Chapter One Hundred Twenty
Ruby
I step around the corner into the kitchen. And stop. Someone is standing at the counter. A woman. Tall. Blonde. Perfect posture. She turns at the sound of my footsteps.
Lindsey.
For one disorienting second, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. Then my stomach drops.
Her eyes move over me. Cold. Calm. Assessing. “Well,” she says softly. “I was wondering when you’d show back up.”
Every instinct in my body screams to run. Except she’s between me and the door.
“What’re you doing here?”
Lindsey glances around the kitchen. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Something about the way she says it makes everything click. The flowers. Chocolates. Poems. Stuffed pig. Rocks through my window.
Stay away from him.
“Oh my God.” The blow to my head. Not Brent. Not Greg. Lindsey.
Something shifts in her expression. Satisfaction. “You figured it out.”
Sweat pools on my palms. “It was you.”
“You made this harder than it needed to be.”
“The rocks through my window?” I don't know why that’s the thing I ask about.
Irritation flashes across her face. “That should’ve worked.”
The air leaves my lungs. “You hit me.”
“You wouldn’t listen.” She says it like that explains everything. Like cracking me over the head was the logical next step after I ignored her warnings.
My gaze flicks toward my phone on the counter. Too far. Lindsey notices. Her hand disappears behind her back. A gun comes out so smoothly my entire body locks.
“Sit.”
I do. Slowly.
Lindsey starts pacing, the gun hanging loosely at her side. “I tried being nice.” Nice? Jesus Christ. “You were supposed to leave him alone.”
“I did.”
“Not really.” Her eyes flash toward me. “You kept coming back.”
“I ended things with him.”
“You should’ve done it sooner.” She stops beside the island. “You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you? The way he talked about you?”
My pulse pounds against my throat.
“He doesn't talk about women like they're important. Then suddenly it's Ruby likes this. Ruby wants that. Ruby's pigs. Ruby's kitchen.”
My chest tightens. All those little moments I noticed too late. Lindsey noticed them before either Xavier or I admitted what they meant.
“And then I came in here and found his clothes in your bedroom.”
My blood turns cold. “You were in my bedroom?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I was fixing a problem.”
A problem. Me.
“He was supposed to come back to me.” There's no heartbreak in her voice. No uncertainty. She believes it. “He told me the same things he told you. He doesn't do relationships. He doesn't commit.” Her grip tightens around the gun. “But now he's here every night.”
A faint buzzing comes from the counter. My phone. Lindsey glances toward it. So do I. It stops. Then starts again.
Jake. Dad. Emily. Xavier. Dad knows I’m here. If I can keep Lindsey talking long enough….
“Fixing your house,” she continues. “Sleeping here. Playing protector.”
I keep my face still. Think. Don't antagonize her. Get to the phone. Get out.
“You weren't supposed to matter,” she says.
My hands begin shaking beneath the table. This isn't jealousy. It's obsession.
Lindsey studies me again. Her gaze lingers. “You look awful.”
My hand almost moves toward my stomach before I stop it. The baby. She cannot find out about the baby.
“You sick or something?”