CHAPTER 10. EXPOSED #4
On the ride back, I call Fred to invite him over for dinner tomorrow.
He perks up at the mention of Katie, then immediately suggests we invite Bernard too.
“For company,” he says. “The more the merrier, right?” I agree—because honestly, Bernard is easier to be around than Fred himself.
I mean, I don’t hate the guy like Xavier does, but sometimes Fred’s curiosity and need to get into everyone’s business is just… a lot.
To my surprise, Hickory Road is quiet for the first time in days—no journalists, no flashing cameras. I make it up the stairs without hassle and let myself into the apartment.
Inside, I take off my jacket and shoes and spot Xavier at the table, hunched over his laptop. The only light in the room comes from the gray afternoon outside, casting soft shadows across his face.
He glances up. Our eyes meet—just for a second.
He looks the same as ever. Maybe a little softer now. A little more himself.
For a moment, I think he’s about to say something, but I look away, a sharp ache blooming behind my ribs.
I flip the light switch. Nothing. The fuses must’ve blown again.
Still silent, I head to the kitchen, aware of Xavier’s eyes on me the whole way. I pull back the curtain to let in what little daylight there is, then fill the kettle and start rummaging through the tea bags.
A few seconds later, Xavier appears in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. I ignore him. He steps closer, inching into my space like he’s waiting for me to look at him. I don’t. Not until he’s right there, and I can’t avoid it anymore.
I turn to face him, expression blank, heart pounding like a drum. I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine. Not this time. If he wants to talk, he can start with a real apology.
“Did you happen to see Mr. Waverly downstairs?” he asks softly. His voice is almost gentle.
“No,” I say, and turn back around. He doesn’t move.
“The fuses are out again. He’s got the key to the fuse box.”
I don’t respond. I’m not going to make small talk so he can feel better. Let him sit with the silence for once.
Xavier clears his throat. “How was your date?”
“Not a date,” I say flatly, picking up a bag of Earl Grey and opening the fridge to grab a lemon. He shifts behind me, like he’s waiting for something.
“How was your not-a-date, then?” A hint of a smile in his voice.
“Fine.” I keep my eyes anywhere but on him.
“Newt.”
“What.”
“Are you angry with me?”
I turn to face him. He knows direct questions usually get through to me. Not to him, though—he loves dodging them, pretending he has no idea what I’m talking about.
Xavier shifts, uneasy, waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “But I don’t want to talk about any of it.”
The kettle clicks. I pick up my cup, pouring the hot water over the tea bag. Behind me, I hear Xavier exhale—feel him lingering, like he’s working up the nerve to speak. I just stand there, steeping the tea, maybe a little too aggressively, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say.
“Newt,” he says again, then pauses, clearly hoping I’ll turn around.
“Mhm?” I murmur, not bothering to. If it irritates him, even better.
Suddenly, his hand reaches past me—fingers closing around my wrist, stopping me mid-motion. I freeze, startled, and meet his eyes. His touch burns.
“What?” I ask, sharper than I intended.
“I’m sorry for acting like an asshole,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing slow, uncertain circles against my skin. “Forgive me. Please.”
I just stand there, stunned.
Xavier Ormond apologizing feels like something out of a dream—definitely not real life.
“I’m really sorry,” he says again, softer this time. Then he steps in, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me close until his chin rests lightly against my temple. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
I’m so thrown by all of it—his voice, his closeness, the familiar scent of him—that all I can do is nod and slip my arms around his waist. We stay like that for what feels like forever, his hand moving in slow circles against my back, like it’s second nature.
Every part of me feels wired, buzzing from the contact.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I was being an idiot. I’m really sorry.”
“Okay,” I manage, my tongue clumsy, heart pounding.
I wasn’t planning to forgive him this fast, but he caught me off guard. I have to remind myself to breathe, to calm down. This doesn’t mean anything—not really. It just means Xavier Ormond cares about our friendship. And somehow, that alone makes me stupidly happy.
He lets go, and I step back, trying to play it cool, hoping the low light hides how flustered I am.
“Any theories on the Bridge case?” I ask, grabbing my tea and sitting down at the table like that hug didn’t just knock the world sideways.
Xavier hesitates for a beat, watching me like he’s trying to figure out whether I actually forgave him or not. Then, after a silent evaluation, he pulls out the chair across from me and sits.
“I think Bridge was targeted because of his work,” he says finally.
“So it wasn’t random?” I ask, frowning.
He shakes his head. “The answer has to be with the clients he saw that day.”
I cross my arms, still too thrown by his apology to fully focus. “You think the cameras he installed are connected to his death?”
“Yes,” he says, more certain now. “We have the list of his appointments. We need to talk to all of them.”
“But we’ve already got their statements from the police,” I point out. “No one seemed to know anything.”
Xavier shrugs. “The police miss things.”
I nod slowly. “Alright. When do you want to start?”
“Not today,” he says. “I want to stay on Wakefield’s case for now. At least until it’s officially closed.”
“Okay,” I say—and then remember Selena Hast. I reach into my pocket, pull out the device she gave me, and hand it to him.
He eyes it, puzzled. “What’s this?”
“Remember that journalist—Selena Hast? She cornered me today and gave me that.”
He studies the blinking red dot on the screen. “Is this…a tracker?”
I nod. “Yeah. It’s broadcasting my exact location.”
Xavier frowns, going quiet.
“Where’d she get it?” he asks eventually.
“She says someone sent it to her anonymously. It came with a note, but she didn’t say what it said.” I pause. “She says she’ll tell us more—if we agree to an interview.”
