Chapter Sixty-Three
Ruby
I don’t make it ten minutes inside before I need air. The office is already filled with phones, boots on cement, voices carrying in from the lot, but it all presses too close, too loud. I grab my jacket like I forgot something and slip back outside.
Cold hits my lungs, sharp enough to steady me. I stand there. Breathe in. Out. Again.
“Ruby.”
I turn to find Emily crossing the lot toward me, coffee in one hand, keys in the other. She slows when she gets close, eyes moving over my face, my shoulders, the way I’m standing like I’m bracing for something.
“What happened?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, I just–”
“Don’t.” She stops a few feet away. “Start over.”
I let out a breath that doesn’t help. “The gate was open this morning. The pig pen. Some of the piglets were gone. Samson was outside. He was standing there, like he was watching something. Near the tree line.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but tension sharpens. “Did you see anyone?”
“No.” I cross my arms, fingers digging into my sleeves. “The cameras went out around eleven. Power flickered during the storm. Everything just… stopped.”
“And then came back on?”
“Yeah.” During everything else that I’m not thinking about.
She takes a sip of coffee, thinking. “That’s not random.”
“I know.”
“Someone used the outage.” The words land heavier coming from her.
I look out toward the road. “They didn’t take anything. The piglets were just… out there. He found them.”
“He?”
“Xavier,” I say, like it’s obvious. Like that explains everything.
Emily’s gaze flicks toward the shop, then back to me. “You called him.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I let out a small laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “I shouldn’t have.”
One eyebrow quirks upward. “Why not?”
Because he told me not to expect anything. Because I’m trying to follow rules that no longer make sense. Because I knew the second I called him, it wouldn’t just be about the pigs.
I shrug instead. “I thought I could handle it.”
She studies me too long. “You didn’t.”
“No.”
“He said someone led Samson out there.” For now, I ignore the implications of what I said and focus on what the problem should be.
Is the problem. Fuck, they’re both problems. One for my safety.
And the other for my heart’s protection.
“There was feed on the ground. Not mine. And prints near the fence. Then they just… disappear.”
Emily goes still. “Disappeared how?”
“Like someone tried to cover them. Not all the way. Just enough to mess with them so they couldn’t be identified but indented deep enough that they wanted them seen.”
“That’s escalation.”
I swallow. “I know.”
She watches me, waiting for me to argue. I don’t. A car passes at the edge of the lot. Slow enough to notice. I glance up. Lindsey. Her eyes flick toward me, quick, assessing, then away again like she didn’t see anything worth stopping for.
My stomach twists as the car keeps going.
“You know her?” Emily asks.
I shake my head too fast. “Not really. She used to come to the gym.” I gnaw on my bottom lip. “She’d follow Xavier around asking him to help her with the equipment.”
And he would. God, I’m pathetic. I’m no different than Linsdey. Xavier is a nice guy who likes helping people. And like her, I’m following him around like an overeager puppy chasing a red ball. Pathetic.
Emily doesn’t push it, but she clocks my irritation. Of course she does.
Her attention shifts back to me. “You said he found them.”
“Yeah. He’d already left for work when I found them missing.” Heat creeps up my neck. The last thing I want to do is rehash last night. Or his earlier parting words. ‘We’re not doing this again.’
“He was there this morning?”
“Yeah.”
Another beat. “He stayed?”
I look down at the gravel, scuffing it with the toe of my boot. “That’s not–” I start, then stop. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. I exhale. “It just… happened.”
“How many times is ‘just happened’?” she asks, not unkindly.
I huff a breath. “Twice.”
There it is. Out. No taking it back.
Emily’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the shift anyway. Concern. Calculation. “That complicates things.”
“Yeah.”
“You know that, right?”
“I know.” She waits again. And this time I don’t deflect fast enough. “I’m fine.” The words come out automatically. Flat. Unconvincing.
That’s a lie. I’m a complete mess. This is the man I’ve been in love with for years, and he said everything we’ve done was a mistake.
Her brows lift. I look away, toward the road, toward anything that isn’t her face. “I’m fine,” I repeat as if saying them enough will make them true. It doesn’t. I swallow. Try again. It doesn’t work. The ball in my throat is so thick, I can barely breathe around it.
“I’m not fine.” The words are barely audible over the slamming of a truck door a few feet away. “I crossed a line.” I stare at the ground. “I knew I would. I knew it before it happened.”
“Then why–”
“I don’t know,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. I press my lips together, then shake my head. “That’s not true. I do know.” I let out a breath, slower this time. “But I know exactly how this ends.”
Silence. Emily doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t soften it. Just lets me say it.
“He doesn’t stay.” I shove a strand of hair behind my ear as a gust of wind flips a piece of paper down the street. “He doesn’t do that. And I’m not… I’m not someone people stay for anyway.”
“That’s not–”
“It is,” I say, not harsh, just certain as I cross my arms over my chest. “And I’m not asking him to. That’s the point.” My fingers tighten against my sleeves. “I just…” I stop, press my lips together, then force it out. “I just can’t seem to stop.”
That’s the worst part. Not the fear. Not the stalking. That. Even though he said it would never happen again, a part of me aches for it to happen again. What kind of a fool does that?
The biggest kind. The kind that wants to be crushed into a million jagged pieces.
Emily exhales, looking out across the lot before turning back to me. “Then you need to be careful. About both things.”
“I know.”
“You’re dealing with someone who’s escalating.” Her face is pinched, tense eyes and downturned lips. “And you’re letting yourself get pulled into something that’s going to hit just as hard when it drops.”
“I know,” I say it again because I do. Because knowing doesn’t seem to change anything.
She studies me one last time, then nods once. “If anything changes, you call me too. Not just him.”
“I will.” And I mean that. I straighten, forcing my shoulders back, pulling myself together piece by piece. “I’ve got this.”
It sounds more solid than I feel. Emily doesn’t argue. Doesn’t agree either. Just watches me, then takes another sip of coffee.
“Yeah.” She nods. “You do.”
We both know that’s not the whole truth, but we’re best friends and best friends build each other up, not shove each other down.
Tears sting my eyes as I yank her against me, jostling her coffee cup, and we hug on the sidewalk like we haven’t seen each other in months.