Page 122 of Jig's Last Dance

He looks me over with his bright eyes, and I glance away, afraid of what he might see. Do I want him to know what I’ve done? Who I am?

“We’ll figure this out, sunshine,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.

He leads me up the stairs and to his bathroom. Inside the shower, he turns on the water with a solemn expression, and my heart bottoms out in my chest.

But the sweet sensation turns to a slow burn when he turns to me and grabs my shirt, pulling it over my head. His bright eyes zero in on my tits, and he licks his lips.

My skin tingles, but I look away, wondering if there’s something wrong with me. I just killed my father, yet I’m contemplating jumping Jig’s bones.

Staring at my haunted expression in the mirror, I ask, “What if you hate me when this is done?”

He turns and meets my reflection, his brows over his eyes. And after searching my gaze, he says slowly, “Then I better make the right choice.”

Before I can say more, he sweeps me into his arms, and I protest when he grimaces, placing my hand against the bandage on his chest, but he just smirks and steps into the shower.

With a heartfelt sigh, I lean back, staring at him while the water wets my hair.

There’s an almost desperate quality to his gaze, and my heart thumps before I step into him and raise my mouth to his.

Chapter Eighteen

When I wake, I find Jig staring at me. The intense scrutiny brings a flush to my cheeks, and I bury my face in his chest.

“Jig,” I whisper, glancing up at him shyly.

His lips curl into a playful smile, but his eyes are blank. My stomach sinks at the mask I’ve come to abhor. He’s retreated, but why?

“You want snuggle time, sunshine?” he says, and I eye the piercing in his brow when he waggles them playfully.

Searching his gaze, I smile sadly when he looks away. What happened to push him back in the box? Is it me? My dad? Or something else?

I won’t know unless I ask. Sucking in a breath, I whisper, “What’s wrong?”

Jig drops his head, breathing deeply before he raises his brilliant blue eyes to mine and says, “Nothing. I need a beer and some screen time is all.”

We haven’t spoken about what he found in the cabin, and prior to this morning, I would have been afraid to bring up the topic. But with my dad now gone, I know Jig deserves to know the truth.

Before I can broach the topic, though, he gently sets me aside and pulls on his shorts.

I watch him go, my heart in my throat. I can’t reach him. He won’t let me in.

Once he’s shut off the light and left the room, I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling. What makes him tick? What’s beneath the mask he slips on so easily?

I know his sister’s death weighs on him. Is it solely because she’s gone or more?

Am I a reminder?

It may be foolish, but I feel like the last link to Jig remains here where he locked it away and refuses to let it go.

With a sigh, I slip on my clothes and tiptoe down the hall. At Mandy’s closed bedroom door, I glance around uneasily, but I’ve come this far. If I don’t go through with this, I’ll never know.

Pushing the door open with a weird thrum in my stomach, I step inside and close the door behind me.

Splashes of rose and gold decorate the lush bedding, a comfy couch, and a four-poster bed. The covers lay across the end of the mattress as though she had just left it, and shoes line the floor along with discarded clothes.

Schoolbooks lay open on the desk situated against the wall, a pencil still resting within the pages.

Although my parents’ room was left much the same, Mandy’s space is clean of dust. Someone has been in here, ensuring her things are ready for when she comes home.

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