Page 107 of Jig's Last Dance

“The guy from the picture I sent you. John. Do you know him?”

“No,” he says, pulling out his texts. He finds the picture and zooms in. “Him?”

“Yeah. He had dad’s keys, Ben. And he—”

“Dad’s keys? For what?” Ben says, grabbing my arm.

I search his eyes, my heart in my throat, before he shakes me. “What keys, Ali?”

“You’re hurting me,” I whisper, and Ben drops my arm.

“What keys?”

“Dad’s car keys. Why? What does it mean, Ben?”

Ben bows his head, his jaw ticking before he looks away. The intensity of his gaze scares me, and I tentatively touch his arm. “Ben?”

“Look, Ali, like I said, Sal’s a fucking liar.”

“So, what? They’re not dead?” I ask, and he swings toward me with a grunt.

“Don’t be fucking stupid. Of course, they’re dead. Fuck, Ali. Can you be fucking serious?”

Rolling my eyes, I look away. As if that’s the most preposterous part of this conversation. Dick.

“Look, just lay low. Sal’s hardly going to hurt you. Unless you push him on purpose.”

Where have I heard that before? Crap, but I wish I were drinking the jungle juice these fuckers seem to be sharing.

Despite my reluctance, I push the words past my dry lips. “What did you tell Jig?”

“Jig? I didn’t tell that fucker anything,” he says.

Weaving on my feet, I grab the end of the bed. I’ve never been so glad someone lied in my life. But why would Jig say it if it weren’t true?

And the pictures of Mom and Sal together. Fuck.

Rubbing my brow, I search his gaze and ask, “Can I come home?”

His eyes flicker, but he slowly shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“Why?” I whisper, biting my lip.

“Because I can’t be responsible for what you’re involved in. I can’t.”

Again, his eyes take on a panicked glaze that sends unease through me. What’s going on?

“Ben, I—”

“No. Just do whatever. Party. You can do that, can’t you?” he sneers.

Rearing back, I bow my head and smile sadly. How did we get here? I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m on my own.

“Fine, whatever,” I say, and he nods before moving away, but when he’s at the door, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He stiffens, but he doesn’t respond as Bastion enters and they greet each other with matching frowns.

Once Ben is gone, I grab my backpack with a sigh.

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