Page 49

Chapter Forty-Nine

Maggie

T ime passes in pieces. Some parts feel like they’re speeding forward so fast I can barely hold onto them, while others stretch out, lingering in a way that feels too heavy to carry.

The days blur into a rhythm of Salt Vein rehearsals, stolen moments with Xavier, and a growing sense of something shifting beneath the surface. The band is together constantly, locked away in garages and basements and the new sound-proofed room at the Rockwell Estate, hammering out their sound, finalizing songs, tightening harmonies.

Sometimes I just sit in the corner of their sessions, watching Xavier completely lose himself in the music, the way he has since I've known him. He’s protective of the music, giving it the weight and time it deserves, the rest of the world be damned. He fights for the band's sound, for their space to create, blocking out the noise and the sudden flood of outside expectations.

And then, he’s gone. To L.A. and New York, flying across the country for meetings, photoshoots, and recording sessions. The guys have a tutor who travels with them, since they're doing so much of their schoolwork remotely now.

When he leaves, he texts me constantly. When he’s home, we carve out time to be together. And usually, it's perfect.

But sometimes, it feels like something's off. Like something's slipping away.

Meanwhile, Finn is thriving.

He and Lumen are practically inseparable now, constantly running around the Rockwell Estate, building elaborate Lego worlds, baking cookies, and pretending the banister is a pirate ship mast. He has playdates with a couple of other kids, too. And gets invited to his first-ever sleepover.

He's almost as excited to pack his overnight bag as for the sleepover itself. "Lookit, Xave, my suitcase is a ladybug when I close it up!" Finn holds his new child-size suitcase up to the camera so Xavier can see it over our Zoom call.

Xave tilts his head, running his thumb over his bottom lip through the laptop screen. "Sweet. I like it."

He looks like he just rolled out of bed, which he probably did, given the time difference in L.A. His bare shoulders and chest catch the California sunlight streaming through the tall hotel windows. His hair sticks up in wild peaks, like he's been running his hands through it while writing lyrics, and a flush spreads across his cheeks, hearing Finn's infectious enthusiasm.

Dark smudges beneath his eyes betray too many late nights in the studio. His shoulders slump against the headboard, and his eyelids droop even as his smile widens at Finn's antics.He looks both completely content and utterly drained.

"And I have two pjs because Maggie said I should have a number one choice and a number two choice that's a spare, just in case. And I have two stuffies and a hot wheels car and clothes for tomorrow. And a toothbrush and toothpaste that are in another little tiny bag."

Xave laughs. "And all this stuff fits in your ladybug suitcase?"

"Yep!"

"Sounds like you're all set."

"Uh-huh. I'm ready to go right now but Maggie says we have to wait until two more hours." He holds up two fingers.

"Have you been looking after Maggie for me, while I'm gone?"

Finn giggles. "Maggie looks after me, silly!"

Xave feigns confusion. "I thought you were supposed to be looking after her. Making sure she doesn't pair orange pants with a pink top, that kind of thing. She gets out of control if you don't keep an eye on her." He winks at me and I'm pretty sure I full-on swoon.

Through the laptop speakers, a knock echoes from Xavier's end, followed by a man's voice. "Wakey wakey, Rockwell. We pull out in twenty. "

"Yeah, I'll see you down in the lobby," Xavier calls back before turning to face us again. "Hey Finn, can I ask you a favor?"

"Okay." Finn bounces on his knees next to me on his bed.

"Could you ask Lumen's mom to take a photo of you at your sleepover tonight? Have her text it to Maggie so she can forward it to me?"

Finn nods eagerly. "Okay!"

"Have fun tonight, buddy."

"I'm gonna have so much fun.!"

Xavier's expression softens, his voice going quiet. "I love you, dude. So freakin' much. I'm proud of you."

"I love you, too," Finn beams. "And I'm proud of you, too."

Xavier laughs, the sound warm and genuine despite his obvious exhaustion. He shifts his attention to me. "I'll call you later today. I want to see what more you got done on your beach-shack diorama."

"Cool. Have fun in the recording studio."

"Always." A familiar mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. "You look smokin' by the way."

"Gross." Finn sticks out his tongue.

Xavier throws me a wink, then leans in and ends the call.

I feel melancholy after dropping Finn off for his sleepover. I’m so happy for him. But there’s this ache, too. A deep attachment growing; this part of me that feels the pull of something I won’t have forever.

Denise knows it too. That graduation is approaching, and the start date of the classes I registered for looming, some of them evening and weekend courses. She's upping her efforts looking for the long-term nanny. A few more candidates have shadowed me, but still, none are a fit. And I feel guilty for being relieved each time Denise sighs and crosses another name off her list, because it isn't fair of me. I should want them to find someone amazing to step in full-time.

More time passes.

Some nights, when Finn is asleep and Xave is home, the two of us sit up in the Observatory, talking about everything except the things that feel too fragile to name. I tell him about the art gallery in town that’s agreed to feature one of my pieces, how my online store is almost ready to go live. Just a few more completed pieces and it'll feel like enough to give a good sense of my skillset and style. I tell him about the courses I'll be taking—some art and carpentry classes and a couple of business courses.

