Page 107 of Detectives in Love

There’s a pause before he pulls in another breath—longer this time, but shaky. His throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes flick to mine, then away.

I move the stethoscope lightly against his ribs. “Deeper.”

He exhales through his nose, then mutters, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, looking away. “Are we done?”

“Almost. Lungs are clear. Now let me check your heart.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t argue. I press the stethoscope to his chest, right over his heart. He shifts, uncomfortable, eyes dropping. His heartbeat thuds fast and uneven.

I frown. “Your heart’s racing.”

He doesn’t answer, just sits there tense, like he’s waiting me out.

“Turn around. I need to check from the back.”

He exhales sharply but obeys. I lift his shirt and press the stethoscope between his shoulder blades. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“Alright,” I say after a moment. “The rhythm’s off, but otherwise it sounds okay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my heart,” he says, still facing away. His voice is quiet, almost detached, like he’s holding something back.

“You should still get checked out,” I say, “just to be safe after the gasoline exposure.” I pull out the thermometer and fit it into his ear. Xavier gives me the most miserable look but doesn’t argue.

A quick beep. 38.9°C flashes back at me, confirming the fever I already felt.

“Jesus,” I sigh. “You’re burning up.”

I grab a painkiller from the medkit and hand it to him. “Take this.”

Xavier doesn’t ask questions—just swallows it dry.

Then, without a word, he pushes the comforter off and stands, a little unsteady. I tense, ready to step in, but he’s already moving—crossing the room, opening his wardrobe, and pulling out the laptop I noticed in there last night. He carries it back to the bed and sits down on top of the covers.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he flips it open.

Xavier doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is glassy, like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Xavier,” I call him.

He blinks out of whatever thought he was lost in and says, “What’s the point of having kids if you’re at work all day?”

I glance at him. “Sorry, what?”

Xavier turns to me, face unreadable. “Cormac Bridge spent all his time at work while his wife raised the kids. So what’s the point? Why have them if you’re never around?”

I pause, a little thrown, then shrug. “No idea. I’ve never wanted kids.”

That makes him frown, like it genuinely surprises him. “Really?”

I nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. I like drinking my coffee in peace.”

But he just squints at me, like he’s trying to read something between the lines.

“What?” I ask.