Chapter One Hundred Three
Ruby
As the nurse wheels me down the hallway, I swallow down another wave of nausea at the oppressive smells of the hospital. Antiseptic. Plastic. Something faintly metallic underneath it all.
The overhead lights feel too bright against my eyes, and every bump in the floor sends another pulse of pain through my skull. My stomach rolls again as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Once I’m settled into the exam room, Emily says, “Hang in there.”
I crack one eye open. “You say that like I’m about to pass out.”
“You might.”
“That’s encouraging.” I sigh and sag against the pillow.
“Don’t turn your head. Or open your eyes all the way.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My attempt at levity lands flat with my eyes halfway closed.
“She’s been bossy since the ambulance dropped you off,” Bella says from the other side of the bed.
Emily shoots her a look. “I’m an EMT. I’m allowed.”
“You’re also her best friend,” Bella says dramatically. “That means you’re allowed to panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You are.”
Their bickering settles an uneasy feeling in my chest. For the first time since waking up in the grass, I don’t feel alone.
A few minutes later, the curtain slides open.
The doctor steps inside, already skimming the chart clipped to the end of my bed.
He looks to be in his early fifties, silver threading through the dark hair at his temples, white coat hanging open over navy scrubs.
A stethoscope rests around his neck, reading glasses tucked into the pocket of his coat.
After sanitizing his hands, he offers me a reassuring smile. “I’m Dr. Reynolds.” He slips a penlight from his pocket. “I’m going to check your eyes.”
The light flashes into my left eye. Then my right. “Follow my finger.”
I do. Pain blooms behind my temple.
He watches my eyes before clicking the light off. “Any nausea?”
“Yes.” Too much. I haven’t thrown up this many times since I had that stomach bug three years ago.
“Dizziness?”
“Also, yes.”
He parts the hair around the bandage, fingertips probing along my scalp. “Tell me if this gets significantly worse.”
“It already hurts.”
“I imagine it does.” He presses lightly once more before stepping back. “You most likely have a concussion. We’ll get a CT scan to rule out anything more serious.”
My stomach drops. Anything more serious? “What does that mean?”
Emily rests her hand on my forearm. “It’s a formality. There’s nothing worse.”
“Fine.” I’m not sure I believe her, but I lean back into the pillow again, taking her at her word because I’m not mentally prepared for worse.
Dr. Reynolds glances between the three of us, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’ve got quite the support team.”
Bella points at me. “She’s the glue.”
I manage a weak smile. “Don't say it as if I died.”
Bella's expression falls. “You scared us.”
“I'm sorry.”
Emily’s entire face tightens. “You don’t apologize for getting attacked.”
Dr. Reynolds gives me one last look. “We’ll get imaging ordered. Try not to fall asleep until we've finished the scan.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He nods once, jots a note on the chart, then slips back through the curtain.
A knock sounds against the doorframe a few minutes later. Jake steps inside. His expression stays neutral, but I catch the way his eyes find the bandage near my hairline.
His spine straightens. “You up for answering a few questions?”
“Yeah.”
Bella and Emily step back to give him room, but neither of them leaves.
Jake pulls a small notebook from his jacket, flips to a clean page, and settles onto the stool beside the bed. His pen clicks once as the girls take seats. “Start from the beginning.”
I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I went outside to feed the pigs.” I share with him the details of what I remember.
“Did you ever see them?”
“No. I didn’t see anything.” I shake my head before remembering that’s something I told myself I wasn’t going to do again. Pain shoots through my temple. That was stupid.
Bella folds her arms. “Jesus.”
Jake finishes the line before looking back up. “Same handwriting?”
“As the poem.”
He flips to another page. “I need to go back over everything that’s happened with Greg and Brent.”
My stomach knots.
“I know we've talked about them before,” he says. “But after tonight, I need every interaction. When's the last time you saw Brent?”
Again, I go through everything I remember as he peppers me with questions.
Jake writes another line. “What about Greg?”
Sweat beads on my forehead as I rub my fingertips over the edge of the blanket. I haven’t shared this part with anyone. Or what happened at Lindsey’s house. Or after between Xavier and I.
Of course, there was no Xavier and I as far as he was concerned.
I exhale. Rip the Band-Aid off. “The last time I saw him was today outside Dr. Hannah Carter’s clinic.”
He glances up from the notebook. “You were there for Squirt?”
“To pick up supplies.” He nods for me to continue. “I’d been outside talking to my dad.”
“When Greg showed up?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He was already there.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know.” Heat flames up my cheeks at the lie. “He just... started talking."
“What about?”
Fuck. Jesus, Ruby, do you want to die? Just tell them the damned truth. If going over this helps save your life, you’d be a fool to keep it to yourself. “Xavier.”
Bella mutters under her breath.
Jake ignores it. “What did he say?”
“He said he saw me go inside and waited.”
“Son of a bitch, Ruby. You should’ve started with that.” Emily jumps out of the chair across from me.
I ignore her outburst. “The same thing as usual.” I slump into the hard, limp pillow. “He said guys like Xavier don’t settle down.”
“I’ll update the chief.” Jake closes the notebook when I’ve relayed everything to him. Thankfully, he stopped asking questions before we got to the part where I overheard Xavier telling Lindsey that we were just friends. I don’t have the energy to go through that again.
Emily stops her pacing. “You still think it’s one of them?”
“I think they’re both worth looking at.”
“So, we just wait for something worse to happen?” Bella frowns as she joins Emily. They both look like sentries posted by the door.
“No.” Jake’s neutral expression is replaced with narrowed eyes as he straightens his spine. “From now on, every interaction matters.” He slips the notebook back into his jacket. “Every comment. Every time someone shows up where they shouldn’t.”
The monitor beside the bed hums steadily. The room falls quiet again. And sitting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, one thought settles heavier than everything else.
Every message. Every threat. Every warning.
Somehow.... It always comes back to Xavier.