Chapter Sixty-Two
Xavier
She’s still in my arms when it hits. Not the fear. That was already there. This…. This is different. She’s shaking. Not a little. Full-body, trying not to let it show.
It’s not just the pigs. The gate. The yard. It’s everything. It’s that someone was there. Close enough to touch something that mattered to her. Close enough to wait. Close enough to choose when.
My hand tightens at her back. Too close. Too real.
If they come back…. I cut the thought off before it finishes. I don’t give it space. I don’t think. I kiss her. Not slow. Not careful. Immediate. Like stopping something before it gets worse.
Her breath catches against my mouth, and for a second there’s resistance, shock, maybe, then she’s there. Hands in my shirt again, pulling me closer like she needs something solid to hold onto.
My grip shifts, one hand at her back, the other at her jaw, keeping her there, anchoring her, anchoring myself. This isn’t controlled. It should be. It’s not.
Lines. Boundaries. All the things I said. My mind tries to catch up. None of it matters right now. Not when I can picture someone standing outside while we were inside and didn’t know it.
My breath lodges in my throat as the kiss deepens, rougher than it should be, sharper. Too much. I know it. Don’t stop.
Her fingers fist in my shirt, and my heart squeezes tight against my ribs. Familiar. Not her. The feeling. Something slipping where it shouldn’t.
My mother’s suitcase by the door. My dad standing in the kitchen, not saying a word. Lauren laughing like it didn’t matter. People leave. Or they stay long enough to make it worse.
I break the kiss. Not gently. I stop.
Forehead to hers for half a second, breath uneven, grip tight like letting go is a mistake. This is a mistake. I step back, running a hand down the back of my neck, forcing space back into the room.
“We aren’t doing this again.” My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t do this again. If I do, I don’t know when it stops, and I can’t do that.
She bites her bottom lip but nods in agreement.
Someone was outside the house, luring the pigs away while we slept inside. “But you aren’t going to be alone. I’m driving you to work.”
She opens her mouth. Stops. I see it. The argument forming, the instinct to push back. Then her gaze flicks toward the window. Toward the yard. Toward where Samson had been standing. And it’s gone.
“Okay.”
The fact that she agreed without argument sends a pain through my skull. She’s not pushing. She’s scared. I rub my temples and look away. She didn’t argue when I told her she wasn’t going to be alone anymore. She didn’t balk when I told her we weren’t going to do this again.
This…. Everything. I rub harder.
The fact that she agreed to my saying we weren’t doing this again without blinking an eye is worse than her not balking about needing an escort.
I grab my keys without another word. “Get your stuff.”
The truck is already running by the time she gets in. I don’t ask if she locked the door. She did. Checked it twice.
The road is wet, washed clean from the storm, everything looking like it reset overnight. It didn’t.
My grip tightens on the wheel. “You did the right thing.”
Her eyes remain trained on the windshield. “Calling you?”
“Yeah.”
Her posture is stiff as we hit a pothole. One that I’m surprised doesn’t have a potted plant sticking out of it. Mrs. Martin has been known to tossed one in as a hint to city hall. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
Her attention shifts to the side window. “Because you told me not to expect more. And I’m trying to respect that.”
Shit. I exhale through my nose, slow. It shouldn’t bother me. Hell, I told her it wasn’t happening again, but her safety is more important than…. Anything. “Safety isn’t an expectation.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. I can tell she doesn’t believe me. The silence fills the cab, thick but not empty. Full. Too full.
I don’t push it further. Don’t want to know where that line is right now because I’m already standing over it.
Dad is outside when we pull in. Coffee in hand. Watching, always watching. His eyes flick from me to her to the truck and back again in one pass. Takes it in. Doesn’t say anything about it.
I draw the window down. “Pen gate was open.” I shift into park. “I brought her in.”
He nods once. “Good.” That’s it. No questions. No push. Just… understood.
She gets out of the truck as I kill the engine, moving toward the office, shoulders tighter than usual and not turning back.
Dad takes a sip of coffee, attention shifting toward the road.
“Locks keep honest folks honest,” he says. “Rest of it’s about who shows up when it matters.”
I huff a breath, look away before he can read too much into that. He already knows enough. I grab the keys, head for the door. Work. Keep moving. Fix what you can. Everything else….
I shut that thought down before it finishes. Because if I don’t, I won’t leave again. And that’s the problem.