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“I would’ve taken the ride if you had asked.” Silence was all he got in response. “Jack, is there even a fight this weekend?”
“Did I say it was this weekend?”
Picking up the note, Preacher reread it. No, it didn’t state when the fight was or when exactly she’d be back. “No.” He swore he heard an audible sigh come from her. “When’s the fight?”
“Next weekend. I just wanted to hang out for the week. I didn’t think you’d mind, baby.”
The word ‘baby’ had him grinding his teeth and rubbing his thumb over the scar that dissected his eyebrow. He dropped his hand when he almost rolled his eyes. “Jack.”
“Why don’t you ever call me anything but Jack?”
Preacher looked at the ceiling. She was trying to distract him from the real issue. “What would you like to be called, Jacqueline?” He listened to the silence. Biting the bullet, he expressed his feelings. “How about I call you the missing link, since you’re always MIA?” He was too damn tried to deal with her shit.
“I’m not always missing. You know where I’m at when I’m not in town.”
“Let me know when you get there. Please.”
“Sure thing.”
And the call hung up. Tossing the phone on the counter, he headed for the refrigerator for a beer. Yanking open the door, shit fell from the inside. The ketchup and mayo bottles bounced across the floor as the pickle jar toppled over, pouring its contents onto his boots and the floor. “Fuck!”
“Hey.”
Turning around at the sound of a voice, Preacher slipped on the wet wood. “Damn it!” Grabbing the countertop, he stared at Jack. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. Yes, he looked like hell. He’d been dealing with trainees all day. “What are you doing here?”
“I can leave if you want me too,” she snapped back.
“I thought you were headed to Reno and Viper,” Preacher said with more bite to his tone than he’d meant. He watched as she slammed her hands onto her hips, stomping one high-heeled foot. Letting out a sigh, he waited for her to answer him. Seconds ticked by.Tick tick tick.He could feel the second hand on his internal clock counting them down.
“I had just left.” It was a lie. She had called Viper, letting her know she was heading that way. Viper told her she had to go home, that she had to stop running from her life, and that her life was passing her by at rapid speed. Maybe Viper was right, but telling Preacher what she wanted wouldn’t make it happen. She moved here thinking things would be easier. All she’d managed was running to Reno at any sign of trouble between her and Preacher. She hadn’t held down a single job longer than a few months.
“I’m going to get a shower.”
“Preacher, wait.” Jack stepped in front of him. Squinting up her nose, she looked at his feet. “What’s all over your boots?”
“Pickles. You forgot to tighten the lid. Again.”
“Oh.” Without thinking, he reached up, rubbing the scar again. “You’re annoyed,” she mumbled.
Damn right, he was annoyed. He was tired, filthy, and because she couldn’t manage to close a damn jar properly, he smelled like pickles. And he hated pickles.
“Jack, what do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want?” he asked again. “What do you want to do with your life? What do you want from me? Do you have a goal other than being Viper’s sidekick?”
“That’s my best friend. How dare you ask me to stop hanging out with her.”
“I didn’t say that.” Pulling his shirt over his head, Preacher left her standing in the kitchen as he headed for the shower. “I asked if you have any other goal besides hanging out with her,” he said, continuing toward the bedroom.
“You’re just going to walk away?” Jack called after him.
“Yes, just like you keep doing.”
“Preacher!”
“When I get out of the shower, I expect an answer, Jack.” He stopped and turned back around. “I expect an answer to all my questions.”
