Page 113 of Show Me

The Watcher

Lightning flashes across the yard. For a split second, the house glows white. Rain streams from the hood's brim, water dripping steadily onto the soaked ground below.

The truck is still there. It shouldn't be. Thunder rolls overhead. The cameras blink beneath the eaves. A new one near the driveway. Another along the side of the house.

The gift had been there less than twenty-four hours, and he'd already changed everything. The kitchen light still burns. Warm. Bright. Occupied.

A pulse of lightning flashes again. The light disappears. Darkness descends over the house. A few seconds pass. Then movement. Two silhouettes emerge from the kitchen. One taller. One smaller. Moving together through the house.

Not touching. Not entwined. Close. Too close.

The taller shape pauses. The smaller one turns toward him. A moment. Then both disappear down the hallway.

The knot tightens. Rain runs down the side of the face. Cold. Ignored.

The truck remains in the driveway. The cameras continue their steady watch. And inside the house, the lights stay off.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Xavier

The thunder's gone when I wake. That's the first thing I notice. The stillness. No rolling echo through the walls. No flash of light behind my eyes. Just the low hum of the house settling around us.

Us. My eyes close again. Bad idea. The memory comes back anyway. The kitchen. The storm. Her hands on me. The way neither of us stopped. Then the bedroom. Hours disappearing somewhere between talking and touching and falling asleep.

I scrub a hand over my face. That shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have happened twice. I told her where the line was—made it clear and kept it simple. And then I climbed into her bed.

Worse, I stayed there.

The mattress shifts when I sit up. Ruby doesn't wake.

Morning light slips through the curtains, painting pale stripes across the blanket tangled around her waist. She looks peaceful for the first time in weeks.

My chest pangs. I look away immediately. Dangerous. All of it. The feelings. The wanting. The part of me that doesn't regret a damn thing. The rest of me regrets it because this won’t turn out well. At all.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there longer than I should. If she wakes up, we'll have to talk. If we talk, I'll say something stupid. Or honest. Neither sounds like a good plan.

Carefully, I push to my feet. The floor creaks. Ruby shifts. Then settles again. Still asleep. Good.

I pull on my boots without sitting. Grab my keys from the dresser and turn to the bed.

Mistake. She's still there. Hair everywhere. Half buried beneath the blanket. Looking more like home than anything has a right to.

I force myself toward the door. Don't leave a note. There's nothing I can write that won't make this messier.

The bedroom door opens. Cold air hits harder than it should when I step into the hallway. The microwave light flashes 6:10.

The drive into town is gray and washed out, branches down, puddles stretching across the road, a few trucks already pulled over where someone’s dealing with damage.

Work. Work fixes things. Keeps them contained. Makes sense.

I park at the shop before the sun’s fully up, the lot mostly empty except for Travis’s truck off to the side. Getting an early start is good. I step inside, flipping the lights on as I go.

The place smells like wet wood and coffee grounds. I grab a mug, pour it black, and take a swallow. It’s hot, burning as it hits my mouth and throat. It should fix everything. It doesn’t help.

Didn’t sleep enough for this. Didn’t think about it enough either. I set the mug down, reach for a stack of paperwork, then stop halfway through the motion.

No. Start with something simple.