Fled to the kitchen before he could respond. Before I did something stupid like lean into that touch. Like acknowledge what was building between us with every hour he stayed.
Twenty minutes of pretending normalcy. Toast, eggs, coffee that tasted like burned regret. Too bad my cooking skills were almost null, for him at least.
Xavier sat propped against the wall, shirtless in just his boxers. The bandages I’d changed this morning were clean, and the bruising had improved.
God, he was healing fast.
“Eat.” Set the plate in his lap. “Then we’ll try speaking. Just once. See if anything’s changed.”
Jaw tightened. The refusal clear in his expression.
“I know it hurts.” Perched on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch. “But we need to know if it’s the swelling...”
Movement outside the window cut me off.
Police car. Third one in ten minutes.
Stomach dropped.
They weren’t patrolling. The cars kept circling back, slowing at intervals.
And then, I realized they were doing door to door.
“Shit.” On my feet instantly. Another cruiser turned the corner. “They’re searching the area.”
Xavier moved. Swung his legs off the bed despite the pain that flashed across his face.
“No.” Palms on his shoulders, pushing him back down. “That won’t work.”
His expression shifted. Something dangerous sliding into place.
If they knock and come in for a search, he’ll be found and try to fight. He’ll tear everything open trying to kill whoever comes through. Or be killed.
Pulse hammered. “Bathroom. Now.”
He stood, swaying. I ducked under his good arm, took his weight. Guided him the few steps before sitting him on the toilet.
“Stay silent.” Urgent whisper, faces inches apart. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
He caught my wrist, shaking his head, definitely not agreeing with any of this.
My palm pressed to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat.
If they find him, they take him.
I won’t allow it.
Pulled away and returned into the main room.
The apartment looked like a crime scene. Medical supplies scattered everywhere. IV stand. Bloody towels I’d meant to wash. His tactical gear shoved under the bed but visible if anyone looked.
Thirty seconds. Maybe less.
Grabbed the IV stand, shoved it in the closet. Kicked the towels under the bed. Snatched up gauze wrappers, antibiotic vials, anything incriminating.
No time.
The shower. Turn it on, make it look like I just got out,
