Chapter 2 Xaden
XADEN
I wasn’t supposed to be here. I told myself I wouldn’t come. But I wanted to see him. Needed to. He doesn’t notice me at first, or maybe he’s pretending not to.
I suffer through Steve Pell mangling Bon Jovi and almost leave after that, but then Cole walks up, practically shoved to the stage by Caspian.
The first notes hit, and I almost stop breathing.
His voice starts soft, like he’s still deciding whether to give himself away. But then it grows, deepens, turns raw. Unafraid. Hungry. And suddenly Cole isn’t the shy kid who blushed every time my hand brushed his.
He’s fire. He’s want. He’s everything he never let himself say out loud.
When his eyes finally meet mine, it wrecks me. He doesn’t look away. He sings like every word is meant for me alone.
I’ve seen him afraid. I’ve seen him guarded. But this? This is him stripped bare, no shame, no hiding. And it’s beautiful. Terrifying. Holy.
I want to cross the room, rip the mic from his hand, and kiss him until he can’t sing another note. Kiss him until he forgets we lost years. Until he remembers we were always like this.
But I don’t.
I just stand there, burning alive in the sound of him, knowing I’ll never hear anything more dangerous or more perfect in my life.
COLE
I pull up at the community center where Noah’s been rehearsing for Baby Shark Goes Baywood! Patricia Lyle from The Baywood Gazette is scribbling notes in the corner. She’s the Arts & Leisure reporter, so no surprise she’s here.
Earl is pacing in front of the stage in his Director Shark suit, barking orders like Baywood’s own Guy Ritchie. “Channel your inner sharks!” he roars.
Noah waves at me. Earl roars louder. “Sharks don’t wave! They glide dangerously!”
After rehearsal, Earl waves me over for a “man-to-man.” I sigh and send Noah to play with Sammy.
“Maija’s been following the whole Xaden mess, y’know,” he begins, wearing a look like constipation came to stay. “She says he’s gonna break your heart again. Says you should steer clear, can’t trust him.”
I blink. “That’s… direct.”
“She’s Finnish,” Earl says grimly. “Their compliments sound like death threats. When I told her you and Xaden were talking again, she just said ‘that’s like pouring coffee on snow — looks warm for one second, then it’s gone’.”
“Wow.”
“And then she said if I didn’t tell you, I’d be an enabler of disaster.” Earl looks horrified at the word, like it personally ruined his buns. “Do I look like an enabler to you, Cole?”
Before I can answer, he’s onto the next topic.
“And another thing? Those mean-looking guys Xaden hangs with? They could show up at my bakery again, them being so hungry for my buns! I told Frankie I need a security system, ‘cause if my rolls get compromised, that’s the end of Baywood as we know it.”
“Earl—”
“I care about you, Cole. And Noah. Maija says love can be real, but timing can be bad. And bad timing ruins even the best rye bread. That’s poetry in Finland. Bread poetry.” Earl blinks at me. “But just so you know, Maija totally understands your side. I sent her pictures of Xaden the other day—”
I stare. “Earl, are you sure sending pictures of a former prisoner isn’t aiding and abetting?”
Earl gasps, looking around like the cops are already here. “Maija said, ‘If he looks like a wolf, maybe don’t pet him,’ and I thought, well, better get a second opinion. But now, oh God, what if they come for me? A treat like me doesn’t stand a chance in prison!”
I rub my temples. “I’m joking. Just… no more secret shots of Xaden, okay?” It takes five more minutes of convincing Earl he’s not headed for “The Pen” before I escape to my car.
That night, tea in hand, I check The Baywood Gazette. Patricia’s headline jumps out:
THE BAYWOOD GAZETTE
Baby Shark Goes Baywood! A Fin-Tastic Premiere in the Making
By Patricia Lyle, Arts & Leisure Correspondent
On Thursday, Baywood Community Center transformed into a feeding frenzy of fins, teeth, and questionable marine biology for the dress rehearsal of Baby Shark Goes Baywood! — the latest preschool production directed by baker Earl Davenport.
A Cast of Sharks
The show features the usual Baby, Mommy, Daddy, and Grandparent Sharks, plus Davenport’s bold additions: Mother-in-Law Shark, Weird Uncle Shark, and Emo Shark.
“It’s all about diversity,” Davenport explained. “Also, audiences relate to dysfunction.”
Set & Costumes
Blue streamers, inflatable fish, and dorsal fins evoke something between Finding Nemo and Jaws. Davenport’s own Director Shark costume — gray wetsuit, sequined tail, and whistle — is the undeniable standout.
