Page 62 of Detectives in Love
Xavier meets my gaze.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Xavier,” I say quietly. “Tell me what’s going on.”
There’s a pause. Then a sharp exhale, like he already regrets bringing it up.
“My father died.”
“What?” I blink. “When?”
“A while ago. Didn’t see the point in mentioning it.”
“Xavier…” I pull out a chair and sit beside him. “I’m so sorry.”
A pit settles in my stomach. I want to say something else—something that might actually help—but nothing comes.
“Thanks,” he says flatly.
“I…I didn’t even know your father was still in the picture,” I admit. “You never talked about him. Were you guys close?”
Xavier shakes his head. “We weren’t. I carry my mother’s last name for a reason.”
I nod. But before I can stop myself, I say, “I really am sorry, Xavier. I get that you don’t want to talk about it, but if you need anything—”
“It’s fine, Newt,” he cuts in, a little softer now. “Let’s just drop it.”
“Okay,” I say, letting it go. My mind’s buzzing with questions, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m not going to push. Not right now.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Xavier mutters, catching my eye. “You’re pitying me. Don’t.”
“I’m not pitying you,” I blink, reaching for the coffee pot. “I’m sympathizing.”
“Same thing,” he mutters. Then, without warning: “I’m going to Fulton. Now.”
He gets up from his chair and walks toward the living room.
I hesitate. Is he planning to go alone?
Xavier glances back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Our eyes meet.
“Yeah. Of course.”
He nods.
“Get dressed. I’ll call a cab.”
I leave my coffee untouched and duck into Xavier’s room to grab my stuff, then head to mine to dress.
His words loop in my head as I pull on a clean pair of jeans. I feel like an idiot for not realizing something was up. The visits from Ernest, the way Xavier’s been off lately—it should’ve clicked. But I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to see it.
I buckle my belt and stare at myself in the bedroom mirror. Monica’s voice echoes in my head—”Hold up, are you actually in love with him?”
Thank God I wasn’t too drunk last night. I could’ve done something stupid when he asked me to stay. Like kiss him. Or worse. His dad had just died—he needed a friend, and I almost ruined everything. Almost threw away our friendship. Our partnership.
This’ll pass. It has to. Or at least fade enough to let things go back to normal.
