Chapter Fifty-One
Ruby
I’m halfway to the bedroom when my phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down. Xavier. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
Xavier: Something came up. Check cameras.
That’s it. No apology. No explanation. Just… done.
I stare at the screen longer than I should, thumb hovering like there’s something else I’m supposed to say. Something that would make this feel less like a door shutting. Or slamming in my face.
Of course he didn’t come back. Of course he didn’t.
I type anyway.
Me: No problem.
I read it once. Twice. Then hit send before I can change it. The message goes through instantly. I don’t wait for a reply. Instead, I set the phone down a little harder than I mean to, fingers pressing into the counter as I lean forward, head dipping enough to steady myself.
It’s fine. This is what you agreed to.
My shoulders lift with a slow breath, then settle back into place, posture straightening like I can hold everything together if I don’t let anything slip. I turn toward the hallway. Stop. I left one of my books in the car. Of course I did.
I stand there, staring at the door like I can convince myself it can wait until morning.
The house is quiet, too quiet, the kind that presses in when you’re trying not to think about what’s outside the walls.
And outside, it’s pitch black except for the streetlights that do nothing to illuminate the area between the house and where I parked my car.
It’s ten steps. Ten steps to the door. I grab my keys. Get a grip. Everything’s fine. No one’s waiting to jump out of the shadows to snatch you up.
The night air hits colder than I expect, the porch light casting a pale circle across the driveway while everything beyond it fades into shadow. Gravel crunches under my boots as I step toward the car, keys clenched tighter than they need to be.
The yard looks normal. Still. Empty. The motion light triggers as I walk. That should make me feel better. It doesn’t. I unlock the car and reach for the passenger door as headlights sweep across the end of the street. I freeze. It’s not either of my neighbor’s vehicles.
A truck rolls past my driveway, engine low, idling. The driver’s profile catches in the glow of the streetlamp long enough for recognition to settle in my chest. Brent. My stomach clenches. He doesn’t live on this street. There’s nothing here for him.
The truck keeps going, taillights glowing red before stopping at the pasture entrance 40 yards from my driveway and turning around, driving back past my house.
Coincidence? Not likely. Granted, it’s a small town, and people like to drive around. Being nosy. It’s a small-town thing. Still, the hair on the back of my neck refuses to lie flat.
I turn back to the car and stop. A small box sits on the hood—brown paper. Twine tied neatly into a bow like it belongs somewhere warm and harmless instead of sitting on my car.
My stomach drops. No note. No name. Just… there. The driveway feels too big. Too open.
I scan the yard, the fence line, the stretch of darkness between houses. Nothing moves. Nothing shifts. That’s worse.
My hands shake as I grab the box, backing toward the house without turning my back on the dark. I lock the car, eyes searching shadows that give me nothing in return.
Inside, I set the box on the counter like it might move if I hold it too long. Don’t panic. Check the cameras. Maybe one of the girls dropped it off.
My fingers shake as I flip open the laptop, pulling up the feeds one by one. Front yard. Driveway. Back door. Nothing. No movement. No headlights. No one approaching.
My pulse kicks harder. I rewind. Watch again. Slower this time. Still nothing. My gaze drifts to the narrow strip along the side of the house. The one place the camera doesn’t reach. A blind spot.
My stomach drops again. No, that’s impossible. My car was near the end of the driveway. I scan the camera angles again. Shit. I parked in a dead spot. Too close to the road for the cameras to pick up any movement.
The hair on my neck stands again. They know. They know that the cameras don’t pick up there. I close the laptop and swallow the bile that’s rising in my throat.
The thought of calling Xavier hits fast, automatic, his voice steady, telling me he’s on his way, his truck in the driveway.
I swallow it down just as quickly. He already told me what this is. What it isn’t. I scroll instead, finding Emily’s name, and hit call. Then Bella’s.
They show up in under fifteen minutes. Emily is in her EMT gear, jacket half-zipped, eyes already scanning the room. Bella follows close behind, coat wrapped tight, gaze moving straight to the counter.
“What happened?” Emily asks, door barely closed behind her.
I gesture toward the box.
Bella’s brows draw together. “Again?”
“I found it on my car hood.” I rub my upper arms as if it can ward off the cold seeping through me. It doesn’t help. “Cameras didn’t catch anything.”
Emily moves to the laptop, already pulling up the feed, scanning with practiced focus. She pauses, leans closer, then taps the screen. “Shit. You’re right. You parked out of range.”
“I wasn’t thinking when I parked tonight.” At least, I wasn’t thinking about a stalker. My head was too wrapped up in Xavier, and the mistake I made in thinking I could handle casual with no consequences.
Bella glances to her right as she can see through the walls. “You need another camera mounted to catch that spot.”
“Yeah.” Silence drops heavy between us as we’re all thinking the same thing. Someone was paying enough attention to know the area wasn’t covered.
“I saw Brent drive by.”
Emily’s head snaps up. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It was right before I found the package. He didn’t stop. Just drove to the end of the street, backed up, and turned around.”
Bella’s mouth tightens. “That’s not normal.”
“No.” I force a breath into my lungs. “But it doesn’t mean anything.” The words feel thin the second they leave my mouth. Nothing means anything without proof.
Emily studies me. “Did you call Xavier?”
My chest tightens again. “No.”
Bella tilts her head. “Why not?”
I shrug, shoulders stiff. “He’s busy. And this isn’t… his problem.”
They exchange a look I don’t want to read too closely.
“Are you two–” Bella starts.
“No,” I cut in, too fast. “Nothing’s going on.” Not a lie. Not really. “I know what kind of guy he is.” I meet their eyes this time. “He’s not built for anything serious, and I’m not about to pretend I expected him to be.”
Brent’s voice echoes in my head. ‘Men like him don’t stay.’ I press my lips together.
Emily’s expression softens. “No one’s saying that.”
“I am.” I tip my chin up. “And I’m fine with it.”
Bella reaches for the twine, fingers working it loose. “You want me to open it?”
I hesitate. Then nod. The paper crinkles as she lifts the lid. Inside sits a small ceramic pig. Hand-painted. Delicate. Bright-eyed.
Nobody says anything. Then Bella reaches into the box again. "There’s a note."
My stomach drops. She unfolds the small piece of paper. The smile disappears from her face.
"What does it say?" Emily looks over Bella’s shoulder.
Bella’s face pales before reading it aloud. “This one reminded me of Squirt. He looked lonely.”
The room goes silent. My throat tightens. Emily’s eyes lift to mine. Not threatening. Personal. Way too personal. Because Squirt wasn’t at the gym. Or on social media. Squirt wasn’t something a stranger should know about. And the ceramic pig feels a lot less innocent.
Emily exhales. “That’s not random.”
No. It isn’t.
Bella sets it down, like it might break if handled wrong. “You’re not staying here alone tonight.”
I don’t argue. Because the house no longer feels safe; it feels watched. And somewhere out in the dark, someone is studying exactly where the lights don’t reach.