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It was his turn to stop walking. “You’ve lost the right to ask me that question.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry—” I shook my head and rounded the final corner to the entrance. I ducked under the police tape lining the gate and made a beeline for my black on black custom motorcycle parked a few spaces down.
Jackson appeared outside the gate a few seconds behind me. “Rebekah, wait!”
I ignored him and slipped my helmet over my head, revving my engine and pulled away from the curb before he could take a step.I couldn’t wait for him. Distance is best. Distance is best. The mantra played and replayed in my head. Had I really just asked Jackson if he was sleeping alone? What right did I have to ask him that? I was the one who threw him out. He had every right to date. He could sleep with whoever he wanted, and I’d told him that many times.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I bobbed through the Quarter until I crossed the intersection of Dauphine and Saint Louis Street. I slowed to a stop in front of my house and slipped my helmet off, cutting the engine. To my surprise, the sound didn’t stop. Dismounting, I turned around and found Jackson parking his truck on the street behind me.
“What are you doing here? Go home,” I demanded, enunciating each word so he could read my lips from inside, but he still shut the engine off and got out.
“I was alone,” he said, stepping onto the sidewalk.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“In bed. When Natalie called. I was in bed alone.”
“You drove all the way here to tell me that?”
He shrugged. “It needed to be said.”
“Jack, you don’t have to be alone.”
“Oh really?” He folded his arms over his chest.
This was going to be harder than I thought. I could already feel the armor around my heart beginning to crack. “I didn’t mean that I’d be there. I meant that you’re free to date. You’re free to fall in love. Whatever you want. My lawyer has the divorce papers all ready to go. I’ve already signed them. All you have to do is—”
“Stop,” he snapped. “I don’t want a divorce.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Why not? You deserve to be happy. Why chain yourself to me?”
“Because I love my wife,” he said. “We may not be together, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
“Maybe us working together isn’t such a good idea.”
He rolled his eyes and walked towards my front door, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. “I’m assuming you haven’t changed the locks.”
“Jackson, stop! Don’t go in there,” I said, racing him to the doorknob. I hadn’t changed the locks or adjusted the wards against him. I wasn’t ready for that yet. But I didn’t want him to know that either.
He slipped the key in the lock and looked up at me. “Why not?”
“You of all people should know better than to walk into a witch’s house without checking for magic. I’ve got the wards up. If you force your way inside, you’ll set them off.”
He grumbled something under his breath and took a step back. “Fine. Say the password and I’ll make us some breakfast.”
“I don’t want breakfast,” I said, despite the hollow feeling in my gut. I hadn’t eaten anything or slept really in over twenty-four hours.
“Too bad, open the door.”
Laying my palm flat on the frame, I took a deep breath and muttered, “Butterscotch.”
Jackson snorted. Butterscotch wasn’t a magical word. It had been my uncle Viktor’s favorite candy. I hated it, and the only time I talked about it was to say I hated it. So, I assumed that no one would ever guess that I’d chosen it for a password, and I’d never forget it either.
The magic in my voice resonated through the wood and the lock clicked open. I tossed Jackson back his keys and tried to close the door in his face, but he was too quick. He pushed past me and headed for the kitchen at the back of the house.
The entire place smelled like stale Chinese food and spilled vodka. Both were still sitting out on my desk opposite the stairs. The roundtable to the right of the door was littered with the pamphlets I’d knocked over at some point in the night before I’d gotten Nadia’s call and the seating area to the left was covered in blankets, pillows, and discarded clothes.
There were books stacked on the coffee table and the shelves lining the walls were a chaotic mess of magical tomes and enchanted knickknacks. It’d been two weeks since my last paying client walked through the door, and two weeks since I’d cleaned up after myself. At least the kitchen was hidden behind the hallway and staircase.
