Page 123 of Jig's Last Dance

But she’s not coming home, and Jig’s been sleeping just a couple of doors down from this shrine for years.

No wonder he’s so fucked up. Did his parents arrange for her room to be cleaned? Or did he?

Rubbing my aching chest, I pause on a picture of a vibrant girl with Jig’s brilliant eyes and a killer smile. The next is her in her teens, and sucking in a breath, I grab the frame and peer at it more closely.

No way. No fucking way. Jig’s sister Mandy is Miranda?

How can this be? Fuck.

This is the girl Ben used to sneak into his bedroom years ago. I don’t remember much about her except her pretty blue eyes and smile.

They dated for months until one day they broke up. I never saw her again.

This can’t be a coincidence. Did my dad know? Did she die because of who she was? Or something more?

Fuck, does Ben know? Jig?

Setting the picture down beside a group shot that includes a young Jig smiling at the camera, I laugh bitterly, the sound choking my throat. The light in his eyes makes my soul hurt.

How many fucking lies can we withstand before we cease to breathe?

On the last picture, I gasp and bow my head before pulling the necklace I took from the shack from my pocket. I’ve carried it with me since, a silent promise not to forget the body buried so callously beneath the floor.

It matches the one Mandy is wearing in the image, her arms wrapped around a boy I don’t recognize.

Shit. I’ve had Jig’s sister’s jewelry this whole time. I’ve been gallivanting around this city with the guy whose sister my father murdered.

No wonder he wanted me to stay away.

Can I tell Jig about Ben? Should I? Does it matter?

Wiping my wet cheeks, I spin and stare at her room. She’s gone and Jig’s here, but she took a piece of him with her, and his fucking parents left him to deal with the fallout.

There’s nothing I can do but go and hope Jig eventually gets the peace he deserves. If I don’t tell him, I’ll just be another weight that rests on his already heavy soul.

Resolved, I trail down the stairs and find Jig in the kitchen, looking off into space with a cup of coffee in his hand.

The distance between us feels like miles, and when he turns to me with a furrowed brow, I look away.

“What happened earlier?” he asks.

How he can shut his emotions on and off like a fucking spout is beyond me, but if he wants to talk about stupid shit, fine.

There’s so much more that needs to be said, but I let it go. It doesn’t matter. I have to go, and Jig has to stay. Why rehash it now?

With a sigh, I trace the tattoo on his chest with burning eyes and say, “I was almost run off the road.”

He stiffens, grabbing my arm, and I shiver at the deadly glint in his eyes. Jig is playful and fun, but he’s also the darkness he hides behind with a silly smile.

I suspect this is the real Jig, and he’s come out to play when he says, roughly, “Who?”

Watching him closely, I say, “My dad.”

His eyes go wide, and he backs away. With an ache in my chest, I slide to the side and grab the counter to keep myself upright because my knees are shaking.

This is it. Do I tell him what he deserves to know? Or pretend and save my brother?

“Let me get this straight. Ice Man is alive?”

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