Chapter 19
Roxy
Three weeks. That’s how long we’ve been here, and she’s glowing.
She runs from room to room like the walls themselves belong to her, as if this place sprang up out of the ground just to cup her small life gently within it.
Each morning she wakes before me, pressing her face to my cheek and whispering, “Mama, can we go to the river? I want to catch a crayfish.” She’s completely enraptured with the little creatures, no matter how much they make me cringe.
I love hearing the river too, so it’s hard to turn her down.
I end up wrapped in a light robe, sipping coffee with my toes in the water as she tosses pebbles and chatters to the trees.
The river murmurs constantly, a low, steady rush that weaves itself into the house through open windows.
Not like the ocean—there’s no roar, no endless horizon swallowing sound.
This is gentler. A kind of heartbeat, steady and familiar.
Work has settled into something manageable.
Calm, even. Mak and I seem to be in a quiet truce—no explosions, no tense silences crackling with old arguments or newer urges.
I’m still careful around him, and he’s careful around me, but it feels bearable.
Oddly, there’s been no more explosive moments between us since that day in his bedroom where I took what I wanted.
Since then, it’s like the fire that threatened to tear through me has dimmed. Not in the way that it’s been put out, but as if it’s lowered to embers—waiting, ready to flare up at the slightest breath.
Sometimes I catch him watching me.
This morning is soft, warm, humming with early-July heat. The curtains ripple in a breeze that smells like pine needles and sun-warmed stones. I’m slicing peaches for Andi’s snack when she darts through the living room with one of her stuffed animals—a fox that’s gone scruffy from too much love.
“Mama, can I make it a bed on the porch?” she asks.
“Of course.” I run a hand through her hair. She beams, then races toward the door.
I turn back to the peaches, humming to myself. A knock lands on the front door. It’s not loud, but something about it makes me hesitate. It’s Saturday. Did I forget something yesterday? Some loose end? Even the idea of it makes me wince; I’ve been so on top of things lately.
I wipe my hands on a towel and walk over, expecting one of Mak’s guys, or maybe the delivery service with more boxes of things I forgot we owned. Without thinking, I open it.
And there he is.
Eric.
Deputy badge glinting on his belt. Smile too quick and bright, stretched in a way that doesn’t touch his eyes. My stomach drops.
“Roxanne,” he says warmly, as if we’re old friends. As if he never grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise it back in college when he was a few too many beers in. As if I didn’t just watch a man in an expensive suit nearly strangle him behind the hardware store only weeks ago.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice flat.
He lifts both hands as if he’s harmless. “Relax. I’m just saying hello. Thought it’d be neighborly—you know, since I’m the deputy around here. Gotta get to know the folks living in the woods. Safety and all.”
His tone is casual, but his eyes are scanning. Over my shoulder. Into the rooms behind me. Cataloguing.
“Now’s not a good time,” I say.
“Oh, come on.” He leans against the doorframe like he owns the place. “You’ve been in town what—a few months? You could stand to be a little friendlier.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Andi beats me to it, sprinting into the room.
“Mama, the fox needs—” She freezes when she sees him.
Eric’s gaze snaps to her. I step in front of Andi without thinking, one hand sliding back to shield her. She presses into my hip, eyes narrowing in the way she gets when she doesn’t like someone.
“Who’s this?” Eric asks, voice smooth, but probing.
“No one you need to meet,” I say.
“Cute kid.” His smile turns predatory around the edges.
Andi tugs my shirt. “Mama, I want to go outside.”
“Go ahead,” I murmur. “Stay on the porch.”
She nods, slips away, but not before giving Eric a look that could scorch paint over her shoulder. My smart girl. I pull the door halfway closed behind her, keeping him contained on the doorstep.
“If you’re here for something specific,” I say, “say it.”
Eric’s smile fades just a little, but enough. “Alright,” he says, dropping the act. “Can we talk?”
“No.”
He presses his tongue against his cheek. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to. I asked if we could.”
Something mean and impatient flashes in his eyes. The summer heat suddenly feels heavy, oppressive, like the air thickened. I step outside and close the door behind me so Andi can’t hear. “Talk. Then leave.”
“Fine.” He leans in slightly. “I know who you’re working for.”
A cold thread winds down my spine. “Do you?”
“Ursa Arcane isn’t exactly subtle,” he says. “And Makari Medvedev? He’s not the type to recruit small-town newcomers unless he has a reason.”
