Page 54

Chapter Fifty-Fou r

Xavier

I take the stairs two at a time, my feet leaving muddy prints on the white marble. A metaphor too cliché even for me to laugh at—the way I muddy up everything I touch.

The house spins a little, and my thoughts slosh around inside my head, sluggish and liquor-logged. I pause at the top, steadying myself against the wall.

What am I even doing? Maggie made it clear she's done with me. Disgusted with me.

Another outcome my father predicted.

So, this is good, right? And yeah, it hurts. But surely a fast-track to where I was going to end up anyway is less painful than a long drawn-out journey to the same place.

But then, why do I feel blindsided? And like I still have something left to say? Like, what? Sorry I'm a mess? Sorry I keep pushing you away, but I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do, even if you don't realize it yet? And I'd rather be the one to do it, so we can just get it over with sooner?

Yeah, real freakin' noble.

The corridor stretches ahead, the music from downstairs pounding through the walls, a dull bassline rattling in my skull. The party is still going strong, but up here, it's marginally quieter. Too quiet. I should go back. Should grab another drink, sink back into the blurred chaos, let the noise drown out Maggie’s words.

But my feet don’t move .

Instead, I stand frozen at the threshold of the upstairs sitting room, my pulse hammering in my ears as I lean against the wall. Push my hands into my pockets.

Through the archway, I can see her. She’s in the alcove, her back half-turned to me, hunched slightly over her crafting table. The bright work lamp casts a glow around her, highlighting the slight tremble in her fingers as she wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Fuck. She’s crying.

A sharp pang twists in my chest. My instinct is to go to her, to fix it. Only, yeah— I'm the one who broke her.

Then I hear her voice—soft, thick with hurt.

"I’m just so disappointed, Mom. So freaking disappointed."

The words hit harder than they should, given it's exactly what I expected. But it's like a fist straight to the ribs. My jaw clenches as I shift my weight, torn between stepping forward and stumbling back down the hall.

I do neither. Duck my head instead; bring an arm up and clutch at the back of my neck.

"I should’ve seen this coming." She lets out a shaky laugh, hollow and humorless. "I mean, how stupid was I? I knew what he was like."

My shoulders tense, the breath stalling in my lungs. There it is—thetruththat she’s been hiding behind her smiles and late-night conversations. The truth that she suspected all along exactly what kind of person I am. That I was never anything more than a phase, a temporary distraction she thought she could fix or change.

"No, I don’t think he’s even capable of loving, Mom. Because he’s never been loved before. Which, yeah—that's the other thing. He’s not capable of being loved. It’s just… God, it’s so messed up. And I’m so fucking hurt. And so disappointed.

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp, painful hitch. It’s like she’s taken everything ugly and unspoken inside me and laid it out bare. Like she’s reading the secret truth of me back to herself.

“And I know it’s not his fault. I know that—that he’s just… Xavier Rockwell.”

My name falls from her lips, heavy and final, like a sentence passed down by a judge. The kind of name that doesn’t belong to a person, but to areputation. A mistake she should have never made.

Something tightens in my chest, twisting until it feels like I can’t breathe. It’s not anger—it’s worse. It’s resignation. The familiar, suffocating acceptance that this is all I’ll ever be. The guy who screws up. The guy people regret.

The guy who pushes away the best thing in his life because he knows— knows —he’ll destroy it eventually.

I should walk away. I should . But I don’t. I stand there, rooted to the floor, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a stone slab, burying me beneath all the things I can never be.

"It’s just exhausting, Mom. Loving someone who won’t let you in."

I drop my arm, my hands curling into fists, knuckles paling as the truth of her words settles deep, lodging in a place I can’t reach or tear out. She’s right. I won’t let her in. Because letting her in means giving her the power to see everything I hate about myself. And who in their right mind would stick around after that?

"Yeah, I know. I know, mom. But I can’t keep trying to convince someone that they're worth loving."

I close my eyes, the sting sharp and unforgiving. She was never supposed to try. She was supposed to see the truth and walk away before I had to watch her leave.

The silence stretches, punctuated only by the faint murmur of her mother’s voice on the other end of the line—soft, soothing, saying all the things I never could.

Good. She deserves someone who can love her the way she needs to be loved. Someone who isn’t me.

She exhales shakily, dropping her forehead into her palm. The sight guts me. Then her head lifts, like some invisible thread tugs her toward me.

Her gaze lands on mine.

She stills .

Her lips part, first in surprise, then pressing together as hurt flickers across her face like dying embers of something that used to be warm. Her fingers tighten around the phone, then she murmurs, "Uh, Mom, I’m gonna call you back."

Our gazes hold, and in that one second, I can’t tell what I hate more—the way she looks at me like she still cares, or the moment she remembers she doesn’t anymore.

Her back straightens, her features sharpening into something unreadable. "What?" she bites out.

I shake my head, rub the back of my neck. "Nothing… I just—I mean…" My throat works around the words that feel pointless now.

" What, Xave? " she asks, jaw clenched. "What do you want?"

I exhale sharply and try again. "Just… you're right." My voice is quieter than I meant it to be. "About me. The things you were saying to your mom. You're right." I swallow, forcing myself to hold her gaze. "Still, I’m sorry." I push out a breath, rub my thumb along my lip. "But you knew, Maggs… You just said it. You fucking knew I'd disappoint you. " I drag my hand through my hair; shake my head. "So then, why? Why the fuck would you even…" My words trail off and my jaw clenches. My voice finds solid ground again when I repeat, " You. Fucking. Knew."

Her anger flickers, falters. Confusion threads into the hurt. Her lips part like she’s about to say something. But I push off the wall and turn before she can, before I can see if the words would have saved me or finished me off entirely.

Swallowing down the raw edge of hurt clawing its way up my throat, I straighten my shoulders, school my expression into something blank, something unreadable, then head back towards the stairs. I inhale deeply, and let apathy rise up to cover the cracks.