Page 93 of Our Elliana

“I’m not hurt,” she pants, out of breath, but I don’t believe her. The kid apparently doesn’t either because he’s palpating her limbs and torso so methodically that it’s like he’s following a medical checklist. “Tanya shot at the roof rather than at me. She did it as if there was something floating up there above my head. She kept doing it, over and over, then turned the last bullet on herself. She’s dead.”

The rest of us speak over one another.

“Are you sure?” Noah.

“Fucking Christ.” Jackson.

“Give me your hand.” Me.

Elle merely shakes her head, glassy-eyed. Noah rips his sleeve off and uses it to wipe her face clean. Only then do tears overflow her eyes to trickle down her cheeks. I copy the kid and rip at the bottom hem of my shirt to offer it to her like a tissue.

“How can you be all right if you’re crying?” Jackson asks, tucking some hair behind her ear.

I want to mutter, “Keep telling me you’re okay. Don’t ever stop.” But I don’t. She has enough on her plate.

Regardless, I appreciate it more than I can say when she reassures us with a dismissive wave.

“I didn’t even know that I was crying.” She sniffles audibly. “But I’m all right. Or I will be. I promise.”

Noah chooses then to kneel and belt his arms around her. And despite it not being easy, Jackson and I wedge ourselves around her, as well, him at her front, and me from the opposite side. In this instant, I can’t imagine being separated from her. Maybe not ever again.

I doubt any of us can.

“I love you,” Elliana whisper-sobs. “I’m in love with each one of you. Allowing your contracts to lapse was how I was going to tell you. I wanted to offer you all a real relationship instead of going on in the role of employer and employees.”

“Or client and contractors.” Jackson’s gaze is so unguarded as he speaks that I have to glance away. It reveals much more about him than I’ve been privy to till this point, and right now, I can’t take any additional revelations or witness someone else becoming emotional.

“Exactly,” she confirms, her voice breaking halfway through. “So, are you all okay with that?”

“Yes,” we reply in concert. Our answers are so perfectly synched that it’s as if we practiced it, as if Noah and I had trained with Jackson to be in unison. Sirens resonate through the night off in the distance, and we remain there together, the four of us unified and unbreakable.

Elliana’s safe. I chant this inside my head on repeat. It’s necessary for my sanity. And for my soul. Elliana’s safe. Elliana’s safe.

I have my eyes closed, but there’s a flashing bright enough to be visible despite this. A caravan of police cars, lights blazing, has arrived. And I don’t even mind.

From now on, as long as these three people are with me, I can’t imagine minding much of anything.

Not even Jackson.

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