse than it did even fifteen minutes ago in the car, but that's not what catches me off guard. It's those stupid abs and the stupid smooth planes of his chest, and the casual way he reclines against the cushions like he doesn't even notice the effect he has.

He presses the ice pack against his side and Denise gives him one last concerned look before heading reluctantly toward the door. "Thank you, Maggie. Good night, both of you."

I stand frozen, box of wipes clutched to my chest now like a shield. Suddenly volunteering to play nurse doesn't seem like such a brilliant idea.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maggie

Iperch on the edge of the coffee table and try to focus on the cut above Xavier's eyebrow rather than… everything else.

"This might sting," I warn, reaching for his face with the antiseptic wipe.

"Think I can handle it." His voice carries a hint of amusement that makes my cheeks warm. Xavier Rockwell: bruised, battered, and still somehow cocky.

I lean in to dab at the cut above his eyebrow, but his hair is in the way, the strands soft where they brush against my fingers. I reach to push them back, but Xavier lifts his free hand and holds the hair off his forehead himself. The movement brings his face closer to mine. Too close. I catch a whiff of something woodsy and masculine that sends a slow heat up my neck.

---