Page 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maggie

I perch 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.

I clean the cut carefully, trying to ignore how his breath fans across my wrist. I can feel his eyes on me, watching with an intensity that makes my fingers tremble slightly against his skin. He flinches at the sudden sting, just barely—a tiny movement I wouldn't have noticed if we weren't so close.

"Sorry," I mutter, then press my lips together, focusing on the task instead of the way my heart is doing weird things in my chest or how the scent of him seems to fill all the space between us.

I swap out the bloody wipe for a clean one then move to the split lip. This close, I can see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, smell the faint metallic tang of blood. I clear my throat. "This is probably going to hurt worse than the eyebrow. "

"It's fine." He swipes his tongue lazily along his lower lip, and how the hell am I supposed to not track its movement when I'm so close I could give the guy mouth-to-mouth?

I dab at the cut and this time, he doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. His eyes remain steadfast on my face. It's unnerving. But not entirely in a bad way.

"So do you get into fights often?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the warmth radiating off his bare skin.

"No." He finally blinks when I remove the antiseptic. "Second time."

I nod, leaning back. "So, what happened with Dylan? Is the other guy pressing charges? Does anyone know yet, or is he still in hospital?"

"He's gonna be in overnight. Broken jaw."

"Ouch."

"Asshole brought it on himself." Xavier shifts, glancing down at the ice pack he's holding against his bare torso. "Shit, this thing is cold."

I laugh. "That's kind of the idea… You know—with ice. "

Xavier ignores me. "Dylan's lawyer was still sorting stuff out when they let me leave, but I doubt they'll keep him overnight. They know Dylan's past—and his shrink dialed in and stuff… so they'll probably let him go, even if there's a hearing or whatever."

"He's still pretty messed up, huh? From living with that guy… The serial killer?"

"Yeah." Xavier leans in and inspects his ribs again, wincing as he shifts. "He's a good guy, though." His gaze lifts to meet mine, almost like he's pressing a point. It's obvious he's hardcore Team Dylan… And that when it comes to loyalty, he doesn’t just draw a line—he carves it in stone. I think back to Scarlett’s words the other night, that when you’re ‘in’ with Xavier, you’re in. He will literally fight for those few people he lets into his limited inner circle.

It makes me like him more.

I rustle through the first aid kit and remove a tube of antibiotic ointment, then unscrew the cap and squeeze a small amount onto my finger. When I glance back at Xavier, his eyes are half-closed, head tipped back against the couch cushions. The unguarded expression makes my chest tight with an emotion I refuse to name. I'm suddenly desperate to step away, to put some distance between us. The intimate act of tending to his wounds feels dangerous, like playing with matches near a vat of gasoline. But I force myself to stay focused, to keep my movements clinical and efficient.

His eyes flutter open as I lean in, and he lifts his head from the cushions. I dab ointment on his split lip first, careful not to press too hard against the swollen flesh. His breath catches slightly at the contact, warm against my fingertip, making my own breath stutter for a heartbeat.

"Almost done," I mutter, more to myself than him. My knuckles brush his jaw as I apply a final dab, and electricity shoots through my fingertips. I snatch my hand away and lean back, twisting my body a little to grab the tube of ointment. Once I've squeezed more onto my finger, I turn to face him again just as he shifts the ice pack, his abs flexing with the movement. I lean in, pretending I didn't notice.

"Hold still," I order, applying it to his eyebrow with trembling fingers.

He complies, but I catch the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Like maybe he does know exactly what effect he's having on me and finds it amusing.

I should hate that smirk. Those lips. Full and inviting, the kind you could write poetry or bad decisions about.

But clearly, I don't hate it, since the word 'poetry' came to mind at the thought of those lips. Poetry and lips? God, what is happening to me?

"There." I cap the ointment and start shoving supplies back into the first aid kit, needing something to do with my hands. "Try not to get into any more fights this week."

"This where you lecture me about using my words instead of fists?" His voice is low, almost husky with exhaustion, and it hurts a little that he thinks I judge every one of his actions so negatively.

I close the first-aid box and look back at him. "Actually, I think it was really cool that you jumped in and defended Dylan like that."

Xavier's eyes widen. Well, the one that isn't practically swollen shut. "You think it's cool I got into a fistfight? "

I shrug. "I wouldn't say I think it's cool that you were in a fistfight. But I respect you for defending a friend who was being bullied by a couple of assholes."

I expect him to smirk or make some smart-ass sarcastic comment, but instead he studies me for a second, then nods once. "Huh."

His cell rings just then and he tosses the ice pack onto the coffee table, then answers as I stand.

"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."

"You're seriously scaring me now," he grumbles, but turns away.

