Page 211 of Show Me

Me: I’m not ready for that right now.

Bella doesn’t answer this time. The bubbles reappear. Starting. Stopping. Waving up and down. And then the message pops up.

Bella: That’s okay. Just thought you should know.

I set the phone face down on the couch cushion beside me and close my eyes. Because the problem is… Part of me wants to know he’s asking. Wants to know he cares. And the other part knows if I let myself think about Xavier too much right now, I’m going to end up crying again. I’m too tired for that today.

Dad returns a few minutes later carrying a bowl. Soup this time.

“You’re determined to keep feeding me like I’m dying.”

“You got hit in the head and keep throwing up,” he says flatly. “Close enough.”

Despite myself, I laugh. The sound seems to relax him.

He settles into the recliner across from me, remote in hand. The television remains silent, and I don’t ask him to turn it on. Rain continues tapping against the windows.

Sitting here with Dad, the storm outside, and the warmth of the blanket wrapped around me, I can almost pretend everything is going to be okay.

Almost.

Chapter One Hundred Eleven

Ruby

It’s seven days after the attack when I make it farther than the porch. Not far. Just the barn. But after nearly a week of feeling trapped inside my own head, it feels like progress.

Cold morning air brushes my face as Dad and I walk toward the pig pens.

“You dizzy?”

It takes sustained effort not to roll my eyes. “You ask me that every ten minutes.”

“Because you got hit in the head.”

“I remember.”

“Good. Memory’s working.”

My effort fails as I roll my eyes and shake my head. Not that I’d want him any other way. Coming home to Dad was the best decision I could’ve made.

The barn smells like hay, feed, and damp earth. The pigs start grunting the second they see us, and homesickness catches me unexpectedly.

Dad notices. “Yours are fine.”

“I know. I gave Bella a two-page instruction list.”

“Of course you did.”

A vehicle crunches up the gravel drive. Dad immediately straightens. Jake’s SUV comes into view.

He climbs out in jeans and a hoodie. “Morning.”

“Depends,” Dad mutters.

Jake joins us at the fence. “I’ve got an update.” My stomach tightens but I keep silent, letting him continue. “Greg’s alibi for the attack holds. Keycard records and witnesses put him at the gym.”

“So he’s cleared?”