Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

Xavier

T he familiar industrial vibe of the Foundry hits different tonight; raw brick walls and metal beams thrumming with a restless buzz. The high rafters vibrate with each bass note, and the smell of coffee still lingers from the space's daytime gig as a coffee shop. Through the two-story windows, dock lights shimmer on the water, casting long shadows across the concrete floor.

The crowd fills every corner of the old warehouse—SH Prep and Ocean Heights kids, a few college students home for the weekend, adults escaping their lives for a few hours. It's always a mixed bag on nights when the Foundry stays open late for live music.

I take another sip of my drink, watching the band set up, automatically searching out the guitarist—a tall, lean guy with tattoos crawling up his arms. I recognize him from campus. Pretty sure Cam's our age, but I heard he dropped out of Ocean Heights earlier this year and got a job on the grounds crew at SH Prep. Right now, he's tuning his instrument with practiced ease, totally in his element.

I slouch in my chair, my attention shifting to the people at our table. Seb is tracing circles on Caroline's hand while she rattles off some weird fact about sound waves to a surprisingly interested Dylan. Then Dylan looks away and his jaw tightens; he shifts in his seat, positioning his back to a group of girls walking past our table, their whispers barely concealed. Scarlett presses closer to him, her fingers absently playing with his hair.

Even though Dylan arrived in Sandy Haven a few months ago, people are still fascinated by him. Like his story being so public somehow gives them the right to stare. And apparently, his good looks mean girls are even more obsessed, so he gets even more unwanted attention.

Two guys near the stage are straight-up pointing. Seb notices too and shoots them a disapproving scowl—a rare expression on my perma-grin best friend.

The first chord rips through the air and everyone's focus shifts to the stage. It's a great opener—an upbeat, edgy tune about finding peace in chaos. High-energy, with a rhythmic pulse that builds into a soaring, almost cathartic chorus. The lead singer is good, but it's Cam who stands out and has everyone's attention, shredding riffs in chaotic, unexpected spots.

"Wow, the guitar player is really good," Caroline breathes.

"Metal as fuck," Dylan adds. Whatever that means.

Cam launches into a solo that makes the whole room hold its breath. His fingers fly across the frets with raw talent, but he gives off laid-back, unassuming energy, which makes me think he'd be an awesome guy to jam with. And the way his fingers dance across those strings? The guy's wasting his talent mowing lawns. His whole body moves with the music like it's flowing through him.

The girls in the crowd are practically salivating over him, too, much to Dylan's relief, I'll bet. But Cam seems oblivious, throwing only a cursory glance at the crowd when they erupt into whoops and hollers at the end of the first song. The singer introduces the next one; a tune that Cam wrote about the thrill and struggle of giving everything you’ve got, knowing it could leave you empty. It's raw and empowering and has an insane guitar riff during the chorus.

Midway through the song, Cam's eyes crinkle into a smile and he thrusts his chin in greeting at someone he just spotted in the crowd as he continues playing. My gaze automatically follows his towards whoever just caught his attention.

Pink hair. Bronze skin and freckles.

Maggie smiles and waves at him as she lowers herself into a chair beside her foster brother, Silas, at a table where Jackie is already sitting, along with a guy with blond surfer hair who I'm pretty sure worked at the Welsford this summer. Makes me wonder if this is a double-date kind of situation. I always assumed Maggie was single. No idea why; I know virtually nothing about her .

Shit, I feel like Finn right now when he saw her at our place during that party a few months ago. A little stunned at seeing her outside of her job. My house. Like I forgot she has a life beyond being Finn's nanny—and the object of my taunts.

More people come over and greet her; a couple of them pulling up chairs to join their group. I'm not surprised she's the kind of girl who makes friends easily. It's that energy she exudes; this cool confidence and a genuine openness that draws people in.

Too bad that energy and confidence led her to my doorstep and right into my brother's needy, already-damaged heart.

She scans the crowd and her gaze snags on mine. We both stay like that for a second, eyes locked, no tell-tale expressions. Then her lips lift in a genuine smile, and she says something which I think is probably, "Hey there."

I nod, then turn away, catching Seb's curious gaze this time.

He digs his elbow into my forearm and arches an eyebrow at me. "You good?"

Another nod. "Great."

He watches me for a second, like he doesn't totally believe me, then eventually turns back to the band, circling his arms around Caroline. She rests her head on his shoulder as the music slows, and Dylan leans into Scarlett and whispers something that makes her giggle. Scarlett Thiels— giggling. Fuck me sideways and call me done.

