20. Chapter Twenty Ruby
Chapter Twenty: Ruby
I had promised myself I wouldn’t think about Kieran today.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t think about Kieran any single fucking day.
And yet, as I pulled up to the park, my hands were still tight on the wheel, knuckles pale from the pressure.
It wasn’t fear—not really. I wasn’t afraid of him. Not in the way I should have been. I was afraid of what he did to me.
How easily he got in my head. How, even now, weeks later, my body still knew the shape of his hands, the weight of his voice, the way he looked at me like he’d do anything to keep me safe.
I’d had nightmares at first. Horrible visions of being in murky, muddy water, drowning in the density of it as ship engines roared in the distance, threatening to swallow me.
But that had changed. The dreams had changed into Kieran holding me on the dock, stroking my wet hair, telling me I’d be okay. And honestly, I didn’t know which one was worse. The chilling threat he had given that man on the docks still resonated in my ears, playing on a loop inside my head.
Kieran fucking Callahan. He wasn’t supposed to be a part of my world. He wasn’t supposed to be anything to me, just a shadow, just a name that came up in meetings and police reports. But then he’d been there, in my space, in my life, too close and too present and too easy to let in.
And now, I couldn’t breathe without tasting the air he’d left behind.
I gripped the wheel tighter. My reflection stared back at me in the rearview mirror, eyes too wide, mouth set in a line I didn’t recognize. This was supposed to be a good day. A distraction. A morning without any complications.
And even his memory managed to complicate this.
I tried to focus on the street, on the world outside the window. Boston in autumn—cool air and fading leaves, the sky too bright for how I felt inside.
People strolled by, bundled in coats and scarves, faces flushed with the chill. I wondered what that was like, to walk without looking over your shoulder.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing my hands to unclench from the steering wheel.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not here.
In the backseat, Rosie kicked her feet and hummed to herself, blissfully unaware of the tangled mess in my head. I wanted to keep it that way. I wanted this morning to feel normal, even if I couldn’t.
“You like Eva, right?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she said. “She’s nice. I like her backpack.”
“Thank you for agreeing to this. I know you’d rather be home watching cartoons.”
“I love the park! And Eva is funny,” Rosie said. “It’s just cold. Oh, can we get ice cream after?”
I laughed, warmth cracking through my chest. “How about some hot cocoa instead?”
The park came into view, and I spotted Julian’s car already parked. He stood beside it, scrolling his phone. Normal. Routine.
I forced out a breath, my hands finally entirely loosening their death grip on the steering wheel. This was fine. This was good. Rosie and I would have fun with Julian. We would coparent, like grown-ups.
I wouldn’t let Kieran ruin this for me.
I pulled into a spot, feeling Julian’s eyes on me as I shifted the car into park.
It took all of my focus to turn off the engine, to make my body move with some semblance of normalcy.
I needed to look relaxed, easy, like my life wasn’t falling apart at the seams. I could do that for a morning. For a few hours, at least.
I could do it. I had to do it.
I opened the door and stepped out, smoothing my coat down, schooling my expression into something that wouldn’t give me away. Something calm. I wouldn’t let Julian see it. He’d notice. He’d ask. I couldn’t deal with that right now. I needed him to think I was fine.
“You okay?” he asked, voice light but careful. Too careful.
“You look—”
“Like I haven’t slept in weeks?” I offered dryly. I didn’t want to tell him that it felt like someone was watching me…that it had felt like that for weeks.
It was probably just in my head. I was safe. More importantly, Rosie was safe.
Julian huffed a laugh. “I was gonna say tense, but sure.”
He shut his car door and joined me on the sidewalk, watching as Rosie scrambled into my arms. I knew the look in his eyes, the concern he wasn’t saying out loud.
He’d seen me like this before, when I was first appointed ADA. Times when I should have been more in control, when I let myself unravel just a bit. He had that same look then, the same silence now, waiting for me to fill it with reassurance I didn’t have.
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing the words out before he could ask again.
“You need to relax. This is supposed to be a good thing,” he said. “Now. Where’s my most favorite, beautiful little girl?”
“Daddy!” Rosie shrieked, throwing herself out of my arms at Julian.
Julian caught her easily, lifting her up like she weighed nothing. “Oh my god, did you get heavier? What has your Mami been feeding you? Is it…weights? Has she been feeding you weights?” he asked. “Wait. Maybe she’s been feeding you tree trunks.”
“I can’t eat tree trunks. My mouth is too small.”
“I think that’d be the least of your problems, mi amor,” I said.
Rosie laughed harder, her little arms wrapped tightly around Julian’s neck as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
His voice softened. “I missed you, tesoro.”
Rosie beamed. “I missed you too, Daddy.”
Something in my chest twisted, but I ignored it. This was good. This was normal.
Julian set her down and took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go say hi.”
This wasn’t about me.
This wasn’t about Kieran, or my sleepless nights, or the way my gut twisted every time I thought about the election. This was about my daughter. About giving her something normal, something stable, even if I didn’t feel stable myself.
Julian kissed the top of her head before setting her down. “Did you bring your mittens, Miss Independent? It’s freezing out here.”
“I’m not cold!” Rosie insisted, but the way she shivered and grabbed my coat betrayed her.
Julian rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Your mother is raising a little liar.”
“You wound me,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “Besides, she got that from you.”
Julian smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the park, where Sloan and Camille were waiting at a picnic table, Eva already waving excitedly at Rosie. I took a deep breath and started walking. Seeing the mayor and his wife wasn’t my idea of a good time, but this was important.
