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?
I reach out and rub his back, trying to soothe him. Seeing Xavier like this—vulnerable, unguarded—knots something in my chest. He’s so close to breaking it hurts to even look at him.
“Xavier,” I say, taking his hand. “Come lie down with me.”
It’s almost too easy to touch him in the dark, my heart pounding at the contact.
He looks down at our hands, then back at me—his eyes searching, like he’s asking something without saying it.
I give his hand a gentle tug and lead him back to bed.
We slip under the covers. I wrap an arm around his shoulder; he slides one around my waist.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, voice low.
He shakes his head, then suddenly pushes up on one elbow and leans in, pausing just long enough for me to stop him if I want to.
And then he kisses me. His lips are soft.
Careful. The kiss lingers—unhurried, stripped of urgency.
No tongue, no edge, nothing like before.
It feels almost sad, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into it.
I can feel the weight of it, whatever he’s holding back, pressed between us.
I want to ask if it’s really him. If he’s okay, or if this is still the intoxication, the meds, the mess of yesterday. If he’s kissing me because he wants comfort—or because he wants me. Wants this.
I’m scared to find out. Scared that if I ask, the moment will fall apart. That I’ll realize he’s only doing this for me—because he knows how much I want him and doesn’t want to hurt me. Because he’s afraid of losing a friend.
But this version of Xavier feels real. Like someone no one else gets to see. No cold front, no distance. He doesn’t say much, but I still feel like I know him.
In the daylight, it’s easy to pretend. But in the dark, it’s impossible to keep up the act.
We stay like that for a long time, barely moving, just kissing and breathing while the rain lashes the windows.
There’s no space between the lightning and thunder now.
A flash—
Boom.
The storm is here.
Something wet brushes my cheeks.
It takes me a moment to realize they’re Xavier’s tears. He’s crying, but barely. No sound, no shift in his face. Just tear tracks catching the light. And still, he doesn’t stop kissing me.
I pull back just enough, my hand resting on his shoulder, trying to catch his eyes in the dim light.
“Xavier,” I murmur, breathless. “Talk to me. Please.”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, exhaling like he’s trying to get a grip. Like he knows he has to say something but doesn’t want to.
Then he pulls away and lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. I stay beside him, watching his profile in the dark, giving him space.
Just when I start to think he won’t say anything, he breaks the silence.
“He could’ve killed you,” he says, voice hollow.
My chest tightens.
God—is that what this was about? Not the case, not the break-in. Just the fear that I might’ve died?
“Hey.” I shift a little closer, my leg aching in protest. “It’s just a cut. I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. He turns and kisses my hair, and the tenderness of it knocks the breath out of me.
“I know you’re tough,” he says, with a quiet, bitter laugh. “But you matter too much to risk.”
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.
And then he says it.
“That I’m fucking in love with you.”
I go still. Like something in me just shut down. “You—what?”
“And you laughed.”
“What?” I murmur, stunned.
For a few seconds, we just stare at each other in the dim light, another flash outside cutting through the silence.
I’m confused. Happy. Not even sure I’ve fully processed what he said.
Then, suddenly, Xavier turns away.
“I want to be alone,” he says, quiet. Worn out.
“You know I was drunk off my ass that night, right?” I say, ignoring everything else.
He doesn’t respond—just stands there, arms crossed, staring out the window.
“I don’t remember anything. So if I laughed—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. So I keep going.
“Also, telling someone you’re in love with them while they’re blackout drunk might not have been your best strategic move,” I add, snorting weakly, trying to break the tension.
Xavier finally turns to look at me—but he doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches me for a second, like he’s working through something.
Then he says, “So you don’t remember any of it?”
“No, I don’t,” I say, a little embarrassed.
“And you don’t remember kissing me? Or hitting on me?”
“No,” I say, blinking. “Wait—did something else happen?”
“No,” Xavier says quickly. “Other than me telling you I love you, you laughing in my face, and then trying to have sex with me.”