Page 31 of Detectives in Love
“Of course he does.” Xavier smirks, a trace of relief slipping through as he shifts, propping himself up on the bed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Rishetor’s some rich buddy of his and Ernest just doesn’t want us stirring the pot.”
“I actually asked that,” I say with a snort. “He gave me something ominous—said the guy’s too powerful to piss off.”
Xavier huffs a laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I chuckle. Silence settles between us, broken only by the sound of our breathing—until I catch a dark spot on Xavier’s cheek in the dim light. My stomach dips.
“Is that a bruise?”
“Yeah. The bastard hit me, remember?”
“Right,” I say, nodding, though the memory’s fuzzy now. “How did we even get home?”
Xavier frowns. “Newt, I think you might have a concussion.”
Do I actually have one—or is that genuine concern in his voice?
“If I did, I’d probably be dead by now,” I say. His frown deepens, so I add, “You’re not supposed to let someone sleep if they have a concussion.”
I feel him tense at that. I sigh. “Relax. No symptoms. I’m fine. Just needed to sleep off the hangover. Now, how’s your cheek?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Did you clean it?”
“No.”
“If the skin’s broken, you need to. Let me take a look.”
Xavier exhales, annoyed, but doesn’t argue—at least not until I reach for the bedside lamp. That’s when he catches my wrist…then just as quickly lets go.
“Don’t.”
I frown, heat creeping up my neck at the brief contact. “Why not?”
“There’s a hidden camera in here somewhere.”
“What? In my room?”
“Yeah. Thank Ernest.”
I let out a huff, irritation crawling under my skin. “To hell with Ernest. Let me see.”
Ignoring his grumbled protest, I switch on the lamp.
Xavier squints against the light, then tilts his head at me. “You look awful.”
“You’re not looking so great yourself,” I mutter, lifting his chin to get a better look at the bruise blooming on his left cheek. He stays surprisingly still, gaze fixed somewhere off to the side.
I run my fingers lightly over the spot, pressing just enough to check for swelling. “The skin’s not broken,” I say, glancing up at him. “It’ll probably look worse tomorrow, though. The journalists are going to speculate if you don’t cover it.”
Xavier doesn’t respond. He stays still, tense, like the whole thing makes him uncomfortable.
“Are you breathing, Xavier?” I ask, trying to pull his focus back.
He blinks, eyes snapping to mine. “Of course I’m breathing, Newt.”
I smirk. “Relax. I was joking.”
