Chapter Fifty-Three
Ruby
By the time the office empties, the light has shifted into that flat, gray-blue that settles over the lot in late fall, swallowing the last of the day before you’re ready for it.
I’m stacking paperwork when I hear the rattle of a jack outside. Metal on metal. Xavier is crouched beside my car, sleeves pushed up, hands flexing with movement. The spare tire is off, propped against the curb, and he’s replacing the one that was ruined.
He didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. He just… did it, and I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or relieved.
I grab my jacket and walk outside, cold air biting at my face the second I step into the lot. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He doesn’t look up. “Yeah, I did.” The statement isn’t defensive. Or irritated. More like certain.
I lean against the truck bed of his pickup, watching him work. The clink of tools, the scrape of metal, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It all settles into something quieter than it should be after the day we’ve had.
Once he’s done, he steps beside me, leans off the side, and pulls up a flattened tire. My flattened tire. He rolls it toward him, turning it so the side catches the last of the light. “There.”
I crouch beside him. At first I don’t see it. Then I do. A nail. Driven straight through the sidewall. Not the tread. This is not something I picked up on the road.
My stomach drops hard enough it makes me sway. “That’s not…” My voice catches.
“Not road debris.” His voice is sharper now. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the tire. “You don’t get that driving.”
Silence drops between us. Thick.
He sets the tire aside harder than necessary, grabs a rag, drags it over his hands like he’s trying to wipe something off that won’t come clean. “What happened last night?”
Not loud. Controlled. Too controlled.
I look away. “I told you. I stayed with Bella.”
“Why?” The question hits sharper this time.
Because I was scared. Because someone left another gift. Because I didn’t want to sit in that house alone knowing someone had been there again.
“I didn’t want to be alone.”
His shoulders drop a fraction. Then tighten again as his eyes trail over me. “That’s not all of it.”
Of course it isn’t. I stare at the gravel, at the dark oil stains beneath his boots. “There was another box.”
“Where?” Not a question. A demand.
“On my car.”
His jaw flexes. “The cameras?”
“We checked.”
His eyes narrow. “And?”
“Nothing.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Where was the car parked?”
“Closer to the street than usual.”
His expression hardens. “Damn it.” The curse comes low and sharp. He turns away, dragging a hand through his hair.
“What?”
“The cameras don’t cover that area.” His shoulders tense. “The driveway camera catches the front of the house. The back camera covers the porch and yard.” He shakes his head once. “Your car was outside the coverage area. I should’ve considered that.”
“Xavier–”
“I should’ve covered the entire property.” The frustration in his voice catches me off guard. Not at me. At himself. He paces a few steps before stopping beside the tire. “I knew I was prioritizing entry points.”
“That’s not your fault.”
His laugh is short and humorless. “No?”
“No.”
“You had another gift show up. Now somebody followed you to Bella’s house and punctured your tire.” He shakes his head. “If I’d covered the whole property, we’d know who did it.”
“It could’ve happened anywhere else. The grocery store.” I shrug. “The gas station. Anywhere.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s holding something back. “And you didn’t call me.”
There it is. I shake my head as Mr. Cole steps outside, nods at us, and slides into his pickup. The rattle of the pickup door slamming shut makes me jump.
“You called Emily.” Not a question either.
“Yes. And Bella.”
He stands, fast enough it makes me flinch. “You had someone in your house. You’ve got notes showing up, gifts, now someone’s messing with your car, and you didn’t think to call me?”
“I handled it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point,” I snap, pushing to my feet. “I’m not going to turn into someone who panics every time something happens.”
“This isn’t something,” he shoots back. “This is someone escalating.”
“I know that.” A dull ache pounds in my head.
“Then why are you acting like it’s nothing?”
“I’m not acting like it’s nothing.” I slap my hands on my hips as anger flares through me.
Angry at the situation. Angry at him. Angry at myself.
Angry that someone thinks they can stalk me and not have any consequences.
That I have to alter my life. “I’m acting like it’s my life, and I’m going to live it. ”
“By pretending you don’t need help?”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“You shouldn’t have to ask.”
The words feel like a slap. I take a step back, arms crossing over my chest. “You made it pretty clear where the line is.”
His expression shifts. Barely. But I see it.
“This isn’t about that.” He rakes a hand through his hair, leaving strands standing on end.
“It is to me,” I fire back as a pickup door shuts on the other side of the lot. “You don’t get to draw a line and then be mad when I stay on my side of it.”
He paces once across the narrow strip of pavement beside my car. “I’m not mad you stayed with Bella.”
“I’m not staying there again.” The words come out before I can soften them.
He stops. “Why not?”
Because I sat on her couch and watched her and Dominic move around each other like it was normal, like they belonged in the same space, and I felt like I was borrowing something I didn’t have.
Because I don’t want to be the person who shows up and disrupts other people’s lives every time mine gets complicated.
Because I already feel like I don’t belong anywhere right now.
“I’m not interrupting their lives.” I inhale and tip up my chin. I hadn’t decided that until now, but I’m certain this is the right decision. “I’m not doing that again.”
“That’s not….” he starts, then stops himself, jaw tightening. “I’m sure they don’t feel that way.”
“It feels that way to me.”
Silence stretches again, heavier this time. He looks at the tire, then back at me.
“Sidewall puncture means someone wanted it flat.” His voice is lower as if he’s trying to lure a feral kitten out from under a shed. Fear curls low in my stomach, sharp and steady. “You should stay with Bella tonight.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Ruby–”
“I’m not running,” I cut in. “This is my house we’re talking about. My life.”
His gaze locks onto mine, searching, measuring. “You think this is about pride?”
“I think it’s about not letting someone else decide how I live.”
“Then I’m staying.” His entire body is tense as if he’s waiting for me to rebel. To tell him no. But my head hurts. And I’m tired.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to stay at Bella’s again to get you to come back.” My chest squeezes. “I’m not trying to trick you.”
“I know you weren’t.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “I understand why you want to stay at your place, so I’m staying.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Same answer. Different weight.
Something pulls tight in my chest that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with how complicated this got.
I look away first. The lot is nearly empty now. One truck left at the far end. Lights flickering on in the building behind us. The world narrowing down to this small stretch of pavement and the space between us.
Not safe. Not simple. But not something I’m facing alone anymore either. And that makes everything feel both better… and a lot more dangerous.