Page 125 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
Back at the house, the wake lasted for an eternity. Finally, well after nightfall, the house emptied, and I was left alone with my grief and a grim fiancé who looked exactly as wrecked as I felt.
His rough black beard was back. His hair had obviously only been finger combed. He was restless and edgy, a dark thundercloud of mood over his head. Though he wore a suit and tie, he seemed more of the Beast than I’d ever seen him.
“Let’s sit down,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the sofa. “We need to talk.”
Surprised, I sat and folded my hands in my lap while I waited for him to sit, too. That moment never came. He stood looking at the floor, his hands hanging loose at his sides and slightly trembling.
“Jackson?”
He glanced up at me. His eyes were so dark. Something about the look in them made my skin crawl.
Spooked, I said, “What is it?”
He moistened his lips. From the inside pocket of his coat he slowly withdrew a set of folded papers. “We don’t have to draw this out any longer than necessary. I wanted to wait until after . . .”
He swallowed, moistened his lips again, then started anew. “I knew you had so much on your plate. I wanted to wait until after the funeral to give you this.”
He held out the papers. “It’s my copy of our contract.”
Taking the papers, I furrowed my brow in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Jackson dragged a hand through his hair. He loosened his tie, then went to stand at the front window and gazed out at the night like he was no longer holding out hope of finding something he’d lost. His voice low and rough, he asked, “You didn’t think I’d force you to go through with it now, did you?”
When I was silent, stunned because I thought I understood what he meant, he turned to me with a look so anguished it made my heart skip a beat. “Please tell me you don’t think I’m the kind of man who would do that.”
I slowly rose. The papers shook like mad in my hands. “We made an agreement,” I said hoarsely, not recognizing my own voice. “Your inheritance—”
“It hasn’t been about my inheritance for me for a while now, Bianca,” he interrupted harshly, his eyes glittering. “Honestly, I’m not sure it ever was.”
It hung there between us, breathtakingly raw. I whispered, “Jax.”
Something in my expression caused him visible pain. He turned away, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and bowed his head. “I’ll have all your things brought back here. I’m sorry you had to let go of your house. The timing was just”—his laugh was hollow—“shit.”
I wanted to say something—anything—but words wouldn’t come. Jackson was letting me out of our deal. I didn’t have to marry him.
He was going to lose everything.
Finally I came to my senses. A deal was a deal after all, and I wasn’t about to renege on my end of the bargain, no matter what circumstances had changed. “I can’t let you do that,” I said, and dropped the papers on the coffee table. They landed with a dull slap that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
Jackson turned from the window. He looked at the papers, then at my face. Then he crossed the room in a few long strides and picked up the contract. He ripped it in half with one abrupt, savage motion. “Don’t you get it? You’re not obligated to me anymore! You’re free! Go live your life!”
His voice was choked with emotion. His eyes were wild like I’d never seen them. I put my hand over my thundering heart.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, instantly contrite, taking a step back. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole. I know this is the worst day of your life. I didn’t mean to—I can’t—”
He cursed again, whirling away, and headed for the front door. “Keep the ring,” he said over his shoulder. “Hock it. Throw it away. Whatever you want. I’ll send all your things tomorrow. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
He opened the door and was gone before I could even decide if the words forming on my lips were “Thank you” or “Don’t go.”
The screen door slammed shut behind him.
True to his word, Jackson had all my things delivered to Mama’s house the next day in the same boxes I’d packed them into a lifetime ago. I spent a few days in a weird kind of limbo, puttering around aimlessly, trying to decide if I wanted to sell the house or keep it, before I gave up pressuring myself to make any big decisions and retired to the sofa in the front parlor, where I stayed for several more days, rising only to scrounge from the casseroles and leftovers crammed in the fridge.
I didn’t allow myself to think about Jackson. There was a dangerous ache under my breastbone when I got too close to even picturing his face, so I shoved the memory of him and our short, magical time at Moonstar Ranch down into a dark corner of my heart and concentrated on the business of being depressed.
Eeny didn’t let that continue long before barging through the front door and scolding me to within an inch of my life.
“Get off your behind, girl, and get back
