Page 94 of Detectives in Love
It’s half past ten, and Xavier still isn’t home.
Where is he? What’s he doing? Could something have happened?
I stand there frozen, gripping the plates, when suddenly I realize Monica’s in front of me, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Newt,” she says softly, setting the dishes down before gently taking the ones from my hands and placing them in the sink. Then, without missing a beat, she steps forward and pulls me into a hug.
I didn’t even realize how badly I needed this—until a moment passes and I find myself crying into my sister’s shoulder, unable to stop the tears.
Monica rubs my back, murmuring that everything’s going to be okay, even though she has no idea what’s actually going on. I can tell I’ve startled her—I don’t think I’ve cried in front of her since we were kids.
I was usually the one picking her up after someone broke her heart, not the other way around.
But she doesn’t even ask why I’m crying. Not this time.
She just holds me—my unshakable cornerstone—and lets me fall apart.
Eventually, my tears dry, and I pull back to look at her.
“Sorry,” I mumble, sniffing.
“I can stay if you want,” Monica offers softly. I can tell she knows I’ll say no, but she asks anyway.
“No, I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile meant to reassure her, though I can feel how strained it looks. “I should just get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you look exhausted.”
“I probably am,” I admit, hoping that by morning, I won’t feel like this anymore.
I head to the bathroom to wash my face, then come back and help her finish putting the leftovers away. She starts getting ready to leave, and I watch quietly as she slips on her shoes.
When she stands, she gives me a small, pitying smile. “Well…I should get going.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asks when I let her go.
“Yeah.”
“Call me or text me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
She gives me one last, sad look before slipping out, and I close the door behind her.
The silence that settles over the apartment feels heavier now—somehow denser without her in it.
I pull out my phone, scroll through my recent calls until I find Xavier’s number, and tap it. When we fought, I was so sure I wouldn’t call him. I was angry—furious, even. But now I’m not even sure I have any dignity left. I just need to know he’s okay. Even if he’s off somewhere hating me.
The line rings.
No answer.
I head to the bathroom, step into the shower, and let the water run over me. I stand there motionless, maybe for half an hour, debating whether I should call Ernest. Maybe he knows where Xavier is. Maybe he’s tracking him—he usually is.
What if something happened to him?
But even as panic coils in my gut, I try to talk myself down. I’m probably overreacting. This is just Xavier being Xavier. He couldn’t exactly sulk in his room all day with people over, so he left. Probably went to Ernest’s. Or…somewhere else, though I can’t picture where else he’d go. Not really.