I liked Camille enough, but after Sloane had decided to throw a special election instead of appoint someone as interim DA, I had soured on him. He did it all for the optics, and I was the one suffering because of it.
“Thank you for being here,” I said as I walked next to Julian.
“It looks good for me if I'm friends with the mayor too,” he replied, not unkindly.
“Your self-interest never ceases to surprise me.”
“It’s good that I can still surprise you,” he said.
I needed to be present. To let myself breathe.
“I’m trying,” I said. “Really.”
And I was. I really was. I let myself relax into the day, into the feeling of having Rosie and Julian close, the sound of the city waking up around us. Everything felt sharper, more defined, more immediate when I let go of the thoughts pulling me under.
Sloan and his wife, Camille, were already waiting at a picnic table, watching Rosie play with Ava.
Camille’s eyes flickered over me the way only a friend’s did—like she was checking for cracks. She knew I wasn’t fine.
I watched the children with them, a small swell of relief easing through me.
There was something grounding about seeing Rosie so carefree, so full of life.
I wanted to bottle that feeling, carry it with me into the days when I knew things wouldn’t be this easy.
But for now, I let myself breathe. I let myself enjoy it.
They both jumped into the same pile of leaves, squealing.
“Okay, well, that’s adorable,” Julian muttered beside me. “I take it back. You look fine.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
Rosie’s laughter echoed around the park, Ava’s bright squeals mixing in like a perfect harmony. It was the sound of normalcy, of stability. Of everything I was trying to hold onto.
Camille saw us and waved, her smile wide and welcoming. She looked effortlessly elegant, even in jeans and a simple sweater, her long hair falling in a cascade of dark waves. She had a way of making you feel at home, even in a place as open and sprawling as the city park.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, pulling me into a loose hug. Her voice was warm, genuine, and for a moment, I let myself lean into it, let myself forget everything else.
Sloan’s grin was easy, practiced. The kind of smile that had won him the city, that made you believe him, trust him, even if you shouldn’t.
“Hey, Julian,” he said. “Ruby. Looks like the girls have it all figured out.”
“It’s getting the adults to catch up that’s the problem,” Julian replied with a chuckle. “How are you two?”
The conversation flowed as we settled in. Campaign updates, city politics, Rosie and Ava’s latest school antics. Safe topics, things I could wrap my head around without feeling the ground shift beneath my feet.
“It’s nice to get the girls together before things get really crazy,” Camille said, brushing a stray curl from her face, diamond ring glinting on her index finger.
I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.
Crazy meant the end of election season. It meant I wouldn’t have time for mornings like this, wouldn’t have time to just be with my daughter, let her be a kid.
It meant speeches, fundraisers, debates.
It meant more time spent holding my breath and hoping I could keep everything from falling apart.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, pushing the thought away. For now, this was enough. For now, this was everything.
Sloan gestured toward the table, where a neatly arranged spread of pastries and coffee waited. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “Camille insisted we bring something.”
Julian chuckled, settling onto the bench across from him. “Camille, you spoil us.”
“I do my best,” she said, flashing a wry smile.
I sat down beside Julian, wrapping my hands around a coffee cup, feeling the warmth seep into my skin, trying to absorb it, trying to let it reach the parts of me that still felt cold and uncertain. This was a good thing. I had to believe that.
The city stretched around us, vibrant and alive.
Leaves danced from the trees in waves of color, covering the ground in a bright mosaic.
People filled the park, families with strollers, couples with dogs, kids running wild and free.
It was the perfect place to get lost in, the perfect place to remember what mattered.
Camille watched me, her eyes soft and understanding, and I felt a sudden rush of gratitude. For her. For Rosie.
Hell, even Julian. For all the things that anchored me when I felt like I might drift away.
“Polling is very good for you,” Sloan said, voice low. “And a tough as nails prosecutor from your background looks good for me.”
I bit the inside of my mouth. Julian shot me a look, but I couldn’t help myself. “Now, Mr. Mayor, what could you mean by that?”
“Well, you have a safe brand. Catholic. Latina. A mother. It’s a strong message in a city like ours. A powerful one. You represent a lot of what this city wants to believe about itself.”
The coffee suddenly felt too hot in my hands. Julian went very still beside me. Camille sighed, glaring at him for a second before squeezing my hand over the table.
“Sloan,” she said softly.
“What?” Sloan gestured, unconcerned. “It’s true. You’re a story people want to root for. You make people believe Boston can be different. And we need that, Ruby.” He took a sip of his coffee, gaze never leaving mine. “Optics matter.”
I exhaled, forcing a smile. “They do.”
They did. I knew that. I had built my entire career on that.
But something about hearing it out loud, so plainly, so politically calculated, made me feel like a mannequin dressed up for display. It stripped away the layers of who I was, reducing me to parts and labels, making me a figure instead of a person.
I’d been working my entire life to be seen, to be heard. And here it was again, that feeling of exposure, of fragility, of being placed on a pedestal and waiting for it to crumble.
I forced my voice to stay steady. “I guess I should be flattered.”
“Relax,” Sloan said, sensing the shift in my expression. “I mean it as a compliment. You’re going to win.”
I nodded, but something about the conversation sat wrong. Maybe because, for the last few weeks, I hadn’t felt like a symbol or a story or a campaign. I had felt like a woman barely holding onto control, tangled in something dangerous. I had felt hunted.
And then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I almost didn’t check. I wanted to stay in this moment, let the warmth of the coffee and Camille’s reassurance settle me. But then I saw Alek’s name—and the way my stomach turned over told me I already knew something was wrong.
A text from Alek.
Where are you?
Call me. Right ducking now.
*Fucking.