Chapter 2 Xaden #2
I can feel the suffocating weight of their expectations pressing down on me, on Noah.
It's as if the sound is turning into pressure, pushing against my chest with each passing minute. And I hate it. I shouldn’t let it affect me, but it sounds like all the other children are on the verge of a scientific breakthrough whereas Noah is usually on the verge of running around butt naked, squealing with laughter.
At home, I mean, not elsewhere. Thank God for small mercies.
I’m not good with crowds. I never have been.
When I’m up on stage, it’s different. It’s music.
It makes sense. And it’s my choice. Here, surrounded by people I don’t really know, but who think they know me, it’s like I’m unraveling piece by piece while they all keep talking and smiling and being competitive.
I just need a minute. To breathe.
“Snack break in five?” J?rgen calls out, looking up from his phone.
“Sure,” I answer, pulling my cap lower, hoping the brim will shield me from the relentless stares of the parents. They are curious, I get it. Most of the parents here either remember Xaden from school or are otherwise aware of our past.
But it’s none of their business.
I haven’t seen Xaden since karaoke night, and even then it was just a glimpse.
But of course, the karaoke night was all anyone wanted to talk about at the farmer’s market yesterday.
Apparently, singing Sex on Fire in front of the whole bar was enough to make half of Baywood think we’re secretly back together.
I lie back on my elbows and exhale slowly. The lake in front of me is calm. The water ripples gently, reflecting the sun in such a way that it almost looks like it’s alive. It’s peaceful. So much calmer than this ridiculous my-kid-is-smarter-than-yours game I don’t want to play.
Then Becky, talking loudly for everyone to hear, asks, “Cole, what does Noah do for fun?”
I blink, suddenly thrown out of the peace I was building. I freeze for a moment before I look up. Every eye is on me now, and it’s like I’ve completely forgotten every tiny detail about my son’s life.
“Um,” I stammer, panic rising in my chest. “He… he likes his dinosaurs. And, uh, looking at picture books.”
Becky smiles sweetly, but there’s something about her gaze, something pitying. I can almost feel it crawling over me.
“How cute,” she says, and I’m sure I see the slightest hint of a condescending smile. “Avery is into alphabets. She’ll be reading Hemingway soon!”
I almost laugh. Of course. Because who wouldn’t want a four-year-old reading Hemingway? I feel like pulling my hair in frustration. Growing up is challenging enough without your parents curating your Goodreads when you’re in preschool.
“Why Hemingway?” someone asks, their voice genuinely puzzled. Finally a voice of reason, I think, but my relief melts when the voice continues: “Why not start with something easier, like Steinbeck?” I glance at the man who’s talking. It’s Adam Hummel, Lottie’s dad.
“I read The Grapes of Wrath when I was seven,” he adds, his voice all smug superiority.
“Luca’s been snorkeling since eighteen months,” Michael cuts in abruptly, his voice almost aggressive.
“Avery was floating at sixteen,” Becky shoots back without missing a beat.
Noah hasn’t done either.
The idea of taking him snorkeling hasn’t even crossed my mind. He can almost swim now that he’s not afraid of getting water in his eyes anymore. But snorkeling? I should have thought of that.
What else have I missed? Noah’s not ‘into alphabets’. He can write ‘dad’ and ‘Noah’, but that’s it. His favorite book is Dinosaurs Love Underpants. I can’t remember the author, but it definitely wasn’t Hemingway.
I’m spiraling. I can’t stop it. It’s like the walls are closing in on me, the constant comparisons, the passive-aggressive comments about the kids. Why do I care? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be so affected by this.
That’s when Oliver’s mom breathes in sharply. “Whoa,” she says, shielding her eyes. “Who is that?”
I blink, confused, but follow her gaze. It’s Xaden. Looking like a goddamn Greek statue.
“Holy hell,” someone whispers. “That’s a tall glass of water.”
Xaden’s walking through the shallows, his body wet and glistening under the sun. Shirtless. The water droplets catch the light as they drip off his chest, his tattoos on full display, muscles moving with each step.
My brain flashes back to him leaning in the doorway at Mickey’s, watching me sing like it was meant for him. Of course it was meant for him.
I try not to stare. I fail. My heart starts to pound.
“Is he single?” Oliver’s mom asks, her voice too hopeful.
None of your business, I want to growl.
You don’t know him. You don’t know how kind he is. What he’s been through.
You have no idea.