And on those nights, we always spend time watching the stars. Only sometimes I’m watching Xave instead.

He's just as fascinating—the way he angles himself over the telescope, leaning in, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he adjusts the focus. The way his fingers move, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world. How he looks over at me afterward, hair a little tousled, his smirk just lazy enough to make my breath catch. “What?” he asks, catching me staring. I roll my eyes, pretending I wasn’t.

It's weird. Xave knows he's attractive; has probably been aware of it his entire life. What he has a hard time believing is that he's attractive to me.

But damn, is he ever.

And not just his looks. His heart, his mind, his sense of humor. His voice, and the way it changes when he tells me about a new song he’s working on, explains constellations, planetary movement, how light travels.

When I look up at the sky on my own now, I see more than just stars. I see the things he’s taught me. I see the way he sees the universe. And that, somehow, feels more intimate than anything.

We make sure to carve out time for our friends, too. Slowly, I start to feel like I really know his circle, and he starts to know mine. It’s not a huge shift—just something that happens gradually.

Some evenings we spend at my place playing video games on the couch with Silas, Dylan, and Beck, controllers balanced on our knees while mom curls up in her chair with one of her bodice rippers, randomly filling us in on the plot. “Oh, Lord. We’ve reached a britches-drop situation. Hold on to your controllers.”

Everything is good. Objectively good. Better than I could’ve imagined just weeks ago. Xave laughs at all the right moments, throws an arm over the back of the couch, leans in close—but somehow also feels miles away. It’s like he’s on delay. Or like I’m watching him through glass. There in body, but only partially in spirit. And maybe he’s just tired, or distracted, or caught up in a new song. But it’s not just one time. There are other moments, too—when the light in his eyes doesn’t quite reach. When I catch him staring at nothing, like he’s guarding against something only he can see. And I don’t know how to reach across that kind of distance—especially when I’m not even sure it’s real, or just something I’ve made up to explain the way my heart twists every time he disappears like that.

When the gallery calls, agreeing to display three of my dioramas, I nearly explode from excitement. Xavier throws me over his shoulder in a ridiculous spontaneous fireman hold, spinning us both around the kitchen until we’re dizzy, laughing.

To celebrate, we drive to an indoor waterpark with Finn, spend the afternoon racing down slides and floating through lazy rivers. Then after Finn's in bed, we're back in the Solarium, Xavier upending a bottle of bubble bath into the hot tub, and before either of us can react, bubbles are spilling over onto the floor.

We’re crying from laughter, slipping on the soaked tiles as we try to scoop handfuls of foam out with towels. When we finally collapse on the lounge chairs, catching our breath, I realize I haven’t laughed that hard in days.

I roll onto my side, watching him, his hair still wet, his eyes half-lidded, lazy and soft.

I want to hold onto this—to the version of him that lets himself be happy, lets himself be here.

But I can feel it slipping. And still, I don't know why.

Salt Vein keeps getting bigger.

Every time I scroll through social media, there’s another video, another article, another photo of Xavier, looking completely at home in the spotlight.

It’s exactly what I wanted for him. People to hear the amazing music he creates. His words. His voice. The way the band sounds together and the way this sudden spotlight has brought them closer, even more passionate than they were before. The band has barely gotten started, and their fans are only growing more eager, more invested, more obsessive.

As the lead singer, Xave gets the most attention. People can’t get enough of him—the heady combination of talent, looks, and a confidence that’s rare for someone thrust so suddenly in the spotlight.

And his father notices.

Barron makes an appearance in the sitting room one afternoon, beckoning Xavier over with a slow, deliberate nod. I can’t hear their conversation, but I don’t need to. Barron is crisp and composed, his mouth a thin, unmoving line. Xavier stands there, arms folded, his expression blank.

Later, I ask him about it, and he presses his lips together, eyes flicking anywhere but mine as he scrubs a hand down his face. "It’s nothing… just his usual bullshit," he says. And that's all he'll tell me.

I brush my lips against his temple and tell him, "Don’t let his comments get to you."

Xave brushes it off. "It's fine."

"It isn't, Xave. He's a bully and he's messing with your—"

"I said it's fine." He turns his head from me, and I feel bad.

He’s embarrassed, because I called attention to something that makes him feel small.So I just nod. Then nudge my body against his. "Hey, you feel like tearing through the trails on the quad bikes?"

His lips curl into the hint of a grin. "Sounds like a plan."

So, we spend the rest of my evening off tearing through the Rockwell Estate trails on the four-wheelers, Xavier laughing as he speeds ahead, only to loop back and chase me. Then we sit by the fire as the sun sets, and Xave makes up impromptu songs on the guitar, both of us collapsing into laughter when the lyrics devolve into something ridiculous. I join in, off-key and loud, and he doesn’t care—just keeps playing, keeps laughing, keeps looking at me like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

I love that our dates are still silly and low-key and filled with laughter and amazing conversations.

But sometimes, he cancels. Sometimes last minute.

And more and more often, it feels like even when I'm with him, he isn't really present. Xavier Rockwell has a talent for disappearing in plain sight. And I have a talent for looking the other way when he does.