18. Chapter Eighteen Ruby
Chapter Eighteen: Ruby
M y clothes smelled like salt and…what? Shit? Oil? Fuck, I smelled terrible.
My hand hurt so much…and was probably going to get infected, given I’d just bathed in Boston Harbor And the only reason I was barely functioning was because I’d blasted the heating in the car.
Even though I was barely fucking alive, all I could think about was Kieran.
The way his green eyes had shone when he’d saved me. The fucking expression on his face as I told him I was going to take his family down.
It was eating at me. Kieran was eating at me and there was nothing I could do about it.
I stepped through the front door, dripping wet, exhausted down to my bones, and freezing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. My coat hung heavy on my shoulders, my clothes clinging uncomfortably to my skin, and the moment I shut the door behind me, the silence pressed in.
The longshoreman was supposed to help validate the evidence I had against the Callahans, but if Alek knew about it, he would’ve told me to let Detective Kitsuragi handle it—Kitsuragi was already running point on the investigation.
And Alek would’ve been right.
I tried to lose myself in the scent of my house, in the familiarity of my surroundings, but it was too quiet.
Too normal. The kind of normal that made me want to collapse right there in the entryway.
Instead, I forced myself forward, shaking off the weight of the night and heading straight for the bathroom as I shed the saltwater clothes all over the hallway.
God, if Rosie were here…what would she think? I was supposed to protect her.
I was doing a terrible fucking job.
The mirror over the sink caught my reflection, and I barely recognized myself. My hair hung in wet, tangled, dark oily strands over my shoulders, mascara smudged under my eyes, my lips still tinged pale from the shock of the water.
I stared, trying to reconcile the woman in the mirror with the one who had walked out the door that morning.
The one who had plans and purpose, who hadn’t felt like she was falling apart.
This woman, the one staring back at me, looked like she’d been dragged out of the river.
Like she’d barely made it back to shore.
I looked down at the phone, at Rosie's smiling face on my phone’s background. At least I had gotten to talk to her. She was feeling better, Julian would be bringing her home tomorrow. And then maybe everything would go back to normal.
But not yet.
Things weren’t normal yet.
I needed to get warm, I needed to wash tonight off me, and most of all, I needed to forget. By the time I stepped under the spray, my body had finally started to shake.
The adrenaline had carried me through the drive home, through fumbling with my keys with my hurt hand, through peeling my soaked jacket off with stiff fingers.
But now, standing there, letting the scalding water chase away the last traces of salt, grime and cold, I felt it all at once.
The exhaustion, the fear, the weight of what had almost happened. And the worst part? I wasn’t even sure what part of tonight scared me more—falling or knowing Kieran would have followed me straight down if I hadn’t surfaced.
I braced my hands against the tile, breathing through what felt like an oncoming panic attack.
Maybe I needed to make time for therapy.
Just a shower. Just hot water. Just a moment to reset. I could do that much.
And then the doorbell rang.
I went completely still, heart lurching up into my throat.
It was too late for a visitor. Too early for an explanation. My mind raced through the possibilities, but my gut already knew the answer before I even shut the water off and stepped out onto the mat.
Had Kieran followed me? Had the enforcer—Danny, I think? Maybe he thought Tristan was more scary than Kieran and...
Fuck.
I grabbed my phone and looked at my doorbell camera as I stepped out of the shower, my hurt hand soaked, my bandages still dirty.
Alek. Of course it was Alek. We had plans to meet later, but he was already here.
“One second!” I said as I turned off the shower, aware he probably couldn’t hear me.
I moved quickly, wrapping myself in a towel as I padded barefoot across the hardwood, dripping the whole way.
Alek was already standing on the stoop when I opened the door, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’d been bracing for an argument the entire ride over.
His gaze flicked down, catching on the towel and the damp strands of hair stuck to my collarbone.
For half a second, his expression faltered—first with confusion, then with sheer exasperation.
Then he pulled it back together, lips pressing into a thin line as if to say, Of course.
Of course you’re answering the door like this.
"You could've used your key," I said.
"I was trying to be considerate," he replied. “Last time I waited for you in your house, it was awkward.”
I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Okay. Give me five minutes to not look like something that crawled out of Boston Harbor.”
Alek scowled, stepping inside. He had a box in one hand, balanced carefully, and a thermos in the other. “I mean…did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Crawl out of Boston Harbor.”
I winced. “Let me get back to you on that.”
When I finally went downstairs with my hair wrapped up in a towel and wearing a fluffy bathrobe over my pajamas, Alek already had two mugs out on the kitchen island, two empty wine glasses, and a bottle of Prosecco sitting between them.
"I stopped by that bakery you like,” he said, voice clipped, like he was determined to stay on script and not acknowledge the part where I’d vanished into thin air for the second time in as many weeks. “They were closed, obviously, but I called in a favor.”
That was Alek. The kind of man who called in favors from bakery owners when he was mad at you. I eyed the box suspiciously but took the thermos, testing the warmth in my hands. “This coffee?”
“Tea,” he corrected. “Chamomile. Decaf. Since you apparently have no regard for your own well-being, I figured I’d at least try.”
I swallowed, hating how that landed in my chest. “Alek—”
“No.” He shook his head, finally looking at me, and his expression shifted.
I saw the exact moment he put it together, the way his gaze dropped to my still-damp skin, the wet bandages on my hand, the oil I hadn’t managed to get out of my hair, the bruises beginning to form along my arms. His entire body went still.
“What the hell happened to you?”
I turned away, needing a second to think. “I fell.”