Xavier huffs, still frowning, then gives me a slow once-over. “Stand up and take your clothes off. One piece at a time.”
I blink, nearly choking on my tea. “What?”
His face is completely serious. “We know the tracker’s on you. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Now strip.”
I cough, my face heating. His tone sends a shiver down my spine—commanding, matter-of-fact. I hate how flustered it makes me. I stall, setting my cup down.
“What—are you shy?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, one brow lifting. “Come on, I’ve already seen you naked.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, pushing to my feet. “Stop reminding me.”
“I’m just saying,” he says, catching my eye, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I roll my eyes and start unbuttoning my cuffs, deliberately slow. Xavier watches, clearly impatient, shifting on his feet. I undo one cuff, then start on the second.
“Oh my god, come here,” he sighs, stepping in. His fingers go straight for my collar.
I freeze, staring as he makes short work of the buttons. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt off my shoulders and starts inspecting the collar.
Then he suddenly lets out a soft gasp, flings my shirt aside, and mutters, “God, we’re idiots,” as his hands move to my belt.
His fingers brush just under my navel, and I tense, a pulse of heat shooting through me.
I grab his hands without thinking.
Our eyes meet—and something shifts. His gaze flicks down to my chest, then lower, trailing over my stomach like he’s seeing it for the first time. It’s not just the contact. He’s distracted too. He snaps his gaze back to mine, like he’s hoping I didn’t catch him staring.
Neither of us moves. The space between us hums, our breathing out of sync.
My face heats up. After a beat, I let go of him, feeling stupid for making it a bigger deal than it is.
“It’s in your belt,” Xavier murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes. “May I?”
I nod.
He unbuckles it and slides it free from the loops in one smooth motion.
I try to play it cool, but it’s pointless. While I stand there trying to collect myself, Xavier turns the belt over in his hands, checking every inch.
Then he narrows his eyes, his fingers tightening around something. He plucks a tiny object from the side of the belt—it looks like a metal ball-head pin at first, but when he opens his palm to show me, I realize it’s not just a pin. It’s a device.
“What the hell?” I breathe, my chest tightening.
“It’s an audio bug with a tracker,” Xavier says. “I’ve seen these before. They’re small, but they pick up sound clearly, even with background noise.”
“Someone…bugged me?” I say, my brain still trying to catch up.
“Yeah.” Xavier’s expression is unreadable. “Any idea who could’ve planted it?”
I shake my head, stunned. “I wear that belt almost every day. It’s my only one.”
Xavier hums but doesn’t press. He crosses to the window, cracks it open, and tosses out both the bug and the tracker.
Then he turns and casually dusts off his hands, like that’s the end of it.
“That should do it.”
I nod, still reeling. The idea that someone managed to bug me without me noticing makes my skin crawl.
Suddenly, the kitchen light flickers on, bathing the room in warm yellow. Mr. Waverly must’ve reset the fuses.
“Finally,” I say.
Xavier catches my eye, like he’s about to say something else, but then stops. His expression shifts—surprise flickers across his face. His whole demeanor changes.
“What?” I frown.
He stares for a beat, then says flatly, “Lipstick.”
“What?” I blink, caught off guard.
“You’ve got lipstick on your face.”
My hand shoots up to my cheek, but Xavier’s gaze doesn’t move—it stays locked on my mouth. Heat rises to my face, and I quickly wipe my lips with the back of my hand. He blinks, and I feel like I should say something—anything—so I blurt out,
“She kissed me…” I trail off, unsure how to finish. “It was awkward.”
Well, as awkward as this entire situation now.
Xavier doesn’t react. “Did you ask her about getting into Rishetor?”
“Yes. No.” I cough. “I haven’t asked yet.”
He says nothing. Just pulls out his phone and stares at the screen for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused.
I open my mouth, then close it again. It’d just come out like I’m defending myself.
“I invited Fred and Katie for dinner tomorrow,” I mumble, just to fill the silence. “And Bernard Nimoy.”
Xavier looks up at me, and the way he does it—like I’ve just punched him—makes something twist in my chest.
“Sorry I didn’t run it by you,” I say, hoping it softens things. “It kind of just…happened.”
“Okay,” he says, and it’s so flat it hurts more than if he’d actually been mad.
I blink. “I mean, if you really don’t want them here, I can move it somewhere else. That’s not a big deal.”
He just blinks back at me. “It’s fine.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “You don’t even have to talk to them, honestly. Just sit through a bit, and then you can disappear to your room if you want…”
He doesn’t answer. His face doesn’t shift. I pull on my shirt, mostly to have something to do with my hands.
“I’ll skip it,” he says after a pause. “If that’s alright.”
“Sure,” I say, trying to read his face—trying to tell if he’s actually okay. That’s when Xavier’s lips twist into a faint smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. His whole expression hardens.
“I’ll be careful not to ruin your reputation in front of your friends,” he says, voice suddenly cool.
“My reputation?” I blink, caught off guard.
He nods. “Male. Heterosexual. Or whatever it is you’re trying so hard to protect.”
He turns to leave.
“I’m not—” I move after him, throat tight. “That’s not what I’m protecting.”
Xavier stops but doesn’t look back. “It’s fine,” he says flatly, as if he didn’t hear me at all. “Everyone will figure it out soon enough.”
“Figure what out?” I ask, confused, heart thudding.
“That it’s impossible,” he mutters, “for a sane person to love Xavier Ormond.”
Then he walks off, shutting his bedroom door behind him.