Page 109 of Show Me

Ruby

I don’t like that he said they’ll be back. I know he’s right, but I don’t like it. The silence that follows feels louder than the noise of the drill ever did.

I’m standing at the counter, hands braced against the edge, staring at nothing while the house settles around us, wood creaking, the faint hum of the lights, the motion sensor outside clicking on and off like something’s still moving out there. And maybe it is.

Behind me, I hear him set the drill down. Metal against wood. Adding another layer of protection to the back door. A pause. Then his boots on the floor.

Closer. I don’t turn around. I should. I don’t.

“You missed one,” I say, even though I’m not looking. My voice comes out tight, sharper than I intend. I hate this. I hate that someone’s messing with my life. I hate that I can’t stop it. And I hate it even more that having him here is causing the walls to close in around me.

“Where?”

His voice is closer, which sends a shiver along my spine. I should’ve stayed at Bella’s. Being a third wheel is better than this…. This protection that’s based on guilt. This closeness that’s built on obligation. This fucking intimacy that’s not real.

I point without thinking, over my shoulder toward the corner of the frame. My arm brushes his as I do, and the contact is quick, accidental…. He doesn’t move away. Neither do I.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I snap. “None of this is fine.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Yes, you did. You just said it.” I fist my hands to keep them from shaking. “Just stop acting as if you can fix it.”

Silence. Too close. Too much. The hair on the back of my neck stands.

I turn then, meaning to put space between us. There isn’t any. He’s right there. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I see the tension locked in his jaw, the way his hands flex at his sides like he’s holding onto something and/or holding back.

“Move.” He doesn’t. My pulse kicks. “You’re in my space.”

His gaze drops, quick, involuntary, then back up again.

“You didn’t move.” A muscle in his jaw flexes.

That shouldn’t matter. It does. I take a breath, meaning to step around him.

His hand comes up, light, not grabbing, just enough to stop me at my arm. Everything in me goes still. “Don’t.”

It’s not a command. Not soft either. Something in between.

My heart is beating too fast. “You don’t get to–”

“I know,” he cuts in as wind rattles the window. That stops me because there’s no argument in it. No defense. Just… acknowledgment. And that makes it worse.

“You keep saying one thing.” The words coming faster now, sharper, because if I don’t keep talking I’m going to feel too much. “And then you show up and do something different, like I’m supposed to what, pretend that doesn’t mean anything?”

His hand tightens on my arm. Not enough to hurt. Enough to hold. “I didn’t say it didn’t mean anything.”

“You didn’t say it did.” His jaw flexes again. We’re too close. I feel his breath now, steady but not as controlled as it was a minute ago. “That’s the problem.” I swallow hard to keep my voice from cracking. “You don’t get to act like this and then pretend it’s nothing when it matters.”

“It does matter.” The words land low. Rough. My stomach twists.

Anger and frustration course through me. “Then stop acting like it doesn’t.”

His hand slides from my arm, down, then back up, settling at my elbow like he’s deciding where he’s allowed to touch and where he isn’t. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It is.” I take a step back, but his hand doesn’t drop from my arm. I want to shake it off, but at the same time, I don’t want him to stop touching me. As much as I hate it, I want more. Even though I know he’ll break me into pieces. “You drew the line. I stayed on my side of it. And now you’re mad about it.”