Page 151 of Detectives in Love

I glance up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you getting soft on me, Xavier Ormond?”

But he doesn’t smile. Just looks at me—completely serious—and says, “You have no idea.”

And in that moment, as our eyes meet, I see it. Not just fear, but tenderness. Affection. And underneath all of it, something deeper.

Something I’ve never really let myself name. That strange, quiet devotion I feel for him…reflected right back at me.

I try to ease the weight of the moment, make it feel lighter.

“Is that really you talking?” I murmur with a small laugh. “Or is it still the meds?”

Xavier goes instantly still. Then suddenly pulls back.

“Is it so hard to believe this could be me?” he says—and I swear there’s hurt in his voice.

“Uh…” I blink, thrown. “Wait—I didn’t mean—”

“Am I just some robot to you?” he says, voice strained. “Like I’m not capable of feeling anything?”

“No. God, no,” I say, sitting up, panic flaring in my chest. “I didn’t mean it like that—I swear.”

He watches me, guarded. “Then what did you mean?”

“It’s just…” I pause. “You’ve never let it show before.”

“Let what show?” he says. “That I have feelings?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, ears burning, frustration creeping in. “You’ve never exactly been touchy-feely. You don’t talk about your feelings, or your thoughts. Half the time you don’t even tell me your damn plans—remember why we fought last time? So I’m sorry for double-checking you’re okay when you suddenly do a complete 180.”

“Suddenly?” he scoffs, sharp. “We had sex yesterday, Newt. I know you like to block things out, but that happened.”

Ah. So we’re talking about it now. Great.

“Jesus, Xavier,” I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “Can you slow down for a second? Where is this even coming from? I was joking. I don’t think you’re a robot, and I’m sorry if it came off that way. I’m just—” I pause, trying to get it right. “I’m just…confused. By all of this. Including the sex.”

The second it’s out of my mouth, I know it hits wrong. Xavier pulls away at once and gets out of bed, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry if I confused you,” he says, quieter now. Deflated.

“I’m not confused about me,” I say quickly, before he can spiral further. “I just…don’t know what this is, Xavier. I don’t know what you want.”

He goes still, standing by the bed in the dark, eyes locked on mine.

“That thing you said earlier,” he mutters. “About why we fought.”

“Yeah?” I say, not sure where he’s going with this.

“I didn’t keep you out of it because I didn’t trust you,” he says, voice tight. “I did it because I can’t fucking handle the thought of losing you. I don’t sleep for days if there’s a gun anywhere near you. Or a knife. Or whatever else.”

I stare at him, throat tight, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “I care about you too, Xavier.”

He exhales—dry, almost scoffing. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

I blink, heart thudding. “Then what are you saying?”

“I already told you,” he says. “That night you came back from drinking with fucking Fred.”

“What did you tell me?” I ask, though I already feel it coming—the chill of realization spreading through my chest.