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Donnelly gives me a look of gratitude. “Bet you missed this.”
I lift a shoulder and we both steal the briefest glance to Xander. He’s packing in more snow with Easton helping at his side. Quieter, I tell Donnelly, “I like seeing the kid happy.”
He smiles. “Ditto.”
“You’ve done a good job with him.”
Just as I say the words, Xander asks with a smile, “Hey, Donnelly, we’re trying to figure out what’s cooler: Sir Frost Squall with an extra foot for speed and swiftness or an extra hand for dexterity and…other things.” He’s grinning.
To jerk off.
He means to jerk off.
To be sixteen again.
Donnelly is better than most at talking and maintaining a safe perimeter. While he waves a hand in reprimand to a girl who nears, he tells Xander, “Why not both?”
Xander looks to Easton.
Easton shrugs. “Sir Frost Squall is twice skilled on hand and foot?”
“Awesome,” Xander smiles, and they get to work on the geekiest snowman in the contest. They’ve been meticulous on their work and also interrupted an ass-fuck number of times, so most families and teens have already finished.
Dozens of snowmen are staggered around a few trees, branches lit with multi-colored lights and decorated with ribbons. I spot mostly classic snowmen: scarves, top hats, and button noses. Only a few have character like Xander’s fantasy creation. The Harry Potter snowman is lopsided with a touch of scoliosis, and the punk rock snowman is losing its head.
I’d say Xander might actually have a shot here, but Sir Frost Squall is more like Sir Blob Squall.
You’d think he was a professional snowman-maker the way a crowd has formed. Girls are crying. Literal tears run down their cheeks like they’re breathing the same air as the pope. They snap pictures and call out his name.
Donnelly and I extend our arms out to fortify a barrier and keep them from encroaching on Xander’s safe space. Cold pricks and numbs my bare hands, but my mouth curves upward, remembering my gloves on Sulli’s fingers.
Xander pulls his hood down and runs a hand through his thick hair. The entire crowd erupts in a wave of awwws. He flushes before pulling his hoodie back over his head.
Donnelly follows my gaze and whispers to me, “Only hope for the lil elf was puberty makin’ him look like a toad.”
“Yeah,” I whisper subtly back. “That didn’t go down well.” Puberty was more than kind to Xander Hale. He was ethereal-looking as a preteen, but the older he’s grown, the more pronounced his features have become. Sharp cheekbones, bottomless expressive amber eyes, a tall, lanky build, and model-worthy looks all add up to Tumblr and TikTok fans being obsessed with him.
The fact that he’s been venturing out more only adds to the online craze.
Maximoff cuts through the crowd with ease, even as they fawn over him and tug at his jacket and belt loop. Gabe is having trouble keeping up with the American prince, who acts like his own bodyguard, but Farrow is right next to Maximoff and volleying grabby hands away.
I don’t spot Baby Ripley, which is more unusual seeing them without him. They must’ve let Lily or Loren look after their son.
Donnelly and I let them pass through into Xander’s safe zone.
“How’s it going, Summers?” Maximoff smiles at his brother. He’s been checking in on him all night, and Xander lights up every time his big brother comes around.
Xander smiles back and motions to the snowman. “Sir Frost Squall of the Northern born.”
Maximoff looks impressed and happy. “What’s the fourth eye for?”
“He’s an all-seer.” As Xander explains, a stabbing pain shoots in my temple.
I break the toothpick in half and spit it out.
My head pounds harder, then duller.
Gotta get this checked out.
My migraines haven’t been that bad lately, but I remember the promise I made to Akara and Sulli. There’s only so long I can stall on looking into my health.
I wonder what those two are doing right now. My brain auto-fills with images of them making out by an ice sculpture. Lip-locked, threaded together. It’s what Akara deserves after all the shit he’s been dealing with, and maybe I’ll ask for details later. For my own personal spank bank.
I subtly massage my head, then hold out a hand as a crying girl blubbers, “I…I have to see him, please. Xander. Xander.” She sniffles.
Donnelly winces a little at her tears. He’s already let one girl use his shirt to wipe up snot.
“Banks!”
No.
No. That is not Akara Kitsuwon’s voice I hear.
My anger already folds in on itself as Akara and Sulli bound over to me. Like Maximoff, they push their way through the overzealous teenyboppers. But Xander’s fans and Sulli’s fans don’t normally overlap, so none of the girls give her a second glance.
Making their pursuit a little easier, they reach me in no time.
Akara quickly says, “Gabe take Banks’ position.”
