Page 58 of Our Elliana

“How about lunch, then home?” Noah offers, and I nod in acquiescence.

“Tristan? Any suggestions for a take-out order?”

“Strongest quality would probably be the Blue Crab. It’s the best quickie seafood in town.”

“No seafood,” Jackson pipes up out of the blue. I wait for him to say why, but he doesn’t.

“What do you have against seafood? Is this why you wouldn’t eat my shrimp scampi that time?” Tristan asks, sounding offended.

Still, all Jackson does is issue another harsh headshake as if he’s given his final word on the matter. We end up calling in an order for some Italian, and I request four varieties of pasta with four different sauces for us to share, keeping my heated seats on for him and the blower on high.

Jackson vanishes the minute we arrive in the garage, and initially, I’m not bothered by this. I realize he needs to change out of those wet clothes, so he won’t get sick. But when he doesn’t reappear, Noah stares upstairs in the general vicinity of Jackson’s room.

“He’s not coming down to eat, is he?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Think I’ll take some up to him,” Noah volunteers, but I grab onto his hand.

“I’ll do it.”

I take a couple more bites, then carefully balancing his plate, troop up to check on Jackson.

TWENTY-FIVE: Congrats, Kid, You’re Legal

JACKSON

When I hear that fucking knock on my door, I almost rip into whoever it is. I’m so fried that I can hardly see straight. Can’t they tell that I’ve had enough for one day? Can’t they tell that I need to be alone?

But then I hear the soft melodious pitch of Elliana’s voice.

“Jackson? I brought you a plate.”

I don’t know why the likelihood of her doing this didn’t occur to me, but it didn’t. And I can’t pretend she’s not there. Not out of some duty to her as my employer, but because I refuse to be any ruder to her today than I already have been.

Fucking Christ, I can’t believe I let it get as far as I did.

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