Page 165 of Show Me

“You deliver pigs, right?”

“Yes,” I groan in response to Emily’s question, even though if I disagreed with her, she’d continue this path anyway.

“That sounds like a textbook definition of a pig midwife.” Emily lifts her glass. “To Ruby, the Swine Queen.”

Bella raises hers too. “Hear, hear.”

“Shut up.” I laugh and clink glasses with them. The sound is sharp in the room. “You two are ridiculous.” But I can’t deny that they’re just the right medicine to cheer me up.

From the kitchen, a cabinet slams a little harder than it should. I flinch so hard that my teeth rattle and the red liquid sloshes up to the edge of the glass before settling back down.

Emily rests her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. A little jumpy.”

Xavier rotates his shoulders as if he tensed at the sound as well.

Ben swears under his breath, giving me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Ruby.”

“It’s fine.” I wave a hand in his direction as heat fills my cheeks. Clearly, I’m not doing a very good job of pretending that everything is fine.

Conversation resumes. But nothing inside me relaxes.

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the noise of the room wash over me again. The warmth. The laughter. The easy rhythm of people who trust each other. It should feel safe. And maybe it is. But underneath it, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

The door remains closed. I exhale and force myself to stay where I am. To laugh when Bella nudges me. To answer Emily’s next question. To pretend to be normal.

Or as close as I can pretend.

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Xavier

The football hits my chest harder than expected, bouncing against me and falling to the ground.

“Catch the damn ball, man!” Jake shouts.

“I caught it,” I fire back, tossing it to him.

“You fumbled it.”

“Technicalities.” I rub my hands together to keep the cold from seeping too deep into my bones.

Sam laughs from the sideline, beer in hand, coat zipped to the top. “You’re getting slow.”

“Or Jake is getting worse at throwing.”

“Blasphemy.” Jake shakes his head in mock disgust.

The yard’s turned into the usual Sunday chaos, half of us playing, the rest pretending to ref while drinking and talking shit. The only difference is that it’s Thursday and Thanksgiving, not Sunday.

Dominic jogs past, smacking my shoulder as a cloud of breath puffs out in front of him. “You distracted or something?”

“No.”

“You sure?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Jake tosses the ball and spins toward me. “Probably thinking about Ruby.”