"Geez. Have a little faith," I call over my shoulder as I enter the ginormous walk-in pantry. "My mom swears it's why I healed so fast that time I broke my arm falling out of Mrs. Krawn's giant backyard tree."

"You fell out of a tree?"

"I was trying to rescue a cat."

"Of course you were." There's something that almost sounds like amusement in his voice.

"And by cat, I mean a cat stuffy," I admit. "And by tree, I mean cedar hedge."

"Christ…"

"It was still wildly heroic of me…" I prance back into the kitchen, totally invigorated by the task at hand. "Trust me."

"Un-huh."

I grin as I start mixing ingredients. "Anyway… Just you wait. You're about to experience the healing powers of the LeClair family's secret recipe."

Three minutes later, my concoction is finished, and the result is even better than any of my mothers' attempts. I sweep back into the sitting room, holding my creation high like a waiter presenting a prized dish. "Ladies and gentlemen—but mostly just you—I present…" I pause for dramatic effect, "the Bruise Buster Boulder!"

Xavier's eyes widen—even his swollen one manages to stretch. "What the actual hell is that?"

"This," I announce, lowering the colorful marshmallow Rice Krispies and sprinkle ball onto the coffee table, "is your golden ticket to a speedy recovery."

"Gotta be honest… it looks like a rainbow threw up a hairball. "

"That's part of its charm." I gesture to the massive treat. "Five bites. That's all it takes for guaranteed faster healing."

A laugh bursts out of him, then he winces and grabs his ribs. "There's no way I'm eating that thing."

"Come on, live a little." I break off a piece. "I promise you'll like it."

"Is that… are those jellybeans mixed in there?"

"Maybe." I wiggle the piece in front of his face. "Only one way to find out."

He eyes it suspiciously—this boy who’ll fight a guy three years older than him but hesitates over a melted jellybean. He sighs. "If I die from this, I'm haunting you."

"Ohhh… Sounds fun."

He chuckles again, then takes the piece and pops it in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Well?" I ask.

"Okay, fine. It's actually… not terrible."

"Not terrible?" I break off another chunk. "It's amazing and you know it."

"It's better than it looks," he admits, reaching for more. "Which isn't saying much, considering it looks like a unicorn's fever dream."

I grab a bite for myself. "Hey, respect the boulder. This is premium healing magic right here."

"Right. Magic." But he's already working on his fourth piece, a hint of a real smile playing at the corners of his busted mouth. "Did your mother really used to make this for you?" he asks around a bite of gooey goodness.

"Yup. Every time I got badly hurt."

"Huh. Your mother sounds like a cool woman."

"The best." I reach for another chunk that has a pink jellybean and blue Sour Patch Kid melted in. "Honestly, my mom's probably my best friend."

He pauses mid-bite. "Your mom's your best friend?"

"Yup."

"And clearly also a lunatic in the kitchen. "

I laugh. "Yeah, that too. She's kind of a health nut—like full-on 'vegetables or fruit with every meal' kind of healthy. So, the Bruise Buster Boulder was always an extra special treat."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "I had this one nanny who would give me Pop-Tarts for a bedtime snack if I'd had a really shitty day." He smiles at the memory, which causes his split lip to start bleeding again. He wipes it with the back of his hand, removing the antibiotic cream in the process.

"Pop-Tarts, huh?" I grin.

"Frosted strawberry. The best."

"Yeah… Strawberry and cherry are my fave."

Xavier nods. He watches me for what feels like a long time, his expression unreadable."Thank you," he says finally, then clears his throat. "Again—for putting in a good word for me with Cam. But also, for coming to the station tonight with Scarlett… and cleaning me up." His busted lip twitches into the hint of a grin. "But mostly for the ah… the Bruise Buster Ball thing."

"Boulder," I correct. "Bruise Buster Boulder ."

"Sorry—Boulder." The corner of his mouth lifts higher. "I can already feel its healing powers working." He unfolds himself stiffly from the couch, wincing slightly. "Okay. I'm gonna head to bed."

"Same." I gather the empty plate, depositing it on the counter before following him.

We climb the sweeping staircase in silence, but for once, the quiet between us feels comfortable and easy—not charged with the usual hostility or tension.

At our doors, we pause.

"Well, good night," I say softly. "Hope you sleep okay."

"Night." He hesitates, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, hand on the door handle. "Hey, Maggie?"

"Yeah?"

He shifts his jaw, his throat bobbing with a slow swallow. "For what it's worth, you're the least shit nanny Finn's had so far."

Before I can respond, he disappears into his room, leaving me standing there in stunned silence.

I slip into my own room, smiling as I close the door behind me.