Chapter One Hundred Eight
Ruby
The parking lot is busy as cars pull through and people cross toward the entrance, but my attention catches on every person standing alone, every vehicle idling too long.
I don’t think I’ll stop looking over my shoulder.
Bella pulls the car around while Emily pushes my wheelchair to the curb.
“I can walk.”
“And I’m an EMT who read your discharge papers three times.” She hugs me, then loosens her arms when I flinch. “Shit. Sorry.”
“I’m fine. Just jumpy.”
Bella waits until I’m buckled in before asking, “Still sure about your dad’s?”
“Yes.”
“You could stay with me. Or Emily.”
“Too close to my house.” My hand drifts to my stomach. “I want out of town.”
That ends the argument.
The farther we drive, the more the buildings thin out, giving way to bare fields and winter trees. By the time Bella turns onto Dad’s gravel road, pale sunlight highlights the frozen ground, and the barn comes into view.
“Does he know you’re coming?” Bella asks.
“No.”
She winces. “This should go well.”
Dad must hear the tires on gravel because the front door opens before we’re out of the car. He steps onto the porch in flannel and work boots, confusion disappearing the second he sees my face.
“What the hell happened?” He’s down the steps before I can answer, pulling me carefully into his arms. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“A little late for that.”
Bella gives him the short version. Someone attacked me in my yard. There have been notes, vandalism, a break-in. The police are investigating.
Dad’s expression gets darker with every word. “Someone hit my kid in her own yard, and they’re investigating?”
“They don’t know who it is yet.”
He mutters something I’m probably better off not hearing. “You’re staying here.”
Relief hits hard enough to burn my eyes. “Thank you.”
Not that I expected him to turn me away, but after everything I’ve gone through, my emotions area all over the place.
Bella hugs me before leaving, and Dad watches until her car disappears down the gravel road before ushering me inside.
The house smells like coffee and wood smoke. It smells like home.
“Sit.”
For once, I don’t argue.
He puts water in front of me and takes the chair across from mine. His attention keeps drifting back to the bruise and stitches. “Now tell me what you didn’t tell your friend to tell me.”
I give him the rest. The note telling me to stay away from Xavier. Brent. Greg. The police know about both of them but don't have enough proof to do anything.
Dad rubs a hand over his face. “I should’ve made you come out here sooner.”
“You couldn’t make me do anything.”
“No. You’ve been stubborn since birth.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches.
He points at me. “There. That face. Same one you made at fifteen when you hid a sprained ankle because you didn’t want anyone fussing.”
The laugh almost comes. The tears get there first.
Dad’s expression changes instantly. “Oh, sweetheart.”
He crouches beside me and pulls me against his chest, careful of my head.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know.” His hand moves slowly over my hair as the scent of peppermint eases my nausea. “You’re safe here.”
I want to believe that badly enough that I cry harder.
When it finally passes, Dad heats leftover stew and makes tea without asking anything else. The ordinary sounds of him moving through the kitchen settle me more than anything anyone has said today.
He sits across from me once I’ve eaten a few bites. His eyes narrow.
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
Of course he knows. I set down my spoon. “I’m pregnant.”
Dad goes completely still. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, he just looks at me. Then his gaze drops briefly toward my stomach before coming back to my face.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
His expression softens. “Because of your mom.”
My throat closes. “How could I not be? She died giving birth to me.”
Dad exhales slowly. “Ruby, there’s something I should’ve explained better a long time ago.
Your mom hemorrhaged after you were born.
They took her into surgery, and during it, the hospital lost power.
The backup generator failed. They had to transfer her.
” His voice roughens. “By the time they got her somewhere else, it was too late.”
All my life, the story has been simple. Mom had me. Mom died. Those two things fused until pregnancy and death became tangled in my head.
“There was a blackout?”
“And a catastrophic equipment failure. Your mother didn’t die because she had you.”
Emotion burns behind my eyes again.
“That exact chain of failures is extraordinarily unlikely now,” he says. “Hospitals have redundancies they didn’t have then.”
I swallow. “You never told me.”
“I thought you understood what happened.” Regret crosses his face. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
I reach across the table and take his hand. He squeezes mine before sitting back.
“The father is Xavier.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
“You told him?”
“Not yet.”
Dad sighs. “Why?”
“Because he already feels responsible for everything that’s happened to me. If I tell him now, I won’t know if he’s staying because he wants me or because he thinks he has to.”
Dad studies me. “You love him.”
There isn’t much point denying it anymore. “Yes.”
He nods like I’ve confirmed something he figured out years ago.
“What?”
“You’ve looked at that boy like he was the moon and the stars since high school.”
“Dad.”
“What?” His eyes widen as he shakes his head. “I’m old, not blind.”
A startled laugh escapes me. Dad smiles and squeezes my hand again. And for the first time since the doctor said I was pregnant, I feel like I can breathe.