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Chapter Forty- Three

Maggie

I squeeze through the packed crowd, following Silas' broad shoulders as he carves a path toward the area near the stage. The Foundry thrums with an energy beyond anything I've felt here before—bodies pressed together, voices rising above the pre-show music, anticipation crackling through the air like static electricity.

"Holy shit," I breathe, taking in the sea of faces. "I didn't know this many people even lived in Sandy Haven."

"Word got around." Silas glances back at me with a knowing grin. "There's some serious talent between the four of them." He throws me a smirk over his shoulder. "Plus, your boy comes with a built-in fan club."

"Yeah, I noticed," I respond, scanning the crowd. I'm not thrilled about the groups of girls clustered near the stage, their excited chatter rising above the pre-show music. Every few seconds, another squeal or burst of laughter pierces the air. The ratio is impossible to ignore—easily two girls for every guy in here. I recognize a lot of them from some of Xavier's parties… And while I'm not usually the jealous type, I would be lying if I said I don't get an uncomfortable lump in my throat when I notice one of the squealing girls is the blonde who was in Xave's bed my second day at the Rockwell Estate.

"Healthy competition," Silas jokes. "Besides, the other guys have got their own little fandoms, too."

"Yep."

Squealing girls come with the territory, I remind myself. If Xave wants to pursue this music thing, there are going to be groupies and flirty girls. Hopefully eventually outnumbered, at least, by fans of the band's music rather than their looks or popularity.

"And looks like Travers is doing his part to cut down the number of girls lusting after your guy." Silas chuckles, motioning with his chin toward the side of the stage where Beck Travers is holding court in one corner, girls hanging off him like flies on a honey-baked ham.

Then I spot Seb standing on a chair up front, waving his arms at us like he's directing air traffic, wearing his signature backwards ball cap and infectious grin. No idea why he's standing on a chair; he's already taller than most people in here. We reach the tables where he, Caroline, Jackie, and Scarlett have staked out prime real estate near the stage. Mason and Laney and a bunch of other closer friends from Ocean Heights are with them too.

"Our boy is gonna kill it tonight," Seb yells over the crowd.

My stomach does a little flip. I was with Xave earlier during soundcheck, all focused intensity as he adjusted mic levels and tested his guitar. Now he's backstage with the rest of the band, and I can't imagine how nervous he must be right now. Hell, my own hands are shaking with nerves.

It takes me a while to greet everyone; there are so many people here tonight that I know. Kids from Ocean Heights and SH Prep. As it gets closer to go-time, the energy levels surge even higher. Seb is literally bouncing off the walls, he's so excited. His parents are in the crowd somewhere, here to support Xave. They're pretty close with him, since he and Seb have been best friends since elementary school.

My mother really wanted to come tonight, but Xavier said it would just make him extra nervous. He still hasn't met her yet. Every time I suggest he come to my place for dinner or drop by the café to meet her, he has some reason why he can't. The excuses are legitimate enough that I can't call him out, but vague enough that I know he's avoiding it.

And I get it—meeting parents is a big step. But Mom isn't some stern, judgmental figure—and Xave knows that. Plus, I have no doubt my mom is going to love him. Although, after seeing how Barron and Jacee treat him, I understand why Xave might be gun-shy about new parent interactions. Still, it stings a little every time he deflects.

I thought my mom might be nervous hearing I'm dating the guy I'm temporarily living across the hall from. But she told me I'm stricter on myself with rules about dating guys than she probably is—and pointed out if she had any doubts about my ability to make smart choices centered around appropriate values, then she wouldn't have let me take a job in the first place, where I'm co-living with a guy my own age. Which means a lot to me—that she trusts me enough to get that I'm not the kind of girl whose values suddenly crumble at the onset of a little smooth flattery or good looks or plain old curiosity. I may have my faults, but I do kinda rock in the self-respect department. Which, in all honesty, is a trait I learned from her.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I pull it out of my pocket.

Xavier

shit maggs don't think i can do this

Maggs

that's what u said about jamming that first time w the guys.

look how that turned out

Xavier

this is different

Maggs

you've totally got this

don't think about the crowd

just think about the music

Xavier

FUCK im freaking ou t

I was anticipating these pre-show freak-out texts, and I came prepared.

Maggs

remove your phone from your phone case

Xavier

???

Maggs

just do it

and then go out there and rock the roof off this joint xox

He doesn't text back, and a few minutes later, the house lights dim, and the crowd surges forward. My heart pounds in time with the building cheers.

"XAVE, YOU'RE THE MAAAAN!" Seb hollers through his cupped hands. He's standing on his chair again, and Caroline's tugging him down by his shirt.

"Seb! Get down! Seriously. Or I'm going to elaborate on how your center of gravity shifts when—"

The lights come on and the guys walk out onto the stage. The crowd screams louder.

"YOU GOT THIS X-MAN!" Seb roars. Still on his chair. Still grinning from ear to ear.

The lights catch Xave’s muscled shoulders as he steps out last, head bowed, casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He moves with that effortless grace of his, and my heart does a full gymnastics routine as he passes the stage monitor, guitar hanging low across his broad chest, the worn leather strap a stark contrast against the soft grey cotton of his T-shirt. My pulse stutters at the sight of those damn jeans, riding dangerously low on his hips, and the way the warm glow around him highlights the curve of his full lips… the slow bob of his throat as he forces a hard swallow .

And then I see it—right there on his forearm, impossible to miss under the stage lights: a large tattoo of a grinning ant perched on long stilts, with the words above in bold bubble letters: "I don't need luck, I've got tall-ant"—the temporary tattoo from Finn that I helped him hide between Xavier's phone and his phone case before he left for soundcheck this afternoon.

A laugh bubbles up in my chest.

My palms are sweating, and my heart's racing double-time, but I can't wipe the smile off my face. The crowd's screaming reaches fever pitch as Xave steps up to the mic, shoulders dipping with a sharp exhale. His head is still ducked, messy waves falling into his face. And for a second, he just stands there, unwittingly drawing out the anticipation, his hand brushing over his guitar strings like a nervous habit. He raises it briefly to rake through his hair before letting it fall back to the guitar.

Then his head rises, slow and deliberate, his waves falling back to reveal a face that looks almost fragile under the stage lights. The cheers amp up, a bunch of friends screaming his name. His gaze skims the crowd, his tongue wetting his lips.

And then he finds me.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but then he bites the corner of his lip, a flicker of nervous energy sparking in his eyes before it smooths into an almost-smirk. Crooked and warm. Bashful and daring. And it’s like he’s just decided this moment is his.

"Hey," he says, his voice deep and gravelly over the mic. "Thanks for coming out tonight." The crowd screams louder. "We're Salt Vein."