Chapter 16
RUBY
The last ten minutes of the day always drag on at a snail’s pace.
I keep my smile plastered on anyway, even as my feet ache inside flats that felt like a reasonable choice this morning, but due to swelling, feel more like a punishment.
I rub my temples as I wait for the children to gather their backpacks, breathing in the scent of crayons and pencil shavings.
Outside my windows, the sun is shining brightly, making me dread the drive home in the sweltering heat.
“Okay, kids,” I call, clapping once to pull their attention back to me. “Binders in your backpacks. Homework in the front pocket. If you have a water bottle, make sure it goes home with you.”
A chorus of “I did!” and “I can’t find mine!
” echoes through the classroom. I move between tables, crouching, tugging papers into order, snatching up a water bottle from under a chair, and placing it in Shelby’s bag.
“There you go, sweetheart.” My knees complain when I bend, and my head feels about ready to explode.
I didn’t sleep worth a damn last night. Not because of the usual late-night worry spiral about lesson plans or whether I remembered to send that email to a parent, and not even because of Robby.
I’m tired because he was under my roof, Catcher, sprawled on my couch, his presence filling up every aspect of my life.
The club’s idea of ‘twenty-four-hour protection’ is less a suggestion than a decision made over my head and then handed down as a decree. Until they track down my brother and figure out what he stirred up, they want eyes on me.
It should make me feel safer. In reality, it makes me feel as if I’ve lost control of my life. Something is unnerving about knowing he’s only a thin wall and a hallway away when I’m trying to sleep.
It’s not just the danger. It’s the fact that Catcher is…
Catcher. I’m still trying to find the balance between the way my body remembers him and why my head keeps listing all the reasons this has to stop.
I need distance so I can get my head together.
And somewhere in the middle of that teetering tightrope is the baby I haven’t told him about yet.
I can’t help but be scared of how he’s going to react.
Will he even believe the baby is his? Will he want to be in his or her life?
Will he be angry and accuse me of trying to trap him?
“Ms. Starling!” Lila tugs the hem of my cardigan, snapping me back into the present. She’s holding her bag open. “My binder won’t fit.”
“Let me help you.” I kneel beside her and slide her binder past a box of washable markers and her lunchbox. “There we go.”
Across the room, our line leader for the week, Daniel, is patiently waiting to lead his classmates outside.
“Okay, everyone, time to line up.”
The kids quickly shuffle to the door and form a single line.
As the children wait patiently and talk among themselves, I do a final walkthrough of the classroom to make sure nothing is left behind.
As I’m doing so, my mind starts to drift once again to last night—Catcher and the way he swept through my house listing every exit and threat.
Except, at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about possible danger.
Nope, all I could think about was how he’s close enough that I can smell his soap and the faint scent of his cologne.
At that moment, I thought about what his reaction would be if I suddenly blurted out “Hey, I’m pregnant,” as if that’s a casual addition to a conversation about locks, safe routes, and who might be watching.
Then this morning, I thought about slipping out of bed before my alarm, trying to move like a ghost in the deathly quiet of my house.
Catcher was still on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing slow and deep.
For a heartbeat, I’d let myself watch him and acknowledge the way my chest tightened at the sight of him.
Then the nausea hit hard and fast, like my body wanted to remind me who’s in charge now.
I clapped a hand over my mouth and made it to the bathroom just in time.
I knelt on the cold tile, gripping the edge of the tub while my stomach turned itself inside out as quietly as it could manage.
I kept thinking, Please don’t wake up. Please don’t hear this.
When the nausea finally eased, my eyes burned, and my throat tasted like pennies. I splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, and got ready for the day.
When I came out of the bathroom, Catcher was sitting up, hair mussed, phone in his hand, probably checking in with Riggs. He looked up at me and nodded once as if to say all was good.
The memory fades, and I’m back in my classroom, surrounded by small voices. Just then, the door opens.
“Ready to roll, kids?” Mr. Jenkins asks, leaning into the doorway with an easy-going attitude.
He’s on afternoon pick-up duty this week.
Mr. Jenkins is our PE teacher. He’s older than most of the teachers here—mid-sixties, super friendly, and has kind eyes.
Everybody likes Mr. Jenkins. It’s impossible not to.
The kids also love him. He’s also married to our principal, Mrs. Jenkins, which means he somehow manages to be both universally adored and permanently on his best behavior.
“Yep!” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. He steps fully inside and gives the room a quick once-over. “All right, kiddos. Follow our line leader, Daniel, out into the hall.”
Mr. Jenkins lowers his voice as he pauses beside my desk. “You hanging in there?” he asks because he knows how hectic things get toward the end of the school year.
I nod. “Just a long day,” I say. “You know how it is.”
“I do,” he says with a soft grin. “You’re doing great. We’re in the home stretch. Just one week left.”
I smile and follow Mr. Jenkins into the hall. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Bye, Ms. Starling!” The kids wave in unison.
I wave back, watching them funnel out of the building with Mr. Jenkins.