Chapter Thirty-Three
Ruby
Xavier’s drill sits on the counter beside the re-closed white box.
It doesn’t need to be open for me to remember what’s inside.
The new locks gleam against the doorframe like armor.
The motion light outside clicks on and off as branches sway in the wind, a steady reminder that the dark can’t sneak up unnoticed anymore.
He moves through the house, checking, tightening, testing, as if stopping would let the quiet crack. I stand in the hallway with a blanket in my hands, watching him. He looks like he belongs here.
That thought is more terrifying than the break-in, because Xavier doesn’t stay. It isn’t about him belonging here. It’s me hoping he does.
“Still awake?” He doesn’t turn, having sensed my approach.
“Still breathing.”
He glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to say he heard the fear underneath. Someone was in my house. I shudder for the hundredth time. Who breaks into someone’s house and leaves a stuffed animal? Who thinks that’s romantic?
Squirt waddles past me and rests against his boot again with a grunt, his weight shifting like he’s found his new favorite resting place.
“You’ve been claimed.” I chuckle at the small pig’s lack of decorum. At least I have the sense not to rub all over him. Heat creeps up my cheeks. I have the decorum, but not the good sense to stop the thought before it rolls around in my head.
“It always surprises me that he weighs more than he looks,” he mutters, running his hand along his side.
I step into my bedroom to grab a pillow and freeze. My textbooks sit on the edge of my dresser. In plain sight. Humanities. College Algebra. And Animal Anatomy—a new book I picked up to see if anything clicked. I forgot to put them up.
My stomach drops. I haven’t told the girls about taking college classes. If I shut the door on my way out, he won’t see them.
After snatching up a pillow, I turn to find Xavier standing in the doorway, the animal anatomy book in his hand. Too late. He looks surprised, then curious.
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
It isn’t an accusation, but it lands heavy, like I’ve been lying to him about the earth being flat. I set the pillow on the dresser next to the Humanities book and cross my arms, suddenly cold. “It’s not a big deal.”
He flips through the pages, tabs, notes, highlighter marks, evidence of a life I kept quiet.
“This doesn’t look like nothing.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, then stand again, restless. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
Because if I fail, no one sees. Because expectations feel like cages. Because I’ve spent my whole life being what someone else needed. I swallow. “Because it was mine.”
He leans against the doorframe, giving me space instead of stepping closer.
“Vet tech?”
I nod. “Eventually. Maybe. Right now, I’m about to finish my general courses.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You’d be good at it.” The certainty in his voice hits harder than it should.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you stayed calm tonight when most people wouldn’t.
” His expression is so serious it’s unlike the Xavier I’ve always known, and it’s hard to meet his gaze.
“I know you take care of things that can’t protect themselves.
” He glances down the hallway where Squirt lies, making a low humming sound.
“I know you notice details most people miss.”
“Thank you.” I lick my lips. No one has ever described me like that, and it makes my chest swell more than it should. I re-grab the pillow because I need something to do with my hands before I do something I regret. “I got you this.”
“Thanks.” One corner of his mouth arches upward, and his ridiculously attractive dimple pops.
My heart pounds in my ears. We’re alone in my bedroom. And his dimple is showing. “We should go to the living room.”
“Right.” He nods, drops the book on the dresser, and steps out of the way.
We move to the living room without speaking, like the conversation needs the safety of open space. I sit on one end of the sofa. He sits beside me, closer than I expected, but neither of us moves.
The house creaks. The motion light hums. The memory of the box on the counter sits just out of sight.
“You don’t have to do everything alone.” His voice is rougher than usual.
“I know,” I whisper. But being with him tonight feels like an unlocked door that should stay deadbolted for safety. I want him here, and that scares me.
Our hands rest on the cushion between us. Mine shifts first, barely. His fingers meet mine when I close the distance. Not a brush. Not something we can ignore.
He stills. I feel it in the way his hand tightens under mine. He doesn’t pull away, not right away. My pulse stutters.
He turns toward me, slower this time. “You were shaking.”
“I was scared.” Admitting it isn’t as hard as I’d expected. I don’t usually admit to weakness.
“I know.” His hand settles over mine, steady, warm. Not asking. Not taking. Just there. The space between us shifts.
“I know.” His hand rests over mine, steady, warm. Not asking. Not taking. Just there. The space between us shifts.
My breath catches. He leans in slowly, not sudden, not certain, giving me time to move if I want to. His perfect mouth is inches from mine.
I don’t move. I can’t. I’ve wanted to kiss Xavier for longer than I can remember, so standing still feels easy. It feels right. It feels like something I’ve wanted longer than I should admit.
But if this happens, it doesn’t stay small. My heartbeat thuds against my ribs. It doesn’t stay safe. And he doesn’t stay. At the last second, I turn my face away.
His breath brushes my cheek instead of my mouth. We both go still. Close enough to feel it. Close enough to know exactly what almost happened.
He exhales and leans back, his hand wrapped around mine. “Sorry.”
“I’m not.” My voice comes out shaky. The truth hangs between us, fragile and unfinished. I pull my hand free before it can mean more than it already does and stand. “You should take the bed.”
“I’m fine on the couch.”
“It’s not a question.”
“It wasn’t an answer.”
Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. I hand him the pillow and blanket. “Fine. You can take the couch.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes meet mine again, and my stomach drops. The words settle deep inside me, making me want things that won’t happen.
Xavier is here to protect me tonight, not because he’s seen me as the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. I won’t settle for less.
I pause in the hallway as a limb brushes against the living room window, causing a screeching sound. “I’m leaving the door open.”
He stands in the middle of the room with the blanket in his hand. “Good.”
I crawl into bed without changing, the house still too unfamiliar after what happened. The open doorway lets a strip of light stretch across the floor, proof that I’m not alone.
From the living room, I hear the sofa shift as he lies down. Squirt drops heavily beside him. The motion light clicks once more, then goes still.
For the first time since I saw my name on that box, sleep doesn’t feel like surrender. It feels like he stayed.