He used to spend hours fixing his dad’s bike, he saved me muffins at lunch, he whispered the right answers to me if I froze. He defended me against Coach Douglas who always yelled at me about daydreaming in the middle of the field. He gave me his hoodie if he thought I was cold.
So stop ogling him, you… idiots.
That means me, too.
I glance away but it’s hopeless. My gaze returns to him, following his every move. He’s toweling himself, and I shouldn’t be looking, but every nerve in my body is alive.
Every nerve remembers.
It’s blissful agony.
***
Xaden walks in, droplets of water shimmering on his bare chest, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is wet and messy, and the overall impact is — wow. All I can do is stare.
He glances at me briefly, as if he isn’t aware of the devastating effect he has.
I wasn’t even supposed to be there, I was just getting a hoodie I’d forgotten, but now that I am there, and he is too, and oh my God. My breath’s hitched in my throat.
“See something you like?” he asks casually, like it’s normal for me to be standing there, ogling him. He rummages around in his gym bag for a shirt.
My mouth is dry. Like, medically dry. This should be studied.
I have tried to find the courage to tell Xaden how I feel ever since the dance, but my brain doesn’t function properly when I’m near him. But I want to say it. I need to say it.
So I clear my throat and force the words out.
“Uh… yeah. I do. I like it.”
There. I said it. Out loud. To Xaden Bailey. That I think he’s hot.
Well, what I actually said was ‘I like it’ but maybe he gets it.
Maybe he doesn’t think I meant chicken soup or something equally stupid.
Xaden pulls on his shirt with calm precision.
I can’t breathe. I step in front of the mirror and try to make my hair look less like a mop. Try to hide my growing panic when Xaden stays silent.
Then I catch him looking at me. Not my face. He’s looking at my ass. And not like he’s ashamed of it. Like he wants me to see.
My heart races. I might actually be on fire.
“See something you like?” I ask but my voice is not casual like his was, mine is a squeak.
I want to disappear. A slow smile spreads across Xaden’s face.
“Actually, yeah, I do,” he says, perfectly mimicking my earlier flustered tone. But his teasing is gentle.
He steps closer. The grin fades, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a different heat in his eyes now, and I swear my whole body lights up like it’s been waiting years for this one moment.
Is he going to kiss me? Are we going to kiss now? Like, right here, right now?
I lick my lips. He’s watching. Definitely watching.
He’s close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.
And then, somewhere down the hallway, a door slams. We both jump, the spell breaking.
I exhale, louder than I mean to.
Xaden looks at me softly, and my mind flashes back to the dance and Xaden being Xaden and so brave and always there for me.
“You want to grab something to eat?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t crack. Or squeak.
He rakes a hand through his damp hair. That look is still in his eyes.
“Are you asking me out?” he asks, voice low and teasing again. But not just teasing. He’s giving me a chance to say it. Like he’s offering it on a plate because he knows I’m so… not brave like him.
My pulse is racing. My palms are sweaty. My brain is somersaulting.
“Maybe I am”, I manage, looking at his feet.
Then I clear my throat, meet his gaze. “I am, yeah. Nothing maybe about it.”
Xaden brushes a curl off my forehead. His fingers are warm. His touch lingers.
He smiles, relieved and — swooning. There’s no other word for it.
And it’s all for me. Honestly, I need a sign. Like a rating label. Parental advisory: hot.
“Let’s go then”, he says softly.
***
I snap out of the memory with a jolt, the intensity of that moment still making me dazed, even after all this time. The laughter and giggling from the women around me hit my ears, suddenly unbearable.
Becky glances at me. “Didn’t you used to date him, Cole?”
Everything stops. The laughter warps around me, tinny and sharp, like I’m underwater. My throat closes.
I want to snap at them, to tell them it’s none of their damn business, that they don’t know him, not the real him. But nothing comes out. Of course it doesn’t.
J?rgen clears his throat, his voice steady. “Is that really our business?”
The silence is heavy. Awkward. Uncomfortable.
I nod at him, grateful, but mostly I’m sick with myself.
Because it should’ve been me. It should always be me. I’m the one who should’ve shut them down, who should’ve stood up for him.
But I never do. I just sit there, mute, letting someone else save me from my own cowardice. And it makes me furious. At them. At this town. At myself most of all.
“Want me to get you some water?” J?rgen asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Thanks. I’ll grab it myself.”
I look back at Noah, still patting his lopsided volcano with absolute pride. I wish I could live in that headspace for five seconds. Just five.