Page 175 of First in Line

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Evangeline

“So, how was your session with the therapist?” Jackson asks.

I prick a green bean with my fork, bring it to my lips, and answer, “It was fine.”

“Do you feel like you’re getting better?”

I chew for the longest time, reducing the bean to fine mush before swallowing. “I don’t know. The antidepressants make me numb.”

“At least they kicked in.”

I nod, then eat another one, this time with a small piece of rotisserie chicken.

It’s been two months since that tragic night. Two months since Ophelia died. I’ve been trying so hard to forgive Jackson for abandoning us, but I just can’t. He knew what I was going through. He knew the risks. And he decided that leaving for a week, to go race on the other side of the world, was acceptable.

I’m not sure if it’s guilt or genuine care, but he’s made an effort to be here now. He only goes to the Altron facility in the mornings, then returns to spend the afternoons at home. And he’s skipped two races to stay with me instead. The only thingsthat force him away are his sponsor’s engagements. He could get into serious trouble otherwise and owe a lot of money.

But that’s not enough. I want him gone, out of this house. Just for a few days. I’m going mad having him here every single day, watching over me like a hawk, judging what’s left on my plate, asking me questions I don’t want to answer.

He’s almost done with his dinner when his phone rings. Swallowing his mouthful, he looks at the caller ID. “I have to take this, sorry,” he says, getting up from the stool. “Hey, Rosie,” he greets as he walks away. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

I push my food around, vaguely listening to his side of the conversation. When his mindless wandering leads him farther into the living space, I see an opportunity I can’t pass up. I grab my plate, slide down my stool, and walk to the garbage can. It opens on its own when I pass a hand over it, and I dump what’s left on my plate.

I’m not hungry, but Jackson always forces me to finish my food. For my sake, apparently. Before he can notice, I return to my seat. I wait for him to come back, dismissing the twinge of culpability in my chest. The deception feels wrong, but I just can’t eat right now.

His gaze lands on my empty plate, and his small, proud smile does nothing to alleviate my guilt. He rewards me with a peck on the temple, then sits back on his stool.

“What was that about?” I ask as he resumes eating.

“The team principal. She wanted to talk about Monaco.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I’m not going.”

Frustration has my lips tightly pinched together. I take my plate and walk to the sink. “You should go,” I say.

“What?”

“Monaco. You should go. It’s an important race.”

“It’s alright, I can skip it.”

“You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

“I want to be here for you.”

I slam the plate in the sink a little too hard, accidentally causing it to break.

“Evie, what the hell!” he blurts out.

“I wanted you to be herebefore,” I remind him with a glare. “I all but got on my knees, begging you to be here for me. But you wouldn’t because you had to race. And now, it’s too late, Jackson.”

He looks disheartened at my words, grief twisting his face. “Evie, you know how sorry I am for—”