Page 45

Chapter Forty- Five

Maggie

" I do want to meet your mother," Xavier tells me, his voice suddenly sounding tired. Then he adds, "And I will."

His breathing has changed. More measured; controlled. He's doing that thing he does when he's trying to maintain his cool facade while processing something that makes him uncomfortable.

"Okay… so, when?"

He doesn't say anything. His body is still here. His warmth, his heartbeat, his arms holding me against his chest. But the elusive part of him that was with me a minute ago? Gone.

But I'm not letting this go. If we don't deal with this… thing —whatever it is driving his reluctance to cross over into my world the way I've done with him—then we're not giving this relationship a shot. It's going to exist just above the surface but never anything more. And I want more.

"This week?" I nudge gently, trailing a finger along the cord of muscle that stretches the length of his forearm resting across my bare stomach. "Wednesday evening we're both free; I have that extra night off banked from when your mom was here. We could go to my place after school."

Silence.

Xavier can command a room with a smirk, but when it comes to facing his insecurities, he has the uncanny ability to vanish into thin air.

He shifts beside me, muscles coiling with tension. His jaw tightens, and I watch the subtle changes play across his face—the way his eyes fix on some distant point across the vast Solarium, hovering just above the dense cluster of tall plants nestled around the stone wall where a gentle waterfall cascades into the pool.

"Can you… I mean, will you tell me why, at least?" I finally ask. "The reason you're so reluctant to come to my place… to meet my mom? If I understand then maybe—"

"Fuck, Maggs. I'll meet her, okay?"

"But why are you so annoyed about it? I feel like I'm pushing you to do something you don't want to do, and I don't like that."

He sighs. "Wednesday after school, I'll come over." He squeezes my fingers with his. "We'll have dinner with your mom." The words come out flat, devoid of the warmth that usually colors his tone when we're together. His agreement feels hollow. He's giving me what I want in order to dodge answering the harder question. It's the lesser of two evils, apparently. Although I have no idea why.

"Okay…"

He gave me the answer I wanted, but nothing else about his agreement feels the way I wanted it to.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, we can talk about—"

"I'm not uncomfortable. I just don't get why there's such a rush. Why you keep pushing this."

"And I don't get why you keep pushing back." I keep my fingers moving along his arm, trying to maintain that connection even as I feel him pulling away emotionally. The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things he's keeping in.

When he does finally speak again, his voice is carefully controlled. "I'm sorry… You're right. It's not some huge deal." He takes my hand, the one trailing along his forearm, and threads his fingers through mine. His long, guitar-playing fingers easily curling over the tips of mine. "And I want to meet her," he continues, his voice sounding a little more like him. "I know how much your mom means to you, and I want to know her."

My lips quirk into a tentative smile. "Thank you," I say softly, my lips pressed to his chest.

"I mean, she is the inventor of the Bruise Buster Ball, right? "

" Boulder. " I laugh, nudging my arm against his hard body. "Bruise Buster Boulder. "

"Yeah, that." He grins, and I can feel his muscles loosen.

I want to dig further, to make him talk about whatever makes him shut down at the mere mention of crossing into my world. But I know Xavier well enough by now to recognize when he's hit his limit. If I press further, he'll only retreat more, building those walls higher.

So instead, I lay my head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow from its anxious rhythm. His arm stays around me, and mine around him, this boy who I once thought was so two-dimensional and brimming with self-worth, and turned out to be so many things, yet neither of those.

We talk about other things. About music and who our favorite artists are (Pearl Jam for him, Bleachers for me), my latest diorama and how I approached a couple of galleries about possibly selling some of my pieces, about school, and Finn and his new budding friendship (and what a terrible name Lumen is), and about the band. We talk about everything except the thing that lingers between us. And maybe that’s how we keep the moment intact.

It's weird, He’s still here, still touching me, his heartbeat still steady beneath my cheek—but I can’t shake the feeling that after pushing that conversation with him, I almost lost something tonight. That he's holding my hand, but also still holding something back.

I wanted answers. He gave me a promise instead. And I guess I should be happy with that. It's something, at least. More than he's given any other girl before, as far as I know.

The more I get to know him, the more so many things with Xavier feel effortless. Yet others feel like trying to hold onto smoke. But maybe that's the problem with letting someone in, you start to notice the places they aren't willing to go.