Page 34 of Detectives in Love
“Yeah, well. You picked a hell of a day to visit,” I say, slumping into the chair beside her.
She nods, sympathetic. For the next ten minutes, we talk about nothing—weather, Christmas plans, whatever filler we can come up with. But we saw each other yesterday, so there’s not much left to cover. Just one thing hanging in the air—the one topic I really don’t want to touch.
“So,” Monica says eventually, breaking the silence. “You and Xavier—worked things out?”
I glance at her. “Me and Xavier?”
She nods. It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about. Last night, I told her about the fight. Not in detail—but enough.
“Sort of,” I say.
There’s another pause.
“He’s not what I expected,” she says, fidgeting with her empty cup. “Quieter. More guarded.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know why, but today, I don’t feel like talking about Xavier with her. Usually, I wouldn’t mind. “How’s work?”
Monica shoots me a look. “Don’t change the subject, Newt. If you don’t want to talk about him—or the article—fine. But I’m dying to know.”
“Not much to die over, trust me,” I say dryly, a chill creeping up my spine. “You know damn well it’s all crap.”
“Sure,” she says, way too casually—but I can tell she’s not planning to let it go. “Still, this mess opened a whole can of worms. You’re trending almost as much as Minister Craig and his boy toy. Honestly—you’re giving them a run for their money.”
She catches my deadpan look and pats my shoulder. “I’m kidding. Lighten up, will you?”
“Fresh out of light today,” I mutter.
“Come on, it’s not the end of the world. People will talk for a bit, then move on to the next scandal.” She pauses, then adds more gently, “How’s he dealing with all this?”
I notice how she doesn’t say Xavier’s name.
“Taking it?” I echo, stalling.
“Yeah. Is he pissed? Upset? What’s his deal?”
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, hoping she doesn’t catch the sudden edge in my voice. “He’s not reacting at all. It’s Xavier. That’s just how he is.”
Monica frowns, studying me a second too long. Then: “Well, getting into a fight is reacting.”
I snort. “Yeah, I guess. But you should’ve seen that guy—he could piss off a saint.” And for some reason, I add, “He said he’d fuck me or something, and Xavier got mad.”
The moment the words are out, I realize I’ve overshared. Great. Maybe I really do have a concussion. My face goes hot as Monica raises an eyebrow.
“Hold up.” Her expression shifts—and before I can brace myself, she asks, “Are you actually in love with him?”
The words hit like a truck.
“What?” I blink too fast, let out a snort that sounds anything but casual. “No.” Yeah. Any acting school would expel me for that performance.
“Yeah, you are.” Her voice is laced with something uncomfortably close to sympathy, which somehow makes it worse. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Newt.”
“I… No. I’m not gay.”
Even as I say it, I hear how pathetic it sounds.
“I know,” she says—and I can’t tell if she really does, until she adds, “You’re bi, right?”
I don’t answer. I just sit there, frozen—because hearing it out loud, realizing it in real time, hits harder than I ever thought it would.