Early Impressions
Expect an energetic, chaotic, and unforgettable performance. Davenport’s staging adds unexpected tension that one might call thriller meets preschool sing-along.
“We don’t just sing doo doo doo doo doo doo,” Davenport insists. “We live it.”
According to Davenport’s Finnish advisor and special friend, Maija, “It may be too jaunty for Finns. In Finland, if there is no burning hatred between families, the story has no weight.” Davenport assured the Gazette this note has been ‘taken under advisement’, already resulting in Weird Uncle Shark being given a backstory of a depressed, grudge-bearing shark.
The premiere is set for Saturday at 4 p.m., with a second performance immediately following at 4:07 p.m. for those who didn’t get enough the first time. Tickets are free. Applause is mandatory.
XADEN
Frankie’s too damn stubborn to ask for help, but I’m shopping for him anyway. My cart’s full of coffee, muscle rub, oat milk he pretends to hate, licorice ropes — he’s a weirdo — and the usual beer and cigarettes, because he’s a lost cause as well. Cole’s favorite chocolate too. Pathetic, I know.
People whisper when I walk past, just like in school. There goes Bailey, the handsome troublemaker, the one bound to ruin something. From Bay Hollow, of course. Where else.
They never noticed I was the one stepping between bullies and the kids too small to fight back. Never saw me sliding Cole my notes in math, breaking the problems down so Mrs. Kirkland wouldn’t get too sharp with him. None of that ever mattered.
Rounding the frozen aisle, I stop. Justin Clancy’s there in a backward cap, juggling a box of diapers, squinting at his phone like it’s ticking. His shirt says #GirlDad in glitter font.
“Clancy.” I nod at the dark circles under his eyes.
“Bailey.” He adjusts his cap. “Didn’t think they let you in stores unsupervised.”
“Congrats on spawning the next generation,” I say. “Word of advice? Keep her away from cliffs and jocks with death wishes.”
Senior year. Him and his buddies, drunk by the quarry. He would’ve gone under if I hadn’t dragged him out. Lisa sobbed and called me a hero. Then she started dating Justin.
His mouth twitches — half laugh, half sneer. “You always did love playing the hero. But you’re not the hero anymore.”
“Aww, thanks. I think you’re pretty, too.”
“I married her,” he says, defensive.
“I know. Maybe act like it. Appreciate your family. Grow up.”
He scowls at the shelf of wipes, jaw working. “I didn’t need saving. I would’ve floated.”
I almost laugh, but it dies in my throat. “No, Justin. You would’ve sunk. And you know it.”
He doesn’t answer.
I’m halfway down the aisle when I hear it: quiet, grudging. “Thanks.” I don’t turn. Just nod, pushing my cart forward.
The bitter truth crawls up my spine: I’ve been saving people my whole life, and not one of them ever thought I was worth saving back.
Some nights I can tell myself it doesn’t matter.
But in the small hours, when the world goes quiet, it gnaws.
That maybe Cole didn’t either. That maybe all I ever was — to him, to anyone — was the boy strong enough to take the hits, keep secrets, shoulder the blame.
Strong enough to be leaned on. Never worth holding onto.
COLE
Cove Bay is packed today. Too packed. I can’t breathe here. The constant noise and the endless chatter hit me like the waves I wanted to enjoy but now can’t.
There are at least nine parents here from Noah’s class. Every one of them gave me a curious once-over when Noah and I walked over to Sammy and J?rgen.
Now they’re all talking at once with that certain parenting energy. Like they’re all competing to see whose kid will snatch the Nobel Prize for exceeding expectations on potty training.
Becky, for example, is showing off a spreadsheet of Avery’s developmental milestones. She mentions an app that not only collects daily data of your child’s growth but also offers tips for brain stimulation.
“I can also whole-heartedly recommend classical music first thing in the morning, like literally the first thing. I really think that was the key that got Rhodes to that super exclusive arts college in Greensboro,” she explains.
I exchange a look with J?rgen, glad that there’s someone else around who’s trying hard not to roll their eyes.
“Yes, but if Luca’s seriously aiming for the Olympics in 2038, we need to focus more on his paddling technique,” Luca’s dad, Michael, is saying to a harassed looking swim instructor. She looks like she’s going to blow her whistle for help any minute now.
I look at Noah and Sammy, who are building a sand volcano with great relish.
After half an hour of eager shoveling it’s still a lopsided sand blob.
But to them? It’s perfect. Both kids look so care-free and happy.
I try to concentrate on them, but the parents around me are like a constant buzz, their voices drowning out everything else.