Page 74 of Eyes of the Grave

Myra’s eyes narrowed. “You saw his death. That’s why you pushed him away.”

“What?”

“Last year, when you and Jackson split. You did it because you saw his death,” she said. “You pushed him away to protect him.”

I flinched. “How did—how did you know?”

“Why else would someone so clearly in love push away her husband?” She frowned. “Go sit down and try to relax. But send Tate in. I need his help.”

“Of course.” I nodded and carried a plate of chopped vegetables outside.

Stepping out onto the patio, my skin warmed, but a cool breeze leveled out the temperature before the heat could turn oppressive. Itwasthe perfect night for a meal outside.

Shado and the boys stood smiling and laughing next to the table. They looked so at ease. I couldn’t help my instant jealousy. I wanted to smile, too. I wanted to laugh, but how could I? Everything was a mess. My marriage was in shambles, people were dead, and now the woman responsible for raising my husband was fated to die in my backyard. I could barely keep up with it all. Hit after hit, they just kept coming. How could I possibly tell him? How could I say the words? Jackson loved her.

Jackson turned as if I called his name. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I forced my lips into a smile.

He chuckled and took the plate from my hands. “I missed you.”

“Missed me? It’s been like a minute.”

“A minute too long. Come here.” He set the plate on the table and pulled me into a bear hug. His nose skimmed my ear, and he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I chuckled. “But I can’t breathe.”

He loosened his grip and smiled. “Sorry.”

“Never apologize for a good hug.” I leaned over and looked past him. “Tate, Myra needs your help with something.”

“On it.” He snapped to attention and marched past us.

“Myra doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Shado said, hopping from her perch on the edge of the table. Her eyes followed Tate all the way inside.

“And you say we’re bad,” I teased.

Shado’s cheeks turned red. “What?”

“Have you kissed him yet?” I asked, slipping out of Jackson’s grasp. “Have you told him how you feel?”

Jackson chuckled and pulled the chair from the end of the table. “Does someone have a crush?”

“Ido nothave a crush on Tate,” she snapped.

Watching Jackson sit, I smiled. “It seems my taste for werewolves is genetic.”

“And here I thought I was special.” His smile stretched from ear to ear.

Tate cleared his throat behind me. “Who’s special now?”

“Certainly not you. Set the pot down, ya big oaf,” Myra snapped, shuffling behind him. “And go call the boys in from the yard. Soup’s on.”

Tate set the pot in his hands down on a plate in the center of the table and darted down the patio’s stone staircase. His hair whipped in the wind as he sprinted across the lawn.

Jackson whistled through his teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast in all my life.”

“It’s about damn time,” Myra muttered. “Now, help yourself or give me your bowls.”