Page 70 of Show Me

“I know.”

She studies me for a long moment. “Why did you?”

The question hangs between us because someone crossed a line. Because you were shaking. Because I can’t stand the idea of you being afraid in your own house.

I pick up the drill instead. “Because it needed doing.”

We work in silence for a while, the rhythm familiar now. ‘Hand me that.’ ‘Hold this.’ ‘Check the level.’ By the time the last lock clicks into place, the house feels different. Not untouched. Protected. Ruby stands in the center of the kitchen, turning like she’s memorizing it, and that quiet focus tells me it matters to her.

“It feels like mine again.” Her lips curve upward. Just a little. But enough to ease some of the tension from my shoulders.

“Good.”

My throat tightens as something passes between us. Gratitude. Trust. Something deeper. Something I don’t want to name.

Squirt drops his weight against my boot again. I exhale. “You’re heavy.”

Ruby laughs, and something in me shifts lower, harder to ignore. Shit. I rub my palm against my chest. I should go, but I won’t. I’m staying. Not for the house. Not for the locks. For her. That’s the truth I can’t avoid anymore. And I don’t like it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ruby

Xavier’s drill sits on the counter beside the re-closed white box. It doesn’t need to be open for me to remember what’s inside. The new locks gleam against the doorframe like armor. The motion light outside clicks on and off as branches sway in the wind, a steady reminder that the dark can’t sneak up unnoticed anymore.

He moves through the house, checking, tightening, testing, as if stopping would let the quiet crack. I stand in the hallway with a blanket in my hands, watching him. He looks like he belongs here.

That thought is more terrifying than the break-in, because Xavier doesn’t stay. It isn’t about him belonging here. It’s me hoping he does.

“Still awake?” He doesn’t turn, having sensed my approach.

“Still breathing.”

He glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to say he heard the fear underneath. Someone was in my house. I shudder for the hundredth time. Who breaks into someone’s house and leaves a stuffed animal? Who thinks that’s romantic?

Squirt waddles past me and rests against his boot again with a grunt, his weight shifting like he’s found his new favorite resting place.

“You’ve been claimed.” I chuckle at the small pig’s lack of decorum. At least I have the sense not to rub all over him. Heat creeps up my cheeks. I have the decorum, but not the good sense to stop the thought before it rolls around in my head.

“It always surprises me that he weighs more than he looks,” he mutters, running his hand along his side.

I step into my bedroom to grab a pillow and freeze. My textbooks sit on the edge of my dresser. In plain sight. Humanities. College Algebra. And Animal Anatomy—a new book I picked up to see if anything clicked. I forgot to put them up.

My stomach drops. I haven’t told the girls about taking college classes. If I shut the door on my way out, he won’t see them.

After snatching up a pillow, I turn to find Xavier standing in the doorway, the animal anatomy book in his hand. Too late. He looks surprised, then curious.

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

It isn’t an accusation, but it lands heavy, like I’ve been lying to him about the earth being flat. I set the pillow on the dresser next to the Humanities book and cross my arms, suddenly cold. “It’s not a big deal.”

He flips through the pages, tabs, notes, highlighter marks, evidence of a life I kept quiet.

“This doesn’t look like nothing.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, then stand again, restless. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”