Page 10 of Detectives in Love

Xavier stops short and turns, fixing me with a look so sharp it knocks the air out of my lungs. There’s something in his eyes—dark, unsettling—that makes my skin prickle.

“What?” I ask, more defensive than I mean to be.

“What do you remember from last night?” Xavier says, his tone controlled, almost too even. He hands his guest badge to the guard and steps through the metal detector.

I follow after him, trying to make sense of what he means.

“Uh…” I say, sifting through the hazy fragments of the night. “I met Monica, ran into an old classmate, had a few drinks, then went home.”

“And?” Xavier prompts, his tone giving nothing away.

“And went to sleep.” I shrug.

“You don’t remember anything else,” he says, a flicker of surprise in his voice.

“Wait—are you talking about me coming home drunk?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away as we head for the exit. Then, just as he pushes open the door, he finally says, “Not exactly.”

“What then?” I press, frowning as we step outside. “What should I remember?”

But before he can respond, a shout cuts through the air—

“There they are!”

And the world bursts white around us.

CHAPTER 3. OUT

I flinch as a wave of journalists surges forward, closing in fast.

“Mr. Ormond! Mr. Ormond!”

“How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Doherty?”

“Are you two really friends with benefits?”

“What’s the real story between you two?”

“Newt, is it true Xavier confessed he’s in love with you?”

Snow crunches under our feet as they press closer, our collars turned up against the biting wind. Microphones and recorders jab at us, questions firing from every direction.

Police try to hold the crowd back, but it barely slows them. The journalists keep pushing, relentless, their voices rising over one another.

I push through the swarm, forcing my way past the wall of journalists. Xavier stays just behind me—I can feel him keeping pace, both of us caught in the crush of bodies with nowhere to go but forward.

It’s a nightmare. My heart pounds, my mind spinning, locked on one thought—Xavier. All morning, I’d been desperate to keep that article from him, to shield him from this. Now it’sblown up in my face, a storm of flashing cameras and shouted accusations.

My breath catches, panic rising fast. Someone shouts Xavier’s name, another calls mine, and suddenly I realize—we’re surrounded.

Out of nowhere, a hand grabs mine.

“This way, Newt! To the car!”

Fred Collins’ voice cuts through the chaos. Relief surges through me as I turn toward him, letting him pull me forward.

Without thinking, I reach back and grab Xavier’s wrist, trying to pull him with me. But he doesn’t move. That’s when I turn to look at him—and freeze.