Page 51 of Even Beneath the Stars

He knows who Dylan is. Like I said—everyone does. The Maytag Killer media circus was the biggest thing to hit Sandy Haven since they opened a Pottery Barn in the mall off the highway. But then, I guess everyone knows who I am, too. The Rockwell name isn’t just known—it’s a currency around here that buys you attention whether you want it or not.

The officer confirms exactly that when he rumbles, "The Maytag Kid…" His attention swings to me next, eyes squinted into something like confusion. "And a Rockwell…" He shakes his head slowly. "Well, this should be interesting."

Chapter Twenty

Maggie

Igrip the door handle as Scarlett takes another corner too fast, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The flash of red and blue lights from the police cars ahead cuts through the darkness.

"That's the worst I've ever seen Dylan lose it," her voice cracks. "He was just… He totally justsnapped."

"Yeah, but he was defending himself. Dylan’s got a short fuse, but those guys lit the match. They were pushing him hard andtryingto make him lose it. I was right there." I try to sound reassuring and confident, even though I'm not really feeling either of those things. "Also, the guy he was laying into walked out at least. That's good, right?"

"Yeah, to the hospital." Scarlett bites her lip. "God, what if they commit Dylan again? He was in that psychiatric facility for two months after they found him with… you know—with that serial killer." She takes a sharp turn, inhaling a shaky breath as she follows the cruisers down Harbor Road. "I can't… he can't go back there." She blinks rapidly. "Shit, his dad is going to freak out."

"Hey." I reach over and squeeze her arm. "We're not going to jump to worst-case scenarios, okay? People know the crap Dylan's been through. That's going to count for something… and his dad will know what to do. He'll have good lawyers and stuff. And Dylan has a therapist, right?"

"Yeah."

"Exactly. His opinion will carry lots of weight… They're going to figure this out."

Scarlett doesn't say anything this time, and my mind wanders to Xavier. I'm worried about him too. Jacee’s on a different continent right now, and God knows where Barron is.

"What about Xavier?” I ask, knowing Scarlett is aware of the Rockwell’s bizarre, complicated world.

"Xavier’s the kind of guy who’ll bleed on the battlefield but refuse to admit he’s been hit," Scarlett says, confirming what I already know.

“Should I call Denise?”

The police station appears ahead, its harsh fluorescent lighting spilling onto the empty parking lot.

“Xave will call her,” Scarlett assures me, pulling in. “I think the cops will make them call someone. Because they’re minors, right?”

“I think, yeah.”

"Denise will be good. She’ll know what to do.” She kills the engine. The cruisers ahead of us park, and officers start leading the boys inside in handcuffs. Dylan's head is down, but Xavier keeps his chin up, his stride steady. Almost casual, like he's heading to class instead of being arrested. Except his hair is more tousled than usual, his shirt torn at the collar, and his face all banged up.

A trickle of blood from his busted lip runs down his chin, and since the cuffs are still binding his wrists, he twists and wipes it with his shoulder, the gesture so oddly graceful that he maintains his usual untouchable composure. Like handcuffs are an aesthetic choice rather than a consequence.

As they approach the entrance, he pulls away from the cop's grip to say something to Dylan. And even when the officer pulls him back, he keeps leaning in towards Dylan, like he's trying to reassure him or something. Then they disappear through the doors, into the building.

Scarlett and I follow shortly and sit where we're told to, on hard plastic chairs along a wall overlooking the booking area on the other side of the glassed-in reception desk. We wait for what feels like an eternity.

Dylan's father arrives after a while with his lawyer, and shortly afterwards, the glass doors swoosh open and Denise rushes in, her normally perfect hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her parka is half-zipped over what looks like yoga pants andan oversized sweater. I've never seen her in anything but crisp business attire, so the sight is jarring.

Xavier's eyes drift to the glass wall as Denise strides to the front desk, her normally graceful movements slightly frantic. And I can tell the moment he sees her, because his jaw tightens and he swallows hard. The muscle along his cheekbone tics as he wipes fresh blood from his split lip with the back of his cuffed hands in a motion that's a little clumsy and leaves a rusty smear across his skin.

At the sight of his face, Denise winces and I hear her mutter, "Aw, hell…"

Xavier shifts his weight, then rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck from side to side, the movement stiff and deliberate. His lashes lower and lift in a sluggish blink.

Denise sighs and dips her head to address the receptionist, and Xavier's attention shifts to the officer's instructions for fingerprinting with an almost bored expression, like this is just another minor inconvenience in his privileged life, the flash of raw emotion from a few seconds ago carefully tucked away.

A few minutes later, the Rockwells' attorney arrives too, and an officer escorts him through the security door.

Scarlett, Denise and I go back to waiting.

Denise offers to call Rita to see if she can stay another day with Finn so I can go back to my own home, but I tell her I'm fine to go to the Rockwells as planned—that consistency is important for Finn.

---