Page 139 of Jig's Last Dance

Maybe when all is said and done, there will be too much hurt to get past. I seriously hope not, though.

Jig kisses my forehead and closes the door. I’m dozing when it opens and I glance up to find Bastion standing over me.

“Hey,” I croak and his lip curls at the corner.

“How are you feeling?” He asks and I sigh.

“Like I got hit by a train.”

He chuffs and looks away, his mouth dropping into his customary frown.

“Bastion?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“You’re Dad was released.”

His eyes drop to mine, arctic and I flinch. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Me too.” He steps back and I tip my head to see him better.

“What are you going to do?”

His shoulders bunch and he rubs his bald head. “What I have to.”

“Which is?”

His granite eyes harden and he grabs the door, shutting it gently as he says, “Claim my birthright.”

I have no idea what that means but I decide to dissect it later as my eyes flutter.

What’s his birthright?

∞∞∞

I wake with a groan and sit up, wincing when my head throbs. Where am I? Oh right. Jig’s.

Apparently, I have Paddy McCafferty to thank for Jig’s ability to walk right into Sal’s home. I don’t have the full story, but Jig did tell me before I passed out that after I texted Iris about my impending doom, she messaged Rain, who informed Jig of what was happening.

Jig was forced to contact his dad. I don’t know what the conversation entailed, but I think divine intervention must have been at play because Jig was nearby. A few seconds more, and it would have been too late.

Sal was nowhere to be found when Jig arrived, though, and he had to threaten the staff to get them to tell him where we were.

He found Ben knocked out beside the pool and jumped in to save me. I’ll never know exactly how that played out, but I can imagine Jig’s struggle to release me from the weight and get me out of the water.

“Sunshine,” Jig says softly, and I roll over.

He fills the doorway with his broad shoulders, and I look him over greedily. He’s so everything that my throat closes with residual fear.

I could have died and knowing how close I came burns at my chest. I will never take this for granted again.

“Hey,” I croak.

“How are you feeling?”

“Um, okay.” My muscles hurt from all the thrashing, and my throat burns. But I’m alive.

“Come,” I pat the bed, and he sits beside me, his face a mask of concentration as he smoothes the covers around me.

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