I pull in a breath, slow and steady.
Chapter 19
Roxy
Three weeks. That’s how long we’ve been here, and she’s glowing.
She runs from room to room like the walls themselves belong to her, as if this place sprang up out of the ground just to cup her small life gently within it. Each morning she wakes before me, pressing her face to my cheek and whispering, “Mama, can we go to the river? I want to catch a crayfish.” She’s completely enraptured with the little creatures, no matter how much they make me cringe.
I love hearing the river too, so it’s hard to turn her down. I end up wrapped in a light robe, sipping coffee with my toes in the water as she tosses pebbles and chatters to the trees. The river murmurs constantly, a low, steady rush that weaves itself into the house through open windows. Not like the ocean—there’s no roar, no endless horizon swallowing sound. This is gentler. A kind of heartbeat, steady and familiar.
Work has settled into something manageable. Calm, even. Mak and I seem to be in a quiet truce—no explosions, no tense silences crackling with old arguments or newer urges. I’m still careful around him, and he’s careful around me, but it feels bearable. Oddly, there’s been no more explosive momentsbetween us since that day in his bedroom where I took what I wanted.
Since then, it’s like the fire that threatened to tear through me has dimmed. Not in the way that it’s been put out, but as if it’s lowered to embers—waiting, ready to flare up at the slightest breath.
Sometimes I catch him watching me.
This morning is soft, warm, humming with early-July heat. The curtains ripple in a breeze that smells like pine needles and sun-warmed stones. I’m slicing peaches for Andi’s snack when she darts through the living room with one of her stuffed animals—a fox that’s gone scruffy from too much love.
“Mama, can I make it a bed on the porch?” she asks.
“Of course.” I run a hand through her hair. She beams, then races toward the door.
I turn back to the peaches, humming to myself. A knock lands on the front door. It’s not loud, but something about it makes me hesitate. It’s Saturday. Did I forget something yesterday? Some loose end? Even the idea of it makes me wince; I’ve been so on top of things lately.
I wipe my hands on a towel and walk over, expecting one of Mak’s guys, or maybe the delivery service with more boxes of things I forgot we owned. Without thinking, I open it.
And there he is.
Eric.
Deputy badge glinting on his belt. Smile too quick and bright, stretched in a way that doesn’t touch his eyes. My stomach drops.
“Roxanne,” he says warmly, as if we’re old friends. As if he never grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise it back in college when he was a few too many beers in. As if I didn’t just watch a man in an expensive suit nearly strangle him behind the hardware store only weeks ago.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice flat.
He lifts both hands as if he’s harmless. “Relax. I’m just saying hello. Thought it’d be neighborly—you know, since I’m the deputy around here. Gotta get to know the folks living in the woods. Safety and all.”
His tone is casual, but his eyes are scanning. Over my shoulder. Into the rooms behind me. Cataloguing.
“Now’s not a good time,” I say.
“Oh, come on.” He leans against the doorframe like he owns the place. “You’ve been in town what—a few months? You could stand to be a little friendlier.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Andi beats me to it, sprinting into the room.
“Mama, the fox needs—” She freezes when she sees him.
Eric’s gaze snaps to her. I step in front of Andi without thinking, one hand sliding back to shield her. She presses into my hip, eyes narrowing in the way she gets when she doesn’t like someone.
“Who’s this?” Eric asks, voice smooth, but probing.
“No one you need to meet,” I say.
“Cute kid.” His smile turns predatory around the edges.
Andi tugs my shirt. “Mama, I want to go outside.”
