Page 56 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Scarr. What's up? You with Dylan?" His voice carries as I make my way back to the pantry to return the first-aid kit. I linger for a few extra minutes to give him some privacy on his call with Scarlett.

When I wander back into the sitting area, he's off the phone, sitting up, both feet on the floor now. Still shirtless. Still gorgeous as sin. A walking contradiction: a mess and mesmerizing all at the same time. I swear the bruising around his eye has expanded in just the few minutes since I left the room.

"Dylan's back home," he informs me, turning his phone over in his palm. "And no charges."

"Well, that's good." I perch on the arm of the couch opposite him.

"Yeah, Phil's lawyer made it clear he'd counter-sue for harassment and hate speech if they tried anything, since there's a bunch of witnesses to confirm those assholes were targeting Dylan specifically, and saying some really messed up stuff about his past."

"Cool…" I smooth my fingers along the couch's soft fabric. "And he's getting help, right? Dylan—he's seeing a therapist and stuff to get help with his anger… and all the baggage he must have?"

"Oh yeah. You have no idea." Xavier nods. "His dad's life mission these days is helping Dylan deal. Getting him to a point where he isn't triggered by every little thing."

I can't imagine what it must have been like living through the life Dylan's had, or how hard it must be now for him to be thrown into this whole new world while he's still coming to terms with the fact that his past was stolen from him.

Xavier pushes to his feet, the usual fluid grace of his athletic frame replaced by slow, rigid movements. It's like he held it together, ignored the pain throughout everything at the police station, and now it's finally caught up to him.

"Where are you going?" I ask. And he pauses, one hand on the back of the shell sofa.

"I'm heading to bed. It's been kind of a long night."

"Wait… Just five more minutes." I start for the kitchen. "I'm going to make you my mom's miracle injury healer. Guaranteed to speed up healing and reduce pain."

"Hard pass." He steps away.

"Five minutes." I hold up my hand, fingers spread. "That's all I need to whip up a cure that will cut your recovery time in half."

He hesitates, and I can see curiosity warring with his stubborn need to reject anything I suggest.

"Come on," I push. "What've you got to lose?"

"Your mom some kind of witch doctor?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"More like kitchen alchemist… Trust me, you'll be thanking me tomorrow."

His eyes bounce between mine. "Five minutes?" he asks finally.

"Max. I promise."

He sighs dramatically but ambles back around the couch. "This better be good, LeClair."

"That's the spirit." I spin back to face him, walking backwards to finish my path to the kitchen. "Park yourself back on that giant mollusk throne and prepare to be amazed."

"It better not taste like feet." But he's already holding a hand against his bruised ribs, lowering himself back onto the plush cushions.

"Please. My mom's secret recipe is way more sophisticated than feet." I start opening cupboards, searching for a glass bowl."Think more along the lines of… unicorn tears and dragon scales."

A quiet chuckle drifts over from the sitting room. "Now I'm definitely concerned."

"Relax, Rockwell." I find a bowl and grab a wooden spoon from a ceramic utensil-filled jar. "I promise it's at least sixty percent edible."

"Sixty?"

"The other forty percent is pure magic." I search out ingredients. "And maybe a dash of questionable choices."

"Fuck me."

"No thanks." I answer cheerily. "Oh, and no peeking. Turn your head."

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