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Chapter Twenty-Six

Xavier

I win the tournament by three measly points, and my ribs are screaming. I want to say I would've crushed them both if I wasn't so banged up, but watching Maggie's skills during our matches makes me think I'd just be lying to myself.

The real test comes during my final game against Finn. Every fiber of my being wants to throw the match, especially when I see his bottom lip quiver as my score climbs higher. But Maggie's words echo in my head, and I force myself to keep playing to maintain the highest score.

The instant my victory flashes across the screen, cementing my winning status for the whole tournament, Finn hurls his controller at the ground.

"NO!" He stamps his foot, face turning red. "You cheated! I always win at this! I always win, Xave!"

Suddenly winning feels like breaking a mirror—seven years of bad luck and a hell of a mess.

"Finn—"

"I hate this game! I HATE THIS STUPID DUMB TOURNAMENT!" He kicks the base of the arcade cabinet, and I grab his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, that's not how we—"

"YOU'RE MEAN!" He jerks away from me, tears streaming down his face. "I'M NEVER PLAYING WITH YOU AGAIN!"

He bolts across the room and into the seating area through a wide archway, knocking over a chair in his path. We can hear him launch himself onto the couch, then his feet pounding against the wall .

My chest tightens. Every instinct screams at me to go after him, to fix this, to make him happy. But I catch Maggie's eye across the room, and something in her steady gaze keeps me rooted in place. Like a seatbelt—annoying, but maybe the only thing keeping me from crashing.

"That was rough," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

"That was necessary," she corrects, but her voice is gentle. "You did the right thing, Xave."

I want to believe her. But Finn's tears and rage-filled screams make my stomach churn. Being the bad guy for the right reasons still feels like crap.

Ten minutes crawl by like molasses. Each of Finn's hiccupping sobs feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I pace between the arcade cabinets, unable to remain still. Not while my baby brother is crying his eyes out just twenty feet away.

It’s not just Finn who needs to learn to lose, apparently—I need to learn how to let him.

Maggie leans against the air hockey table, scrolling through her phone like this is just another Saturday afternoon. And how can she be so calm? I want to shake her; demand we go comfort Finn right now.

But every time I take a step toward the seating area, she shoots me this look. She’s made of patience, and I’m a wildfire trying not to spread. Still, her gaze isn't angry or judgmental—just steady. Patient. Like she knows exactly what I'm thinking and why it's wrong.

The sounds from the couch gradually shift from full-on screaming to sniffling. My hands clench and unclench at my sides.

"Okay, let's go chat with him," Maggie finally says, pocketing her phone.

Thank Christ. I'm already moving when her hand catches my arm, stopping me short.

"Just stay calm, okay?" Her eyes lock with mine, serious but kind. "I know this feels awful right now, but trust me, this is how we help him learn to handle disappointment. Give it time. Seriously. I swear you'll notice the difference."

I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to argue. Maggie’s the kind of calm that feels like a challenge—steady enough to make me second-guess everything I've been clinging to. And my way hasn't exactly been working out great lately, if I'm being honest with myself.

"Fine," I manage. "But if this screws him up, I'm blaming you."

"Deal." She squeezes my arm once before letting go.

I follow Maggie into the sitting area, my hands shoved in my pockets to keep from reaching for Finn. His sobs have turned into hiccupping sniffles, but his face stays buried in the couch cushions.

Maggie settles cross-legged on the floor near him. "You know what?" Her voice stays light, casual. "I lost too. And I still had a blast."

Finn kicks the wall one more time, but softer.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Maggie asks. "Playing games with Xave and me?"

He lifts his head just enough to peek at us with red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah," he mumbles into the cushion. "But only 'cause I thought I was gonna win."

My chest aches. I open my mouth to tell him we can have a rematch, but Maggie shoots me a look that stops me cold.

"That's silly," she says, turning back to Finn. "You can never be totally sure you'll win anything. So if you only let yourself have fun when you know you'll win…" She shrugs. "Well, then you might never have any fun at all." She pauses. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

Finn's shoulders hunch up to his ears. He sniffs loudly and kicks the wall again, but I can tell he's listening.

"Do you think maybe we can have fun even if we don't win all the time at everything?" Maggie prompts.

My brother responds by burrowing deeper into the couch cushions, his pouty silence filling the room.

I bite my tongue because the fix is so easy. Ice cream or a rematch or a trip to the store. But for the first time, I'm considering the fact that maybe those things really have been part of the problem all along. Which cuts deep—to think that my actions have been messing up my brother, who is the most important person in the world to me.

I watch in amazement as Maggie shifts gears, her voice brightening like someone flipped a switch .

