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Chapter Nineteen

Scarlett

I t’s a really weird contrast being at a party, surrounded by people laughing and drinking and carefree, after coming from the heavy scene at the Brauns, with Dylan’s anguish strewn like shrapnel across his bedroom floor. I can’t get him off my mind. Not just the insane meltdown slash tearing apart of his room, but the image of him standing in his bathroom afterwards, looking so beat down and alone. Frayed and tattered and barely hanging on.

That Eli Sampson guy did such a number on him. Took him apart piece by piece when he was a little kid and slowly built him back up with the pieces all wrong. To the point that he barely seems to know how to function in the real world. His “normal” is so upside down and messed up, I can’t imagine how long it’s going to take to unpack all the issues he’s presumably stock-piled over the years so he can get to a place where he feels comfortable with ‘normal’.

Funny, just a few days ago, I thought he wasn’t emotionally affected by everything he’s been through.

I’m certainly affected by him, though. And the whole thing is stressing me out even more, because not only am I letting a guy take up this much of my brain space, it’s a guy who is basically an asshole—even if he has every reason to be. Also, there’s the fact that he can’t stand me.

I try to distract myself with the party, but it’s strange being at this kind of thing without Seb here. Like, is a party even a party without Seb Murdoch? I feel like the answer is, “not really”. Which makes no sense, since Seb was away at boarding school until this school year, so obviously I’ve been to plenty of fun parties where Seb wasn’t around. I just can’t remember them. But I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one feeling Seb’s absence tonight—everyone seems kind of off. Like everything has been dialed down a few notches. I don’t want to think about it too much, though. Because just the thought of Seb in a hospital bed right now, while we’re all here at Xave’s house partying, is sad. It just feels… wrong.

“Beer Pong! You in?” Xave nudges my hip, draping an arm across my shoulders. He’s about a foot taller, so he has to lean heavily into me. It makes us both stumble a few paces to the side, into one of the God-awful purple velour couches that snake around the multiple seating areas in the Smoking Room where most of these parties take place. Yes, that’s right: purple velour. Xave’s house is equal parts off-the-charts opulent and off-the-charts tacky. Like, if Vegas threw up all over a sprawling chateau along the coast of New England, then that’s Xave’s house. Only, whatever level of hideous you’re picturing, multiply it by five and square that number. Then you’ll have some semblance of how mind-blowingly kitsch his home is.

“I never play Beer Pong,” I tell him.

Xave knows I am mostly a quiet and serious observer who sticks to the sidelines, but he always asks me to join in with stuff. Him and Seb, always tag-teaming me with their optimism and upbeat vibes, presumably hoping some of it will eventually rub off on me. I pretend it drives me bananas. But I secretly love how they never let my dry, borderline condescending attempts to refute them put them off. I think they’re convinced this “new me” is temporary, even though I’ve been playing the part for years now.

Part of me hopes they’re right. Part of me is scared to death they’re wrong.

“You call the score then.” Xave is still leaning into me, clutching a Solo cup on the same side as the arm he’s got slung around my shoulders, so his drink comes close to sloshing onto my cropped cashmere sweater.

I take it from him, twisting my head to arch an eyebrow up at him. “If you’re so drunk you need someone else to keep score for a game of Beer Pong, then you really shouldn’t be playing Beer Pong.” I eye the half-empty cup I just took from him. “Or still drinking.”

“Relax.” Xave grins, using his one-armed embrace like a hook to drag me along to one of the pool tables someone’s covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth and set up beer-filled Solo cups on. “We don’t need someone to keep score.” His rose-pink lips tic up on one side and he leans over to retrieve his cup from me. “It’s just so much more professional when we do.” He takes a long sip of whatever’s in the cup.

“Professional?” I give him a dubious look. “As in—what? Like, professional league Beer Pong?”

“Exactly like that.” Another grin.

I can’t help but laugh, which makes him smile again.

“See? I knew you’d come around.”

I duck my head, switch to a more serious tone. “Actually, I think, uh… I think I’m going to head out.”

“You’re heading out now? ” Xave pulls away so he can look at my face. “Why? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… not feeling it tonight, I guess.”

