Page 184 of Detectives in Love
Xavier:How did she even get my number? Please tell me she didn’t talk to Ernest
Then there’s a two-hour silence before the next message.
Xavier:I miss you
I sit up, my chest tight, my pulse loud in my ears. A week ago, I wouldn’t have believed Xavier was capable of saying something like that—even over text. But these past few days, the stakes have been so high, I think we crossed a line that brought us closer.
I read the next messages, my eyes stinging.
Xavier:I can’t sleep without you anymore
Xavier:I keep thinking—what if the doctors were wrong and you really got shot
Xavier:I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re okay
And then the last message, sent fifty minutes ago:
Xavier:I love you
Shit—I’m crying now, tears slipping down my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s the drugs they gave me or the fact that I could’ve lost him yesterday, but my chest aches like something’s breaking. I wipe my eyes and type a message through the blur.
Me:I just woke up, Xavier. I’m great, I’m fine!
Me:Are you alright?
I figured he was still awake, but it still surprises me when the reply comes almost instantly.
Xavier:Yes, I’m fine
Xavier:How are you feeling?
Considering how worried he’s been, I’d lie even if I felt terrible—but truthfully, I’m doing pretty well for someone who got shot three times last night.
Me:Great, I’m fine!
I pause for a second, then type the next one.
Me:I miss you
It’s bold, maybe, but after what he texted me, I don’t think playing it safe makes much sense.
Xavier:I miss you too
Xavier:What does the doctor say?
I smile stupidly at the screen before answering.
Me:They need to run some tests this morning, but I think I’m fine
Me:I really want to go home
There’s a long pause, and I start to wonder if Xavier’s fallen asleep. I lie there, tapping my screen to keep it from locking, waiting for his reply. After ten minutes, my eyes start to close—sleep creeping in.
That’s when my phone buzzes.
I blink awake to see an incoming call from Xavier.
“Xavier?” I answer, heart already racing, spinning through a dozen worst-case scenarios. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe Bernard escaped police custody and broke into our apartment—this time to kill him.
