Page 122 of Show Me

Because he told me not to expect anything. Because I’m trying to follow rules that no longer make sense. Because I knew the second I called him, it wouldn’t just be about the pigs.

I shrug instead. “I thought I could handle it.”

She studies me too long. “You didn’t.”

“No.”

“He said someone led Samson out there.” For now, I ignore the implications of what I said and focus on what the problem should be. Is the problem. Fuck, they’re both problems. One for my safety. And the other for my heart’s protection. “There was feed on the ground. Not mine. And prints near the fence. Then they just… disappear.”

Emily goes still. “Disappeared how?”

“Like someone tried to cover them. Not all the way. Just enough to mess with them so they couldn’t be identified but indented deep enough that they wanted them seen.”

“That’s escalation.”

I swallow. “I know.”

She watches me, waiting for me to argue. I don’t. A car passes at the edge of the lot. Slow enough to notice. I glance up. Lindsey. Her eyes flick toward me, quick, assessing, then away again like she didn’t see anything worth stopping for.

My stomach twists as the car keeps going.

“You know her?” Emily asks.

I shake my head too fast. “Not really. She used to come to the gym.” I gnaw on my bottom lip. “She’d follow Xavier around asking him to help her with the equipment.”

And he would. God, I’m pathetic. I’m no different than Linsdey. Xavier is a nice guy who likes helping people. And like her, I’m following him around like an overeager puppy chasing a red ball. Pathetic.

Emily doesn’t push it, but she clocks my irritation. Of course she does.

Her attention shifts back to me. “You said he found them.”

“Yeah. He’d already left for work when I found them missing.” Heat creeps up my neck. The last thing I want to do is rehash last night. Or his earlier parting words. ‘We’re not doing this again.’

“He was there this morning?”

“Yeah.”

Another beat. “He stayed?”

I look down at the gravel, scuffing it with the toe of my boot. “That’s not–” I start, then stop. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. I exhale. “It just… happened.”

“How many times is ‘just happened’?” she asks, not unkindly.

I huff a breath. “Twice.”

There it is. Out. No taking it back.

Emily’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the shift anyway. Concern. Calculation. “That complicates things.”

“Yeah.”

“You know that, right?”

“I know.” She waits again. And this time I don’t deflect fast enough. “I’m fine.” The words come out automatically. Flat. Unconvincing.

That’s a lie. I’m a complete mess. This is the man I’ve been in love with for years, and he said everything we’ve done was a mistake.

Her brows lift. I look away, toward the road, toward anything that isn’t her face. “I’m fine,” I repeat as if saying them enough will make them true. It doesn’t. I swallow. Try again. It doesn’t work. The ball in my throat is so thick, I can barely breathe around it.