“Because of Seb?” His own smile dims. Honestly, I think Seb being in hospital is the reason he’s drunker right now than he usually gets at these parties, despite being the perpetual host. This thing with Seb has hit him hard. Seb’s more like family to Xave than his actual family. Like I said, Xavier’s home life is pretty… unusual. Eccentric? Deviant? Take your pick. His forty-year-old mother has been away for at least three months now, having an affair with some twenty-four-year-old male model on one of those fancy tropical islands. Meanwhile, his eighty-three-year-old father is in the house at this very moment, but basically living in his own separate wing. And his five-year-old brother, Finn, is currently perched on a long, opulent black credenza with gaudy gold claw feet—which would stand out glaringly in any other room in any other house, but fits right in at the Rockwell estate. He’s set up a nail and tattoo station with a whole whack of temporary tattoos. And girls are eating it up, letting him paint sloppy rainbow colors over their expensive French manicures, and showing off their fake Paw Patrol and cheesy quote tattoos on arms and necks and midriffs.

Finn’s nanny, who looks even more out of place than Finn, keeps trying, unsuccessfully, to drag him off to bed. She’ll probably be over here in five point two minutes to rail Xave out and order him to lure his brother upstairs, because Xave is the only person Finn listens to. And when Xave refuses, it will only push her one step closer to quitting. I know the playbook by heart because I’ve watched this dynamic play out for years.

“Yeah, I’m feeling weird, partly because of Seb,” I tell him. “But partly other stuff, too. Just…” I shrug. “Weird evening earlier. That’s all.”

Xave suddenly sobers right up. For someone who has been given everything he wants whenever he wants it, he is one of the most caring people I know. The circle of people he lets in—like really lets in—is small… but with those people, he is fiercely loyal and protective as hell. “What’s going on?” He motions with his chin towards the huge gilded archway that leads out of the Smoking Room to the mirrored hallway beyond. “You want to bail and go talk somewhere?”

I wrap my arm around him. “No, I’m good… Thanks, though.”

He ducks so we’re at eye level, and I smile at the lopsided tattoo on his neck that says you’re the bacon to my eggs.

“Is it the new guy? The famous dude you’re driving to school and stuff? Everything okay there?” Xave asks.

“Oh my God, it’s not about him!” My eyes stretch wide. “It’s nothing to do with Dylan Braun!”

I have no idea why I deny it so vehemently. In fact, I obviously overdo the denial so much, it even tips Xavier off.

“You sure?” He looks worried.

“Sure. Totally sure.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re totally lying right now.”

I thought only Seb could read me this well. “Okay, sort of,” I admit. “But it’s nothing like—I mean, he didn’t do anything or… It’s just tonight was rough. We had our weekly family dinner with his family and he had, uh… He just had a really rough night, that’s all.”

Xavier’s eyes bounce between mine, and I love him for being so concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah… I mean, I don’t know.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I mean, not really. It’s just… he’s pretty messed up. Like, really messed up—from everything he’s been through and I just… I feel like maybe I should go back and…” my voice trails off. Because seriously—go back and do what exactly? What am I going to do that will help Dylan in any way at all? Everything I do pisses him off. Almost everything he does pisses me off.

And still, I think I want to go check on him. At the very least, make sure he’s not out in his backyard shredding his arm to ribbons or something.

Xave’s eyes are suddenly rounder. “Are you catching feelings for this guy?”

“Xavier!” Finn’s nanny is suddenly up in our space, tugging on Xave’s arm. God knows what her name is—he’s had at least three different ones in the past few months. Not that I blame any of them for quitting. Finn's more than a handful, and Xavier gives them an even harder time.

“Xavier, you need to tell your brother to go to bed.”

Xave’s mouth twists into a scowl. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“It’s ten thirty! He should have been in bed over two hours ago!”

Xave twists around to peer over at his brother, who’s kneeling on top of the credenza now, gliding a thick layer of blue polish on Aria Ryu’s dainty index finger. The tip of his tongue is peaking out of the corner of his lips as he puts all his concentration into it. Honestly, from here, it looks like he’s doing a decent job. Only thing is he’s setting brushes down on the credenza in between applications, getting polish all over the glossy black surface. That’s totally going to stain.

“He looks fine to me,” Xavier says, taking a swig of his drink, which earns him another disapproving glower from the nanny.

“He’s five years old! He’s set up a tattoo station at a party full of drunk teenagers!”

“It’s paper and water—he’s not brandishing an actual tattoo gun.”

I smack Xave’s arm and give him a look that hopefully conveys he needs to bring it down a notch. He’s being a jerk. It’s weird—the only people Xavier’s ever a jerk to are his parents and his brother’s nannies. I think he resents the nannies for playing the part of an actual parent. And his parents for hiring nannies to play their roles. And since, obviously, his parents aren’t around to weather that resentment, the nannies end up taking the brunt of it. Of course, my analysis could be entirely off base. It’s just a hunch.

