Page 149 of Detectives in Love

Once the jeans are on and zipped, he pulls a pair of socks from the bag and says, “Sit down.”

I blink at the tone—firm though not unkind—but don’t argue. Truth is, there’s no way I’m getting socks or shoes on by myself.

So I sit down and let Xavier do it—legs draped over his lap, his brows slightly drawn, all quiet precision and care. There’s a warmth blooming in my chest just watching him. God, a week ago I wouldn’t have believed this version of Xavier even existed. Not that he wasn’t caring before—but he just always held a part of himself back, like he was afraid to show too much.I don’t know what changed, what nudged that boundary loose, but knowing I matter to him like this… it’s the best feeling in the world.

When he’s done, he sets my feet gently on the floor and straightens up.

“Thanks,” I say, meeting his eyes with a smile.

Then I remember his head and reach out instinctively. Xavier goes still, not sure what I’m doing—until my fingers thread through his hair and find the bruise at his temple.

“Oh God,” I breathe, brushing his hair aside as I rise on my toes to get a better look. “Xavier, you need to get checked for a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” he says, leaning back slightly to meet my eyes. “He got me with an elbow—it hurt at the time, but I’m okay now. No nausea, no vomiting. It’s not a concussion.”

“Alright,” I sigh.

But before I can say anything else, Xavier cuts in. “Now please—let’s just go home.”

CHAPTER 15. STORM

It’s not snowing in the morning—it’s raining. Heavy drops drum against the glass, and every so often, lightning cracks through the sky in sharp white flashes.

I’ve only slept a couple of hours, but when I wake up, the room is still dark, the sky outside smothered with thick storm clouds. For a second, I don’t know what pulled me out of sleep—until I hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance, and the steady rush of rain spilling along the cornice.

I turn my head. The space next to me is empty—just a flattened pillow, a wrinkled sheet, the comforter pushed back.

It feels like we’d just fallen asleep, curled into each other like it’s second nature already. But now Xavier’s gone, and after everything, a sharp unease stirs in my chest.

I sit up—and that’s when I notice the still figure at the foot of the bed.

“Xavier?” I call, my voice rough with sleep. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t turn around.

Faint light from the street slips through the gap in the curtains, casting a narrow stripe of gray across the far wall, the floor, the bed.

I rub my eyes and blink into the dark—just as a burst of lightning flares outside, illuminating the room for a split second.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” I ask, pushing myself upright. Then, before I can think better of it, I add, “I thought you were gone.”

I don’t even know why I say it—my thoughts are still slow, disoriented from sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, finally glancing back at me over his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.” His voice is tight. Distant. Just slightly off.

I watch him for a second—the faint light from the window tracing the edge of his jaw, his cheekbone, the slope of his shoulder. Then I push the comforter aside and shift toward the foot of the bed, careful with my leg as pain flares again, dull but insistent.

I sit down beside him. Our shoulders touch. He turns slightly toward me.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Go back to bed.”

Right then, thunder rolls—loud, close. A moment later, lightning bursts across the sky, flooding the room with pale white.

And I see him clearly.

His eyes are red. Swollen around the edges.

Was he crying?