I drain my root beer, and the music swells, filling the space around us. My fingers drum against my empty glass as I try to lose myself in the rhythm instead of this hollow ache in my chest… because honestly, times like this, it sucks that my closest friends have all found their person—that connection you can only make when there isn't a constant underlying possibility that you're being used for the dollar-signs practically burying every letter of your last name. So while I'm happy for them, it doesn't change the fact that I'm still here playing the same old games: different girl every few weeks, usually fun, rarely any connection, always fleeting. Which means I'm a constant third or fifth wheel when we go out as a group. Seventh wheel if Silas and Jackie join us.

I drag a hand through my hair, slouching down in my chair, eyes skimming the couples around the table .

Feels sometimes like I'm watching them through glass. Everything on their side of it is solid and tangible and real, and everything on my side is buried in sand so fine it just slips through my fingers and piles at my feet.

Cam unleashes another solo that tears through the air like a prayer, and I want to lose myself in it. But all I can think about now are Maggie's words in the observatory, and her prediction that the way I treat Finn now will affect his future—the picture she painted of a guy even lonelier than I am right now. Because although I may be perpetually single, at least I have friends. Good ones. The best ones.

According to Maggie, Finn doesn't have any.

I picture him now, alone in our massive house, probably in bed. Thinking I chose freaking Rita over him.

My jaw clenches and I have to force myself not to shoot a glare in Maggie's direction, because I blame her for what happened tonight, and I need more time to decide if my anger is founded—if it's her that makes me angry, or just the impact of the words she said.

"Hey." Seb nudges me again and when my eyes meet his, says "Finn will be fine, man." Because apparently Seb's been paying closer attention than I thought and noticing more than I'm comfortable with anyone being aware of. Still, I can't be mad at him. It's cool he cares. And honestly, surprising he's so tuned in.

"Kids say shit all the time they don't mean," he adds, when I don't respond.

Not Finn. Not to me. We had a deal—unspoken but real. Us against them. Against the rules the nannies try to put between us in an attempt to control his life and push us apart.

And I broke it.

Scarlett must notice our more serious conversation, because she leans in. "What's going on, guys? Everything okay?"

I nod, forcing a grin. "All good." I knock my soda bottle against hers.

She studies me. "You sure? You seem kind of distracted… I thought you were bouncing off the walls to hear this band."

"Yeah." I toss the torn label I've been absently peeling off my bottle. "And they're sick. "

"Really sick." She smiles and flicks the label back at me.

I stretch, trying to shake off the frustration at the sudden scrutiny. "Anyone want drinks? I'm getting another soda."

No-one wants anything, so I make my way over to the counter, nodding or saying a brief "hey" to people I know as I pass, but not stopping to talk. After I get a soda, I lean against the back wall and watch the band perform the last two songs of their first set.

When they take their break, I notice a couple of them beeline for the bathroom while Cam and the drummer head to the counter. I push off from my spot against the wall and approach them.

"Great first set, man." I nod at Cam. "Guitar solo on that second song was nuts."

They both mumble thanks, clearly drained from performing. Cam orders water and something else I can't hear over the between-set music playing through the speakers.

"Hey, you're Xavier, right?" Cam asks, turning to face me again as the drummer wanders off with a brief nod at us.

I furrow my brow, caught off guard. "Yeah…"

"Cool. Was gonna talk to you after the gig."

My confusion deepens. The only other time I've seen this guy was in passing when he was digging a hole or something for a sign on campus, but we've never spoken. Can't imagine what he'd want to discuss with me.

"Yeah?" I keep my tone neutral.

"Xave!" A shrill voice cuts through the music. Taylor and Anna from SH Prep materialize beside us. "We didn't know you'd be here tonight."

"Hey." I lift my chin in greeting.

They turn to Cam, gushing about the performance. "Those guitar solos were amazing."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Cam's reply is polite but brief.

Another guy—think he's from Ocean Heights—pushes through to clap Cam on the shoulder. "Dude, your playing is sick. Like, seriously epic. "

Before Cam can respond, Piper appears at my elbow, rocking hoop earrings the size of donuts. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm good." I hold up my full can.

Cam lets out a low laugh, watching the growing crowd around us. "Hey, man, want to step outside for a sec? So we can actually talk?"

"Yeah, sure."

We weave through the crowd and push through the heavy back door into the cold night air. The metal door clangs shut behind us, muffling the music and chatter from inside. Cold air hits my face and our breath fogs as Cam leads us toward the edge of a snowy dock. He takes a long chug of water, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the railing… and fifty bucks says the guy is a wicked drummer too, based on the complicated rhythm he's casually tapping out.

I can't for the life of me figure out what this guy could possibly want with me. Most people who seek me out want something—money, status, connections. But watching him perform tonight, seeing how he loses himself in the music, his chill demeanor… my gut tells me Cam's different. And now I really want to know—if I'm right and it isn't any of those things—then what could a guy who can make a guitar sing like that possibly want from a guy like me?