Chapter Forty-Eight
Xavier
She’s asleep when I wake. Early light slips through the curtains, soft and gray, catching along the edge of the bed. Ruby is curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, hair scattered across the pillow like she didn’t mean to fall asleep there.
I stay where I am—not touching and not moving closer. Just… counting her breaths. Last night was….
Good. Last night was good. Enjoyable. Satisfying. I glance at her again. Her lips are swollen, lush, perfect for kissing. Hell, everything about Ruby Bennett is perfect. She’s gorgeous. Smart. Has a stunning body. She’s a hard worker. A good friend.
Get the fuck out of bed before you forget what this is.
The floor creaks when I shift my weight. Her breath catches, shoulders stiffening before she settles again.
I wait until her breathing evens out. Then I move. Jeans. Shirt. Boots in my hand instead of on my feet until I reach the door. The hallway light is on. I leave it.
The only sound in the kitchen is the hum of the refrigerator. Coffee first.
The routine comes back easy, measuring grounds, filling the pot, the low hum of the machine cutting through the silence. I crack eggs into a pan, slice bread, move through it without thinking too hard about why it feels familiar.
A plate goes on the counter. Eggs. Toast. Covered with foil. I stand there a second longer than I need to, hand remains resting on the edge of it. Then I step back. Squirt’s hooves click across the floor behind me. He snorts, nudging my leg as I head for the back door.
“You again,” I mutter. He presses closer like that answers something.
I shake my head. I don’t have answers for anything. Last night was…. I block everything out and step out the door. The morning air hits cold.
The motion light flicks on, then fades as the sky lightens. Samson lifts his head when I step into the yard.
“Still me.” I grab the feed bucket. He watches anyway. Tracking my movements. The piglets crowd the trough, louder than yesterday, stronger, pushing over each other like the world isn’t something they need permission to take up space in.
I check the fence line as I go. Nothing out of place. No disturbed ground. No tracks.
My phone vibrates in my pocket before I make it back to the porch. I check the screen. Dad.
I answer. “Yeah.”
“Need you in early,” he says. “Delivery got moved up. Crew’s waiting.”
I look at the back door. “I’ll be there.”
The call ends. I stand there, not moving.
Inside, the house feels warm. The plate is where I left it. The foil catches the light from the window. Everything looks the same. I grab my keys from the counter. Start toward the door. Then stop.
The hallway stretches out ahead of me; the bedroom door remains open enough to see the edge of the bed.
I don’t go back. My hand rests against the doorframe instead. Stays there. A second too long. Then I push off and keep moving.
The note is quick.
Breakfast. Check cameras tonight.
I leave it on the counter under her sugar bowl. Look at it once. Flip the pen over in my hand. Set it down. That’s enough.
The door closes behind me with a soft click. The morning air feels sharper this time. I pull the truck door open, climb in, and sit there a second before turning the key.
The engine kicks over. I don’t pull out right away. My eyes lift to the house. Curtains drawn. No movement. Nothing different. My hand tightens on the wheel. Then loosens.
Get your head out of your ass and get to work. I shift into gear.
The road stretches out ahead, familiar, empty at this hour. Gravel pops under the tires as I pull away. Halfway down the drive, I glance in the rearview. The house is already smaller.
I look forward again. The truck picks up speed, and I don’t slow down.