Page 84 of Detectives in Love
Then he walks off, shutting his bedroom door behind him.
CHAPTER 11. DISQUIET
What the hell just happened?
I stare at Xavier’s door, my mind still reeling from the sudden shift in mood, the sharp words, that final, loaded confession. The kitchen is too quiet now, the air heavy—like I’m breathing through fog. My heart won’t slow down, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to piece it together.
What the fuck does this even mean? Is Xavier jealous? He sounds jealous—but maybe I’m being delusional again, and the last thing I want is a repeat of this morning.
And still—loving Xavier Ormond.
The words keep looping in my head, dragging up a mess of feelings I have no idea how to sort. Did he meanromanticlove? No. He couldn’t have. Maybe he meant it platonically. I don’t fucking know.
For a second, I hover there, torn. Should I go after him? But what would I even say—without blurting out that I’m in love with him? Which, again, feels like a catastrophically bad idea, considering everything that went down this morning.
So I just stand there under the harsh kitchen light, feeling more lost than ever.
***
Xavier doesn’t come out of his room until evening, and I spend the whole day trying—and failing—to figure out what it means. Is he jealous? Hurt? Angry?
I want to ask—just to understand what the hell’s going on. But I’m afraid I’ll just get the same humiliating answer as before.
I don’t need you.
The memory alone makes my chest tighten. He cut me off before I could explain, then found a reason to get upset and retreat—leaving me alone to sit with it. With him gone, all I have is the echo of what I should’ve said and the weight of my own guilt.
I want to confront him, to shake some honesty out of him, justdo somethingto break this silence between us. But I know how that goes. I’ll just end up hurting myself more.
So I don’t.
Like the coward I am, I let it go. Maybe he just needs time. He usually does.
Even though the adult part of me says I should just wait for things to go back to normal, I spend the whole evening on edge. I try to keep busy—tidying up, doing the dishes—but somehow, I keep drifting toward Xavier’s door without meaning to. He never comes out.
Monica calls twice. I let it go to voicemail. I’m not in the mood to talk.
When I take out the trash later, I run into Mrs. Waverly in the hallway.
“You don’t look so good,” she says, peering at me. “Maybe you should get some sleep, Newt, dear.”
It’s past ten. I blink at her, still half-elsewhere, my mind stuck on Xavier.
“Sorry, what?”
She frowns. “You look sick, dear. Did those newspaper people wear you out?”
“Uh…no,” I say, sighing. “Xavier and I had a bit of a fight.”
I’m not even sure why I say it—maybe because it’s getting harder to keep all of this to myself.
Mrs. Waverly catches the edge in my voice. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” she says gently. “But it’s okay. Xavier’s a sensitive boy.” She pats my shoulder. “It’s hard for him to say exactly what he means.”
I just nod, feeling miserable, a strange heaviness settling in my chest.
Mrs. Waverly goes on, “But Xavier really cares about you, Newt—whatever he might say. So just give him time.”
