Page 45 of Detectives in Love

Feels like I might’ve aggravated that nerve again—the one that started acting up after the Carver cut me. Thankfully, nothing seems broken, but…yeah, this is going to suck for a while.

I hear footsteps stop just outside the door. Then Xavier’s voice comes, muffled:

“You okay?”

I glance back at the mirror—my own tired face staring back at me.

“I’m fine. Just bruised my shoulder, I think,” I call out, trying to sound casual. But something in my voice must give me away, because a second later, Xavier says,

“Let me see.”

For a moment, I think about telling him to go away—but knowing Xavier, that would just make him more persistent. Easier to let him check and get it over with. I open the door.

He steps in without hesitation, nudging me back into the room.

“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “Just a bruise.”

Xavier doesn’t wait for permission. His cool hands slip under my half-removed sweater, sending a shiver down my spine. He pulls it off over my head, fingers skimming the back of my neck—making my heart stutter—then down my left arm, his touch trailing from shoulder to forearm. The sweater drops to the floor. Before I can react, he grabs the hem of my undershirt and lifts that too, slipping it off without a word.

In the dim light, the whole thing feels too intimate. Our faces are inches apart. His breath warms my skin, and something tightens in my chest—a mix of nerves and something dangerously close to arousal. I want to say something, stop him, break the moment—but nothing comes out.

“Can I have your phone?” Xavier nods toward it.

I hand it over.

He lifts the flashlight and guides it slowly over my skin. The beam drifts across my shoulder, picking out the bruises one by one.

“Xavier, I’m fine,” I say, my whole body wired like a live fuse.

He hums, unconvinced—almost annoyed, like he knows I’m lying. His hand settles lightly on my collarbone, holding me still as he examines the worst of them. His fingers press into the tender skin, probing gently.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“A little,” I lie, gritting my teeth as he circles behind me. His fingers brush my shoulder from the back, and a sharp breath slips out before I can stop it.

Xavier moves to face me again, concern etched across his features.

“Nothing’s broken,” I offer, aiming for casual—but it comes out too tight.

“Let me take you to the ER,” he says, frowning.

I shake my head. “I’m just sore. I swear, I’m fine.”

He watches me for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me. Then his eyes drop—and so do his hands—drifting lower to trace the scars the Carver left behind.

He moves slowly, like he’s reading them. Mapping each line. Trying to understand.

The phone’s glow catches his face—angles sharp, shadows deep in his eyes.

Standing there half-naked, I suddenly feel way too exposed.

And then, once again, before I can stop it, my mind slips somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.

For a second, I imagine it’s not his fingers but his mouth—his lips brushing against my skin. The thought comes out of nowhere, uninvited, and sends heat curling low in my stomach.

By the time I register it, my heart’s already pounding. It takes everything not to flinch.

A faint buzz breaks the silence. I blink hard, chasing the thought from my head.