“You fell?”
“Yeah.” I tightened my grip on the thermos. “Into some water.”
Alek made a sharp, disbelieving sound, stepping closer. “Try again.”
I exhaled hard. “Alek—”
"I’m starting to think the Boston Harbor thing wasn’t a joke," he deadpanned, but his voice was thin, his eyes locked onto mine like he was waiting for me to break first. “And I can smell the saltwater from here, not to mention the dirt and the…what is that? Industrial oil? So, either you developed a sudden, passionate love for late-night swims in disgusting water, or something happened that you’re not telling me.”
I hesitated, too long. He knew me better than anyone else. And right now, he was watching me like I was a live wire, like he could hear the buzzing under my skin. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Was it Kieran?”
My breath caught, just enough that I knew he saw it. Alek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”
I swallowed. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think.” His gaze flicked back to my arms, his jaw tightening. “Jesus, Ruby.”
I shook my head quickly. “No. No, he saved me.”
“He saved you?”
“He was…there. When I was in trouble,” I said. “He’s been there when I was in trouble.”
Alek took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “I can’t fucking believe--”
“It’s over, Alek. It’s over, okay? I told him I never wanted to see him again. I told him I’m taking down the Callahans. Whatever was going on there, I promise you, I stopped it tonight.”
Alek stared at me, long and hard, then finally, exhaled. He didn’t look any less frustrated, but he nodded, just once. I’d take it. “Okay. I’m not…look, I’m here for a reason.”
“Okay…”
And then, as if he needed to physically change the subject before he did something regrettable, he handed me the box. “Here.”
I took it warily, putting the thermos down on the kitchen island.
“What’s this?”
“Cake. It’s cake. We’re eating cake.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We’re…eating cake?”
“It’s what people with self-preservation instincts eat after something traumatic.
And you deserve an apology. I was a jerk to you.
I'm not your father," he said. "You can do what you want.
Really. I'm worried about you, about your campaign, fuck, about it all.
But you didn't deserve that. Anyway, they couldn't fit 'I'm sorry I shouted at you, anger is my trauma response' onto the face of the cake so you just get a fun colorful sorry.” His voice was light, but there was an edge to it. “And since I’m assuming you didn’t stop for dinner on the way home, you’re eating it.”
“Thank you. Are we eating this tonight?”
“Yes. Open the box, Ruby.”
“Wait, do you want the wine with—I mean, shouldn’t we be having dessert wine?”
Alek didn’t answer. He just leveled a look at me. “Open the fucking box, Ruby.”
I frowned, confused, but did as he said. I flipped open the lid—and froze.
Nestled in the parchment paper, right beside the cake with sorry piped in delicate cursive, was a gun. A 9 mm Glock 43. Black. Solid. Lightweight. There was frosting on the grip, like the gun had been dropped in by mistake, like it wasn’t a threat made real, just another party favor.
My stomach dropped.
“Alek.”
“You need to carry again,” he said, flat, matter-of-fact.
I stared down at the weapon. My hand twitched at my side, muscle memory flaring like it might reach for the thing on instinct alone.
“I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” I said slowly. “It’s been a long time since I carried.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s been a long time since the asshole you put away for beating his wife was on the streets too, and guess what?
The parole board released him, and he knows where you work, and where Rosie goes to school.
So it isn’t just Kieran Callahan you have to worry about. It’s Mickey Russell, too..”
I blinked. “What?”
“He was spotted outside the campaign office last week,” Alek said. “Didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. Just lingered. Long enough for me to flag it.”
I closed the box slowly, as if that could erase what I’d just seen.
“You’re running on an anti-mob platform,” he continued. “Your baby daddy is the kingpin’s brother. You’ve been making enemies since day one. So yes, Ruby, you need the gun.”
“I don’t believe in guns,” I said quietly.
“Well, they’re still real,” he snapped. “You had a permit.”
“Right. I had a permit.”
“It’s still valid.”
I looked up sharply. “What?”
Alek shrugged, arms crossed. “You were busy. I renewed it for you. Just due diligence as your campaign manager.”
An incredulous laugh bubbled out of me. “Jesus Christ.”
“You’re welcome,” he said flatly. I wanted to argue, but I knew better. He wasn’t wrong.
I swallowed, reaching forward slowly, fingers brushing over the cold steel. Ever since I’d had Rosie, the idea of having a gun in the house felt reckless, dangerous, stupid.
But maybe now it was too dangerous not to.
Maybe Alek was right.
“You won’t let me protect you,” he said.
“I told you I had contacts. I have people investigating the Callahans as we speak for the case you want to bring against them. Good people, Ruby. Including Kitsuragi. If you had just let him handle it, you wouldn’t be standing here dripping saltwater onto the damn floor. ”
I sighed. “It’s not that.”
“Look, I could even hire private security. I know you wouldn’t let me, though. So I’m sorry for losing my shit on you, but here’s what I need. If you don’t let me take care of you, I need you to take care of you.”
“I do take care of me.”
His gaze darted between my hand and the soaked clothes still lining the hall like a trail of breadcrumbs.
“Okay. Point taken.”
Alek leaned in, voice low. “You don’t get to be reckless anymore.” His gaze met mine. “Not when people need you. Not when your daughter needs you.”
Rosie. My campaign. Everything.
I exhaled.
And then, slowly, I picked up the gun. Alek nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I hate you.”
He smirked. “You love me.”
I didn’t argue.
I just shut the box, locking away the weight of what I’d just agreed to. For better or worse, I was carrying again.
And something told me I’d need it.