Page 95 of Detectives in Love
I exhale hard, eyes closed, trying not to think. Trying not to picture him.
But the image of his face lingers anyway, burned into the backs of my eyelids.
Eventually, I drag myself out of the shower, towel off, get dressed. Check my phone again. Still nothing.
With a sigh, I head to my bedroom, flick off the light, and crawl under the covers. The sheets are cool against my skin, but I don’t feel that relief you get after a long day—just an anxious pull in my chest.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. It drips in slow, broken fragments—half-formed dreams I can’t hold onto, drifting in and out like ocean waves.
Then something pulls me awake.
I jolt, breath catching.
The room is still dark, but the first hints of dawn are starting to creep in. Through a gap in the curtains, I see a sliver of sky—no longer pitch black, but deep blue.
I don’t know what woke me. My hand fumbles blindly for my phone. My fingers find the side button, and the screen flares to life.
5:50 AM.
“Newt.”
My heart leaps into my throat.
A shadowy figure is sitting at the foot of my bed.
“Xavier?” I sit up abruptly, squinting into the dark. “When did you get in?”
“Just now,” he says, voice hoarse.
My pulse kicks up—wild, uneven. But the brief relief of hearing his voice vanishes almost immediately. Something’s off.
“Are you okay?” I shift forward, trying to see his face in the dim light, but it’s impossible to read his expression.
“Yes.” His voice is quiet. Strange, somehow.
“Xavier?” I push back the covers and inch closer. “What’s that smell? Is that…gasoline?”
“Mm,” he murmurs, barely audible.
I frown. After not seeing him all day, the urge to touch him, to hold him, hits me hard. But he looks completely drained, barely upright. Is he drunk?
“Xavier…” I reach for his hand—and flinch. His skin is ice-cold, his fingers trembling. “God, you’re freezing…” I run the back of my hand along his neck, his cheek. “You’re shivering all over. Where have you been?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he whispers, trying to pull away.
I don’t let him. Instead, I press my lips to his forehead. It’s cold too.
“Xavier…”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I’m okay.”
I start to get up to switch on the bedside lamp, but Xavier’s cold fingers close around my wrist, stopping me.
“Don’t.”
