Chapter Fifty-Nine
Ruby
I wake up before the alarm goes off. I don’t know why. Then I do. The house feels different.
Shit. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, aware of everything I didn’t fall asleep thinking about, because I avoided it. The storm. The way the walls shook when the thunder rolled through. The way the lights flickered.
The way he…. I push that thought away before it finishes. The side of the bed he fell asleep on is empty. There’s nothing left behind. Of course there isn’t.
I trudge into the kitchen, refusing to look at the counter. Or check for a note. Not giving myself the chance to expect anything.
Instead, I grab my boots, shove my arms into my jacket, and stride for the back door. With my hand on the knob, I look anyway. Nothing. No note. No coffee. No breakfast. It’s like he was never there.
Tears sting my eyes. I knew what was going to happen and did it anyway. I’m a fucking idiot. Cold hits immediately when I step outside. Sharp. Clean. The kind that burns your lungs if you breathe too deep.
That’s enough. The tears dry up. I’m a big girl. I made a decision. A choice. And it’s one I can live with. It’s one I have to live with. I straighten my spine.
The motion light flicks on, then off again as I move past it into the yard. Everything looks… fine. Fence line intact. Gate where it should be. Frost clinging to the grass like nothing disturbed it.
I slow without meaning to. Listening. Scanning again. Nothing but the faint rattle of branches and the distant drip of water from the storm runoff.
Stop it. You’re going to lose your mind. I shake my head and step closer to the pen. That’s when I see it. The gate isn’t closed. It’s not wide open either. Crooked. Like it didn’t catch right.
My stomach drops as my heart thuds against my ribs. “No.”
I reach the fence in three steps and stop. The pen isn’t full. My brain takes a second to catch up with what I’m seeing. There should be movement. Noise. Bodies shifting over each other. There’s less. Too much space between them.
I scan, Delilah, one, two, three… Fuck. No. No, no, no.
“There were more of you.” My voice is ragged as I step closer, counting again like it’s going to change. It doesn’t.
At least two are missing. Maybe three. I step to the side and angle my head. Three. And Samson…. The air feels thinner suddenly as I clutch my chest. I’ve had Samson since I graduated high school.
I scan the ground inside the pen, expecting…. I don’t even know what I’m expecting. Blood. Tracks. Something.
There’s nothing obvious. Just churned dirt from the storm and the usual mess from the pigs shifting around.
“Samson?” My voice comes out tighter now as my eyes jerk from one side of the yard to the other. No answer. Not from the pen. Not from the yard.
My pulse kicks hard, sudden and loud in my ears. “Samson,” I try again, louder. That’s when I hear it. A low grunt. Not behind me. Not inside the fence. Ahead.
My head lifts, taking everything in at once. He’s standing halfway between the pen and the tree line at the top of the hill.
Still. Completely still. Broad body squared toward the trees, ears angled forward, not even glancing back at me. Watching.
Something cold slides down my spine. The feeling hits before the thought does. What does he see? What if something happened to the piglets? What if someone is waiting on the other side of the hill? On the other side of the trees. I take a step back without meaning to.
“Samson,” I say again, softer now.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn. Just stands there like something is out there and he’s not letting it get closer.
Trees. Faint shadows. Nothing I can see. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It gets worse.
My hand fumbles for my phone before I’ve fully decided to reach for it. I don’t think about it this time. I don’t argue with myself. I don’t hesitate. I hit his name. Press call.
With the phone to my ear, I remain fixed on the tree line, on Samson standing between me and whatever might be out there.
Waiting.