Page 16 of Sixty Days Of Summer

It’s late afternoon when Xander and I finally step out of Nate’s room, giving the family some much-needed space. Xander’s pissed at me, and it’s obvious. His body language says it all: hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, eyes avoiding mine like I’ve got the plague. I know him well enough to read him, especially when I’m pushing his buttons. I saw the way his gaze snapped to my hand when Scarlet grabbed it. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off and leave me alone? Sure, we’re all relieved Nate’s going to make a full recovery, but he’s got a long, tough road ahead before he’s back to where he was.

Xander stops in front of the elevator, his frustration clear as he repeatedly jabs the button, each press harder than the last.

"Yeah, I think you've got it," I say, essentially letting the idiot know that pressing the button doesn’t do anything except annoy the hell out of me.

He shoots me a glare and clamps his mouth shut. I know the second we’re in that elevator, he’s going to explode. That’s how we are—always calling each other out on our shit. So bring it on. If he thinks I’m going to take his shit over something I had no control over with Scarlet in that room, he’s got another thing coming.

He knows I’ve told him I’ll keep my distance from her, and he gets the guilt eating at me for fucking up with Nate. But I can’t shake off her touch—how her fingers felt when she grabbed mine. That’s not a conversation that’s going to happen, though. There’s no way he’s finding out about any of that when we start tearing into each other in the elevator.

I spot the starry-eyed nurse from earlier rounding the corner, looking like she’s about to lose it. The moment she sees Xander, she hesitates, takes a deep breath, and makes her way over.

This is going to be a shitshow; I almost wish I had some popcorn to enjoy the spectacle. Watching her try to pull herself together in front of Xander—especially with the mood he’s in—is bound to be entertaining. The Xander I know might just tell her to fuck off if she stumbles again. I shove my hands into my pockets, intrigued to see how this will play out. She pulls a pen from her chest pocket, swallows nervously, and steps forward, still clutching that damn clipboard like it’s her lifeline.

Xander’s eyes remain fixated on the red floor numbers, oblivious to her presence.

Well, he can handle this enthusiastic fangirl on his own. Normally, I’d give him a heads-up about this kind of shit, butscrew him—given his attitude toward me, he can fucking deal with it himself.

“Um... Mr. Williams, could I please have your autograph?” she asks in a shaky voice, holding out the pen toward him.

Xander keeps his eyes fixed on the numbers, totally ignoring her. He fucking hates being called that name and despises these moments, forcing himself to wear a fake smile for fans even when he’s in such a foul mood.

Despite the hint, the nurse continues on, undeterred.

With her pen and clipboard extended, she stands there patiently, waiting for him to play along. I can’t help but get a kick out of watching him ignore her, acting like she’s invisible.

She shoots a quick glance in my direction, clearly seeking some backup.

My lips curl into a smirk as I playfully tap Xander on the shoulder. I know exactly what’s coming - the intense glare and the expression that screams “fuck off.”

“Your little fan over there wants an autograph,” I say, deliberately pushing his buttons.

His gaze, once fixed on me, abruptly shifts to her, intense and unyielding. With a sharp tone, he snaps, “I’m not signing autographs today. Fuck off and do your job.” With that, he shifts his focus back to the glowing numbers above the elevator.

I’ve always admired his bluntness and no-bullshit attitude—never giving a fuck about anyone’s opinion, except Poppy and Alex, of course. Around them, his softer side always comes through.

The nurse glances at me, as if silently pleading for me to intervene, but all I can do is shrug. Xander sees these moments as nothing more than an opportunity for her to boast to her friends about how she scored his autograph.

Defeated, she scurries off, the sound of her hurried footsteps echoing down the hall.

As Xander turns his head, his eyes lock onto mine, shooting me a menacing glare. With a sharp tone, he snaps, “You’re a fucking asshole.”

I smirk, meeting his intense gaze head-on, unflinching.

With a familiar chime, the elevator doors slide open, inviting us inside. I brace myself for the usual rant about Scarlet, but instead, he surprises me with something completely different.

“What the fuck are we going to do about the tour, Ace? We’ve been talking all this big game about going solo, and now this shit happens.”

“We can’t do shit about any of it. We have to cancel. There’s no other way. Nate’s gonna be out of action for at least six months,” I say.

“Cancel forty-three fucking shows? We just announced six more yesterday. Shit! I can already picture that asshole Lionel sitting there all smug in his office, knowing we couldn’t do shit without him,” Xander says, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his stance.

“Yeah, well fuck Lionel,” I say, even though the thought of canceling the tour is fucking heartbreaking. “Even if we were still with the old label, we’d have to cancel anyway. That’s just how it goes, Xander. It’s gonna suck, and you know the media will blow it up.”

“Yeah, I know those fuckers will,” Xander agrees. “Those assholes will do anything to stir up shit for headlines.” He lets out a heavy sigh, then shifts his gaze from the floor to me. “You need to stay the fuck away from her, Ace.”

“I’m trying, asshole.”

“Well, damn it, try harder. I don’t want any more problems just because you keep thinking with your dick.”

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