Chapter Ninety-Three
Xavier
Ruby sits beside me as we pull down her street. I place my hand over hers, lacing our fingers together. Her resilience always impresses me. Hell, everything about Ruby impresses me, and if I’m being honest, it always has.
Ben’s truck smells like garlic and motor oil. Which tracks, considering he cooks like he’s feeding fifty people at all times and keeps enough tools in this thing to rebuild a house on the side of the road.
“Still weird driving his truck,” I mutter as I tap my fingertips on the steering wheel. The fall sun is barely warm enough to melt the frost on the windshield.
Ruby glances over. “You complain about everything.”
“Only the important stuff.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You mean things that inconvenience you.”
“Exactly.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. Good. I’ll take sarcastic over scared right now.
The driveway crunches beneath the tires as I pull up to her house. The temporary plastic I secured over the broken window lifts in the wind, snapping once against the frame.
Ruby stills beside me for half a second. “Okay,” she says. “That still sucks.”
“Yeah.” I kill the engine but don’t move right away. The house looks wrong now. Too exposed. Like someone peeled part of it open and left it that way on purpose. “Here’s what’s happening.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “That tone usually means I’m not going to like this.”
“You’re packing a bag.”
“For what?”
“You’re staying with me for a while.” The words come out easily. Too easily. Like the decision was already made somewhere in my head before we even left my house this morning.
Ruby blinks once. “Xavier–”
“No.” I point toward the window. “Somebody threw rocks through your house less than eight hours ago.”
“I have cameras.”
“Two of which got destroyed last night.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“That’s accurate.” I appreciate her attempt at levity, but it’s not going to distract me. Whoever is messing with her isn’t stopping.
She exhales, rubbing a hand against her forehead. I can practically see the argument forming behind her eyes. Not because she wants to stay here. Because she’s trying to figure out what staying with me means.
The dangerous part is that I’m trying not to think too hard about that too.
“It’s temporary,” I say, leaning back against the seat. “Until we know things calm down.” There’s no question that she’s more comfortable in her own home. As long as she’s safe.
Ruby studies me for another second. “Okay,” she says. “A few days.”
Relief settles low in my chest before I can stop it. “Good.”
She disappears inside while I walk the property again. I did it last night before we left. And again, before I took my pickup to the shop.
Samson watches me from inside the pen like he’s personally offended I showed up without food. Again. “You don’t make the best security system.”
The pig snorts hard enough to suggest disagreement.
A truck pulls into the driveway behind Ben’s a minute later. Sam climbs out, hoodie pulled halfway over his hands against the cold. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
For a minute neither of us says much. Just stands there looking at the house. Then Sam kicks a rock across the driveway.
“You were right. Lindsey’s weird.”
“That sentence never goes anywhere good.”
“Yeah.” He crosses his arms over his chest, causing the top of his coat to gap open. “When I told her I didn’t think we should see each other again, she got angry. It felt excessive since we’ve only hung out a couple of times.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“You going through with her deck project?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a reason not to.”
Sam glances sideways at me. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
This time, his chuckle carries the humor it lacked earlier. I punch him in the bicep. “Asshole.”
The back door opens as Ruby steps outside carrying a small overnight bag. She locks it, then hesitates for half a second after the deadbolt clicks into place.
Sam tips his head toward the house. “You need anything moved over later, let us know.”
Ruby gives him a small smile. “Thanks.”
No teasing. No weird comments about where she slept last night. Nobody says a word about the fact she’s moving her stuff into my room, which makes it feel more real.
I grab her bag before she can argue and toss it into the backseat. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” Ruby looks back at the house one more time. The plastic over the window crackles in the wind.
Sam steps back from the truck. “Call if you need anything.”
“We will,” I say.
Ruby glances at me briefly at the window. I ignore it and start the truck.
As we pull out of the driveway, she exhales beside me. “Feels weird leaving.”
“You’ll be back.”
“Hopefully with fewer rocks.”
“That’s the plan. Hart has a window waiting at the store. I’ll pick it up after I grab my tools and get the broken one replaced later this morning.”
“Thank you.” She is quiet for another minute. “You’re really okay with me staying?”
The question shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. But it does. Because underneath it, I hear the real question. Is this becoming too much?
I dig my fingertips into the steering wheel. “Yeah.” No hesitation. No qualifiers. Just the truth. “As long as it takes.”