I cross my arms. “I’m an assistant. I send emails and open his mail.”
“Sure.” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “But you know things, and I need your help.”
“No.”
“Aren’t you going to hear what I need?”
“No.”
He breathes out, slow and frustrated. “You used to be reasonable.”
“You used to mind your own business.”
His jaw twitches. “Things are difficult for me right now.” I say nothing. He continues anyway. “I owe some people money.”
There it is. An admission he didn’t mean to let slip, but once it’s out, he doubles down.
“They’re not patient guys,” he says. “I’m sure you saw…
” His cheeks flare pink, in embarrassment I realize.
He’s thinking of the time I saw him getting his ass beat in the alley.
“They want information. Factual information, and you’re in the perfect place to get it. ”
My pulse quickens. “Eric, I’m not doing this.”
“You’re already in the bear’s den. You might as well—”
“I’m not doing this,” I repeat, sharper.
He sighs, frustration simmering. “Roxy, listen—”
“No. Makari’s business isn’t mine to meddle in, and it sure as hell isn’t yours.”
Eric’s face tightens, cracks appearing in the surface of that bland deputy persona he wears around town. I recognize the shift—it’s the one he used to make right before he said something cruel at a party, squeezed my belly fat or smacked my ass only to shake his head.
“On a first-name basis with him, then. You think he gives a damn about you?” he asks quietly. “You think you matter to him?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice lowers. “Because if you won’t help me, I’m screwed. And people who are screwed do desperate things.”
I take a step back. “Leave.”
“No. Not until you hear me.”
“I heard you.”
“Then maybe you should think about what’ll happen if the people I owe money to decide to come looking. You think they won’t find this pretty house? Your daughter wandering around the yard? You think—”
I don’t let him finish.
“There’s no reason they would come here, Eric. We aren’t friends. I don’t know you. Get off my porch.”
He steps forward, and for a breath, for a terrifying split-second, I think he’s going to grab me. His hand rises—hesitates—trembles as if he’s fighting some darker impulse.
He stops himself. Barely. His voice comes out low, poisonous. “You always were difficult.”
My heart is pounding, but I cross my arms. “And you always were the kind of man who mistakes other people’s fear for power.”
His eyes narrow into slits. A pulse beats hard at his temple. “I’m trying to give you a chance,” he says. “Think this through. Help me, or I promise, I promise you’ll regret it. I know you’re the way in for me, Roxy. I know you can give me the answers I need.”
The heat of the day presses down like a hand over my mouth. I want him gone. I want him nowhere near my life.
“I’m not helping you,” I hiss. “If you come back here, or talk to my daughter, or step foot on my property again, I’ll make sure Makari knows.”
Eric’s face drains, but he recovers quickly, forcing a laugh that’s too loud, too brittle. “You think that man would stick his neck out for you?”
“He wouldn’t have to,” I say. “Just knowing you were sniffing around would be enough.”
The threat lands. I watch him absorb it. His jaw clenches. His eyes go cold, dead, empty in a way that’s worse than his anger.
“You think you’re safe here?” he asks softly. “You think that mountain king you work for will keep you safe just because he likes the look of you?”
I don’t answer.
He steps back, shoulders rigid, hand tightening on his belt—not reaching for his gun, not quite—but close enough to make my breath shallow.
“You’ll help me,” he mutters. “One way or another.”
Then he turns and walks down the steps, across the gravel drive, and disappears into the trees as if he’s been swallowed whole. Did he walk here? What the hell.
I stand there for a long moment, gripping the doorframe, heartbeat thundering under my skin. The river rushes steadily behind the house, unaware of the danger that just stood here, inches from my face. The breeze that had felt warm earlier now feels too thin, too shallow.
Inside, I hear Andi humming around her stuffed fox. She’s lingering, I know, trying to listen to the conversation even though she knows she shouldn’t. When I go back inside, she’s watching warily out of the corner of her eye. Pretending to play.
I close the door behind me and lock every bolt.
She looks up from the neglected fox. “Mama?” she asks. “Who was that?”
“No one important,” I say, forcing a steady breath.
But that’s a lie. He’s important now, in the worst way.
I cross the room to her and kneel, pulling her gently into my arms. She melts against me instantly, warm and soft, smelling like peach juice and sunlight. I hold her until she’s gently squirming away.
Then I straighten, turn toward the windows, and stare out into the forest where Eric disappeared.
I recognize the feeling creeping through me now—a slow, rising dread threading through veins that have been too calm for too long.