Page 86 of His to Burn
A few minutes later, Jack emerged from the bedroom, his scowl firmly in place.
I fell in behind him as he marched up from the basement. I knew this routine well. We checked the entire house top to bottom and made sure nothing was out of place and that everything was secure.
We’d gotten better at it—or really, I’d gotten better—so the process took less than an hour.
By the time we were done, it was dark and time for us to turn in for the night.
Not a single word had passed between us.
On the surface, it might have been a good thing, Jack and I moving like a well-oiled machine.
But it wasn’t that. We did work like a well-oiled machine, but there was friction there, a tension that left me exhausted.
And too exhausted to apologize, or again try to explain myself.
I needed Jack, but more than that, I wanted him.
Wanted him to talk to me.
Wanted whatever it was about Jack that kept me from feeling completely alone.
I just needed to tell him that, but I had no idea how. And every glance at his steel-eyed expression, the hard glint in his eye made it that much more impossible.
So even though I felt like I was going to burst, I didn’t say anything.
I showered, changed into pajamas, sure to keep my shoes and gun close by, and sat on theedge of the bed. It was like nights before. Jack, ever the gentleman, would let me sleep first. Everything inside of me wanted to continue to pretend, but when Jack walked by, I reached out and interlaced my fingers with his.
The room was pitch-black, but I easily imagined his expression, feeling his anger and his angst.
The Asia before would have used that as an excuse to walk away.
But me, now, knew I couldn’t shrink away from that.
I tightened my grip on Jack’s fingers.
His hand was stiff in mine—his thick, warm fingers familiar, but the way he held himself apart from me was different. I could tell he wanted to pull away.
But he didn’t.
I squeezed his hand, relying on him for strength when I had no right to.
Then, on a deep breath, I spoke. “I need you, Jackson.”
The words flew out of my mouth and into the darkness, hitting my pride like the sharpest dagger.
“I need you, and I hate it.”
His gaze didn’t leave mine. “Good. You should hate it. Because it makes you weak.”
The words sliced through me.
Maybe they were meant to. But I didn’t let go of his hand.
And I still felt him tighten his hold for the briefest moment.
Or was that just my imagination?
I wasn’t sure.
