Page 151 of Show Me

And she does. I take another drink, letting that settle. For now, it’s quiet—no signs of anything off. No pressure.

I glance back at her one more time. She’s right where she should be. Laughing. Surrounded. Not alone. And whether I call it anything or not, I’m not stepping out of that.

Interlude

The Watcher

The house is full tonight. Too many people. Voices spill out into the night.

From the trees beyond the property line, the lights burn warm against the winter dark. Shadows move across the curtains, crossing, pausing, gathering.

Cars line the street. Different house. Same focus.

There are more men than usual. The tall one is there again, always where she is—always watching.

A mistake. People like him don’t stay. They pretend to.

Inside, she laughs, head tipped back, shoulders loose, like nothing is wrong. Like the quiet means it’s over.

It isn’t. The quiet means patience.

From here, it’s easy to see the door. The windows. The way people move in and out of rooms without thinking about who might be counting.

Easy to see who stays close to her. Easy to see who doesn’t.

The tall one shifts when someone passes between them. Adjusts. Stays. For now.

The door opens. Light spills out, cutting across the yard before snapping shut again. Voices follow it, then disappear.

The watcher steps back, just enough to stay outside the reach of it.

He won’t stay. They never do. And when he forgets…. When he leaves space where he shouldn’t…. The quiet will be there again.

Waiting.

Chapter Eighty

Ruby

Xavier shuts the door behind us, the click of the door and locks settling into the space. Squirt lifts his head from his bed, gives a low grunt, then flops back down with a heavy exhale.

I kick off my boots and set my purse on the chair.

“Your friends took it well.” Xavier crosses into the kitchen.

“Eventually.” I follow behind him.

Bella’s hug. Emily’s excitement. The way they looked at me like I should’ve told them sooner.

I lean against the counter as he grabs two glasses and fills them with wine, sliding one toward me.

“They're proud of you.”

I glance up at him. He means it. “You are too.”

It's not a question.

He nods once. “Yeah, I am.”