"Hey Finn, remember that super cool song we were gonna write about Xave? I'm still really excited to work on that." She gets up and stretches. "We should find a secret spot where he can't hear us though. You know, so it'll be a surprise."

Finn just burrows deeper into the cushions, letting out a dramatic huff. "No," he grumbles, voice muffled.

"Oh." Maggie shrugs, completely unfazed. "That's okay. I mean, you'll miss out on making up really funny jokes about your brother, but if you don't want to…" She trails off with an exaggerated sigh. "I was hoping you'd help me think of silly rhymes and stuff. But I guess I'll just have to write it by myself in the sitting room near the kitchen." She stands up, brushing off her jeans. "You can totally join me there if you change your mind, but only if you're going to be excited about it, not all grumpy."

She heads for the hallway and I follow, completely fascinated by how she's handling this. We barely make it three steps before I hear the thunder of little feet behind us.

"Wait!" Finn calls out, scrambling off the couch. "I wanna help! I know lots of funny things about Xave!"

I bite back a smile as he races to catch up with us. Kid's got the attention span of a goldfish sometimes, and right now I'm grateful for it.

And I've got to hand it to Maggie. She managed to completely defuse my brother's meltdown without a single bribe or giving in. Which makes her possibly more badass than I was already starting to give her credit for.

I sprawl across one of the antique fainting couches in the Drawing Room, scrolling through my phone while listening to the muffled sounds of giggling from down the hall. My mom's precious formal living room feels sterile and cold compared to the warmth of laughter echoing from the kitchen sitting room .

The giggling gets louder, and I look up to see Maggie and Finn filing into the room. My eyebrows shoot up when I spot the guitar in Maggie's hands. Seriously, the girl's a walking plot twist—just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she pulls this on me.

" You play guitar? "

She settles onto the edge of an ornate armchair, adjusting the instrument in her lap. "I've got all kinds of talents you don't know about."

My lips curve into a smirk as several possibilities run through my mind. Before I can voice any of them, she points a warning finger at me.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Rockwell."

"What?" I arrange my face into pure innocence. "I was just going to say—."

"I know exactly what you were going to say." She waves off my protests. "Now do you want to hear our epic song or not?"

"Obviously." I can't help the suggestive tone that creeps into my voice. "I'd love for you to share your talents with—"

"Final warning, McSmarmy Pants," she says, but there's amusement dancing in her eyes.

I exhale a quiet chuckle, shaking my head as I drag my knuckles along my jaw.

"On a scale of one to ten," Maggie asks, strumming the guitar experimentally, "how upset would your mother be if she found out we stood on this massively solid coffee table like it's a stage?"

I quirk an eyebrow, taking in the ornate mahogany piece that's probably worth more than most cars. "I'd say on a scale of one to ten, there is zero percent chance my mother would notice if we chopped the coffee table up and used the boards to build an actual stage in here."

I catch Maggie's quick glance at Finn, checking his reaction to the mention of our mother. But Finn just giggles, already kicking off his turtle slippers.

Maggie follows suit, peeling off her fuzzy sushi socks. And of course, her toenails are painted in a hue of glittery purples and pinks. The two of them climb onto the coffee table in their bare feet, and Maggie counts them down before launching into what I quickly realize is the most entertaining two-chord performance I've ever witnessed. Yeah, that's right, another plot twist—the girl only knows two chords. But she owns them like a boss, throwing her whole body into it, head banging and jumping around while somehow managing not to fall off the table. Finn mirrors her every move, both of them belting out the lyrics:

"There’s Xavier, the winner, our champ for the night.

He thinks he’s the best, and well… he might!

But let’s not forget who’s got his back,

It’s his little bro Finn and Maggie’s sass attack!

With his smug little grin and his victory strut,

He’s the Games Room king, but that door’s about shut!

Next time we play, the tables will turn,

And Xave will be the one who’s gotta learn!

You may have won this battle, but the war’s just begun,

Next tournament night, we’ll be the ones who’ve won!

So soak it up, Xave, while you’ve got the crown,

‘Cause next time we play, we’ll both take you down!"

Apparently, Maggie’s cure for meltdowns involves sarcasm, a guitar, and a sprinkle of chaos. And watching them up there, putting on a full rock concert with exactly two chords between them, I can't help it. The laughter bubbles up despite my bruised ribs screaming in protest.

"Ow, crap," I wheeze, wrapping an arm around my middle. But I'm still grinning like an idiot while they finish their grand finale—complete with synchronized head banging and air guitars.

And screw the throbbing ribs.

I jump to my feet and give them a standing ovation.