Page 61 of Catcher

That’s when I notice the duffel bag sitting near the couch. My stomach tightens.

“Juice,” I say after a second.

He pours it and sets the glass beside my plate. “Eat.” Catcher leans back against the counter, coffee in hand, watching me as I take my first bite. His attention is steady, protective, like he’s noticing every reaction I have.

“Are you not eating?” I ask quietly, as if this whole scene is not weird.

His eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah,” he says. “I ate earlier.”

Catcher continues to watch me as I lift a piece of bacon to my lips. “How long have you been up?” I try to make small talk to avoid how unnerving and awkward it is to have Catcher standing shirtless in my kitchen.

“Coupla hours,” is his curt reply.

His staring starts to unnerve me, and suddenly I’m no longer hungry. The thought of hiding out in my room becomes more appealing. I’m about to excuse myself from the table when Catcher picks up a pile of envelopes from the counter, and in two strides, he’s standing beside me. The stack of bills smacks the table in front of me. My mouth instantly goes dry, but my embarrassment quickly turns to anger. My fork pauses midair as my eyes track the uneven pile—white and off-white, some folded, some torn open. My stomach churns in a way that has nothing to do with food.

Slowly, I look up at Catcher.

He’s still leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, watching me in that quiet, assessing way of his like he’s been waiting.

“You went through my mail?” I ask. The words come out calm, but there’s a sharp edge underneath that I don’t bother hiding.

Catcher doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

Just like that, he admits it. No apology. No hesitation.

I set my fork down harder than necessary. “That’s not okay.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “You want to talk about what’s not okay?”

My pulse jumps. “You invaded my privacy.”

He straightens, setting his mug down with deliberate care. “I picked up a stack of past-due notices addressed to you, Ruby. From credit card companies. Collection agencies. Some of them stamped final notice.”

My skin prickles. “That doesn’t give you the right⁠—”

“I wasn’t snooping,” he cuts in. “Your mail was laid out.”

“That’s still my business,” I snap. “This is my house, of course, my things are laid out. What you should have done was mind your damn business.”

His eyes harden. “It stopped being just your business when some motherfucker cornered you in the bar last night and put his hands on you. It stopped being your business when your brother brought that trouble to your doorstep.”

Silence snaps between us.

I push my chair back and stand, nerves buzzing under my skin. “You don’t get to bulldoze into my life just because you decided to play protector.”

He steps closer, invading my space even more. Not threatening, just solid and unyielding. “I don’t play at anything.”

I lift my chin. “Then you should know better.”

Catcher crosses his arms over his bare chest, muscles tightening. “Know better than to ask why you’re drowning in debt while telling me everything’s fine?”

Anger burns hot and fast. “I didn’t ask for your help, and I certainly didn’t ask for your input.”

“No,” he says flatly. “You didn’t, but you damn sure need it.”

“That’s not your call.”

“It is when you won’t make it.”