Shawn Delaney Basilman folded her last pair of jeans and put them in the suitcase. Pushing back a lock of ash-blond hair, she sighed. Rod was standing behind her, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed, jaw locked. She could feel the heat of his stare like a hot brand against her skin.
“We’ve been over this, Rod. Jackson is coming home. I haven’t seen my brother in almost a year. Not only that, but I promised Gran I’d be there.”
“Your family. Always more important to you than our family.” Rod placed an ugly emphasis on the words your and our, making them sound more like curses than simple pronouns.
“Gran isn’t getting any younger. She helped raise me, helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t have magick if it weren’t for her. What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t keep my promise to her?”
“Convenient that it comes right when we’re on the edge of splitting up.”
“That isn’t fair. This trip has been scheduled for weeks, since right after we knew they were sending Jackson home. Besides, we agreed that we need time apart. It’s what’s best for both of us.”
“Best for you, you mean.” Rod scowled at her, keeping his place in the doorway. “You walk out of here today, Shawn, and there is no us.”
Loss pierced her, sharp and cold, but she closed the suitcase before turning to face him. “That is your choice. I am willing to make this a trial separation. A time to think things through, and hopefully come back to reconnect.”
“Reconnect,” he snapped. Then his voice gentled, dropped to a wheedling plea. “If you really want to reconnect, you won’t leave things like this.”
“That isn’t going to work. Not this time.”
His face went slack with an injured expression. “What isn’t going to work?”
“The guilt-trip. Blaming me for everything that’s gone wrong between us. For your affairs.”
“I haven’t —” He stopped and stared at the floor for a moment, his jaw working, before he answered softly. “Come on, Shawnie. We can get through this. But not if you run away.”
She snapped the locks closed and hefted the suitcase, unsurprised when he made no move to help. “You know, maybe a lot of this is my fault,” she said.
Rod grinned, straightening away from the door frame. But when she continued, the grin faded.
“I let you convince me that I was imagining things. That even if you were playing around, it was because I wasn’t giving you enough, wasn’t sexy or talented, or smart enough. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because no matter how much I give, you always want more, don’t you?”
She stepped around him and moved down the hall into the tiny living room. He followed.
“You’re crazy, Shawn. Just making shit up,” Rod yelled. “You know I’ve never even looked at another woman.”
A glance out the front window showed her that Isabelle Ramirez, her best friend and fellow coven-member, was already waiting for her. The windows of her 1958 Chevy Impala were rolled down to catch any available breeze, and the Everly Brothers wailed faintly from the aftermarket stereo about how much love hurts.
Shawn’s lips quirked in an almost-smile. Izzy was a good friend. She looked at Rod. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “How about I ask the cards?”