The nanny narrows her eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re a buzzkill,” he says, leveling up the jackass attitude instead of reining it in.

God, sometimes it almost seems like he tries even harder than Finn to get the nannies to quit. Like, he legitimately pushes their buttons so that if they don’t quit because of Finn’s unruly behavior, they’ll quit because of his.

Her nostrils flare. “Finn needs to go to bed, Xavier.”

“So go put him to bed. You’re the nanny, right?” He smirks. “I’m just the drunk big brother.”

She inhales a shocked breath. “You are reprehensible!” She purses her lips. “And I will be letting your father know about this party tomorrow morning. I know for a fact none of you are of legal drinking age.”

“You do that.” Xave slings his arm across my shoulders again and starts guiding me towards the hallway.

“You’re such a douchebag,” I tell him as we forge a path through the throngs of people, finally making it through the arches into the mirrored hallway with the custom family frescoes painted on the high arched ceiling.

“Technically, I’m only like ten percent douchebag.”

I laugh. That’s oddly accurate.

“So?” he pushes. “You have a thing for the Maytag Kid or what?”

“Wrong. We can’t stand each other.”

We round the corner into another arched cream and gold marble hallway. This one lined with six-foot high art niches displaying back-lit nude statues in brightly colored iridescent resin. Someone’s balanced a Patriot’s ball cap on the breast of a particularly curvy lime green temptress.

I glance up at Xave. “Have you met Dylan? Because if you have, you’ll know he’s a total asshole.”

“Yeah, I met him. But I’d be a dick if I judged him based on that.” He glances over at me. “I figure after everything with his past and the stuff he’s been through, he’s probably one of those guys who isn’t actually an asshole, but just acts like one.”

We’re in the east entryway now—a colossal cream marble atrium with a two-story domed glass ceiling. We stop in front of the bowl fountain filled with giant golden eggs.

“That makes no sense.”

“What do you mean?” He lifts his arm high, slowly tipping the contents of his Solo cup into the fountain. “Makes total sense.” He perches the cup upside-down on one of the eggs. “There are a lot more reasons for acting like an asshole than just being an actual asshole. And with all the issues this guy probably has, makes sense he’d have a ton of reasons for acting like a dick.”

Okay, I think I sort of know what he means.

In fact, I totally get what he means. And… he could be right? Maybe?

“Hey, will you tell Gavin I was tired and bailed early?”

Xavier pulls back. “Seriously? You’re asking me to tell your boyfriend you’re ditching him for some other guy?”

“I’m not ditching him for another guy. I’m going to check in with a guy who has no one his own age checking in with him.”

“So… ditching Gavin for another guy.”

I drag my hand through the fountain and splash water at him (and presumably, a small amount of beer, too—or whatever liquor was in his cup a few minutes ago). “Don’t go stirring stuff up, okay? You don’t need to mention Dylan. Just tell him I was getting tired and left early.”

“Did you even hang out with Gavin at all tonight?”

I didn’t. But, to be fair, Gavin didn’t come and seek me out either. Like I said, our relationship is transactional—a fair trade of perks and conveniences. Conversation and hanging out really don’t play much part in it.

“You know what?” I flick Xave’s chest. “Never mind. I’ll text him.”

He chuckles, wringing his shirt out over the marble tiles. “You’ve got serious issues. You know that, right?”

“Says the guy who doesn't get why it's inappropriate for his five-year-old brother to be hanging out with a bunch of drunk teenagers.”

He rolls his eyes. “Christ. This again? He’s painting people’s nails—not doing shots. Letting Finn stay up and hang doesn’t mean I have issues. It means I’m a fun brother.”

“Annnnd the fact that you think letting him party with you makes you a fun brother is only further proof that your issues are so much bigger than mine.”

Xave ducks his head, shaking it slowly from side to side as he bites down on his lower lip.

“Xave.” I kick at his Vans with my heeled boot. “Seriously. Go put Finny to bed.”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start on me too, now?”

“Just go put him to bed… God.”

He shoves lightly at my back, corralling me towards the huge double doors. “Don’t you have a broody juvenile delinquent to check on?”

I laugh. “Kay, thanks for talking.”

He gives me a one-armed hug. “Drive safe, alright? Don’t go putting that watermelon lip crap on while you’re driving.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” He laughs, shutting the door behind me as I make my way down the ornate white stone staircase towards the parking area.

Xave’s not wrong—I do have issues. But I also have good friends, which I’m realizing makes the issues a hell of a lot easier to shoulder. And I’m pretty sure I don’t have to like everything about Dylan Braun to try and be the friend who could maybe help him shoulder his.