Page 18 of Jig's Last Dance

“Your dad was fucking Ice Man?” Jig demands, his chair screeching ominously as he stands.

I raise my eyes to his and cringe at the darkness shining back at me, but I have no control over this, and I didn’t fucking invite myself here, so I raise my chin and damn my trembling lips when I say, “Yes.”

Jig’s face drops before he steps around the table and grabs my arm. “You didn’t think to tell me this?”

“Stop,” I say, wrenching on his hold, but he grips me tighter, leaning into my face.

“Jig,” Rain says, but Cyn grabs her hand.

“I don’t exactly go around telling people who my dad was,” I say icily.

“Really?” He sneers. “Well, maybe you should be a little less fucking stupid.”

With that, he pushes me away, and I stumble before righting myself. Heat stings my veins, and I rub my aching arm as I say, “Me? You’re the dumbass who didn’t know!”

His nostrils flare and he twitches, but I’ve seen enough. Spinning on my heel, I toss over my shoulder. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I’m not my fucking dad, and I didn’t ask to be here.”

Luckily, we passed the front door on our way to the kitchen, so I find it easily. And slamming the front door behind me, I march down the driveway, passing majestic trees that sway in the wind, the heat of rage at my back.

But the farther I walk down the long fucking drive, the angrier I get. I want off his property, like now. I can’t believe I let my guard down. I can’t believe I willingly went back to his house. Never again.

∞∞∞

Jig lives really fucking far from my house. I’m halfway home, and my ire has died in direct competition with my arid mouth and trembling limbs. I’m in no shape for a marathon.

Besides, I walked right into that one. I knew from his reputation alone that our little interlude could never be more.

I mean, I don’t even want it to be more, right? Shit.

I don’t know what my reception will be when I get home, so I pull out my phone to grovel, stopping in my tracks when I find a text from Ben.

I’ve changed the locks. Your shit is on the front porch.

Alice:What? No, you can’t do this

Ben:I can, and I have. I’m sick of your shit

Alice:What am I supposed to do, Ben?

Ben:Ask your boy toy. He’s got connections

Blindly, I stare at the words before the inevitable fucking tears well. I never thought my own brother would forsake me, but here we are. My parents are rolling over in their graves, no doubt.

Dad’s most important lesson to us throughout our lives was that loyalty and family come first. Although I guess if you asked Ben, he would say that devotion was to an entirely different family altogether.

Passing a bus stop, I drop to the bench and rub my aching brow. I think I can catch this, and it’ll take me within blocks of the house, but I don’t have any money on me. My purse is still in Shawn’s car.

I try calling her, but she doesn’t answer, and with a sigh, I stare into nothing while I struggle with what to do.

I could go home and force my way in, but that will only create more strife. Even though I’m pissed at Jig, his words about letting my brother calm down make sense. He’ll come around; he’s just angry. A state of being that hasn’t changed in the years since our parents died.

I know I’m not exactly dealing with the grief either, but his constant lousy attitude is getting old. Would it kill him to smile? Go out every once in a while?

My phone buzzes, and I fumble with it in my pocket, hoping it’s Shawn telling me she can pick me up. Instead, it’s my uncle, Sal.

I haven’t spoken to Uncle Sal in three years. Not since the day of my parents’ funeral, but I remember his parting words while I stared at him numbly. “Family sticks together, Alice. You need me, you call.”

I didn’t get the chance to do more than nod before my brother intervened and Sal backed away rather than cause a scene. After that day, I respected my brother’s unspoken wish and stayed away, even though I’ve never been told the exact reason why.