Chapter Fifty
Xavier
I take the long way home. Gravel turns to pavement, then back again, the truck rolling through roads I don’t usually bother with. Slower. Out of the way.
It keeps me from passing the office. That’s enough reason. The wheel shifts under my hands as I take another turn I don’t need to take.
Her shoulders flash in my head anyway, squared, controlled, like she was bracing for something that never came.
I adjust my grip on the wheel and drive, tension coiling through my back and shoulders.
The house is loud before I even open the door. Voices. The TV. Something hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the walls.
I push inside with my shoulder, keys already in my hand.
“Look who decided to come home,” Sam calls from the sofa.
The scent of garlic, onions, tomatoes, and other herbs fills the air, making my stomach grumble. When was the last time I ate? Lunch? Didn’t stop. Breakfast? Not then either.
I didn’t feel like eating when I made Ruby’s breakfast. Sweat slicks my hands as I scrub one on my jeans and loosen the grip on my keys with the other.
Ben leans over the back of the couch, grinning. “We were about to send out a search party.”
I drop the keys in the bowl by the door. “Work.”
“Uh-huh.”
The skeptical tone of Sam’s voice sets my already frayed nerves on fire. I should’ve gone somewhere else.
Fuck. This is my place. It’s not like I have anywhere else I can go.
“You’ve had work for a while. Somehow, you’ve only recently started disappearing.”
I don’t answer. Just stride for the kitchen. The sink’s full. The counter’s a mess where Ben dropped everything after working on a new recipe. I arch an eyebrow. A pizza box sits open, one slice left. A flop? Or something to bide the time while he finished?
I grab a glass, fill it, and drink half of it in one go.
Ben follows, leaning against the counter. “You staying for dinner, or you got somewhere else to be?”
“I’m here.” I tip my head toward the box. “Dinner going to be any good?”
“Of course.” His eyes narrow into slits as he crosses his arms over his chest. “When is it not?” He has a point. It’s rare for something he makes to go wrong.
Sam shows up in the doorway, mimicking his brother’s position. “You’ve been over at Ruby’s.”
It’s not a question, and there’s no point in denying it. I set the glass down. “She had a break-in.”
“We know,” Ben says. “Bella told Dominic. Dominic told us. Whole town probably knows by now.”
Figures.
Sam watches me. “You staying there?”
“Sometimes.”
Ben lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“It’s not like that.” The words come out too quick. Too defensive.
Shit. Heat creeps up my neck as I clench my teeth together. The last thing I want is for these assholes to start talking shit about Ruby. I don’t give a fuck what they say about me, but…. I stop there before going any further.
Sam says, “Right. Because you install security systems and feed livestock for women you’re not involved with.”
My teeth grind together. “She needed help.”
I should’ve thought about this from her point of view. This is a small town, and people talk. Not that I’d do anything different. I wouldn’t leave her alone after someone broke into her home, where she should feel safe, where she should be safe.
“And you stayed.” The joking tone is gone.
I don’t respond.
Sam nudges the pizza box toward me. “Eat. You look like you’ve been thinking.”
“I don’t think.”
Ben laughs. “That’s about right.” He shoves Sam in the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s finish that show.”
I take the slice, lean back against the counter. It’s cold. Grease soaked through the cardboard. I chew anyway. It doesn’t taste like anything.
Across the room, Sam flips the channel. Ben drops back onto the couch. The noise settles around me, easy, familiar. Nothing here asks for anything. Nothing here shifts if I walk out.
I finish the slice and toss the crust back in the box. Since Isaac took a job out of state last month, it’s just been the three of us around here. He claims he’ll be back eventually. I’ll believe it when I see him.
“Got stuff to do,” I mutter as I snatch up my keys and trudge up the stairs. No one stops me.
My room is quiet. Door shut. Noise from the living room muffled down to nothing. I sit on the edge of the bed, phone already in my hand. Screen lights up. No messages.
I stare at it anyway. Thumb hovers over her name. Drops. Lifts again.
I type: Got tied up. Won’t make it tonight.
Stare at it. Delete. Type it again. Erase it.
Me: Something came up. Check cameras.
That’s better. Short. Clean.
My thumb hangs over the screen. I look toward the door. Keys sit on the dresser. Boots still on my feet. Wouldn’t take long to get back. I could…. I look back at the phone and hit send.
Too fast. The message goes through before I can think about it again. I don’t type another one. Don’t add anything to it. Just sit there with the phone in my hand, staring at the screen like something might change.
Nothing does.
I drop the phone onto the bed beside me. Lean forward, elbows on my knees. Sit there longer than I mean to.
Then I push back and lie down, staring at the ceiling. The room’s still. Too still. My hand comes up behind my head. Drops back down. I turn onto my side. Then onto my back again.
The phone lights up once. I don’t reach for it right away. Let it sit there. Then grab it, thumb dragging across the screen.
One message. Hers.
I don’t open it. Not yet. Just look at her name. Then lock the screen again and set the phone face down on my chest.
The ceiling doesn’t change. The room doesn’t shift. But something sits wrong anyway. I close my eyes.
They don’t stay closed.