25 | Panna Cotta

Jackson still wasn't accepting the nuggets.

The last I remembered, the living room wasn't this stuffy and dark. Now, the curtains were drawn, dust formed a thin coat on top of furniture and whenever no one was around, silence was the king of the place that was the Dales' room. This atmosphere reminded me of the tension between Jessica and Lawrence. They were not at each other's throats, but I would never know what they were like without me around.

I had advised Jess to allow herself to get to know Lawrence more, so she could decide what was best for him. Also, I had told Lawrence to give Jess a chance and be patient with her because apparently, her father was a cop and her mother a judge. I had been with them for the whole weekend, making sure they cleared unwanted grudges. At the same time, I had tried make time for Mitch, too.

Hectic weekend. Even more hectic work day. Maira was in the kitchen, doing her work from home, Brennan was with his father, discussing who knew what and Jackson sat before me, declining my snack offer.

And the nuggets were getting cold.

"Ollie? Sweets? Are you even listening?" Jackson peered at my face, waving a hand over it. I was sprawled on the couch and he was on a rolling stool, book stretched over his lap. A hideous textbook.

I made a sound equivalent to both a growl and groan. My hand was draped over my eyes, shielding my sight from everything. "I have my eyes closed, jackass, not my ears covered."

"Well, you have to pay attention," said he, "You were the one who first suggested this, remember?"

I wished I didn't remember. I had asked a tutoring lesson from him, involving trigonometry and now I was starting to regret it. I had figured that if it were Jackson, then maybe learning things would be more tolerable.

"You're not doing it right. You're boring me," I grumbled, turning my body to the side. Sleep would sound perfect right now.

"No, you're just not cooperating." I felt his fingers trying to unlatch my arm from my face but I refused to budge.

"Fine," he blew out a breath, "We'll take a break. From doing absolutely nothing." I heard the scraping of his seat as he stood up and went to wherever he wanted to. Probably in the kitchen. That ungrateful nugget hater. I bet the plate of chicken nuggets were still on the coffee table, untouched.

I lowered my arm from my eyes just an inch and crept my other arm forward to steal a nugget. Successfully, I pinched the little beauty between my fingers and shot it at my mouth.

Savory, crunchy goodness. Why didn't Jackson ever want one?

Footsteps. Soft, due to the effect of the carpet. Jackson was back. Crunching. I heard crunching. And the smell . . . Chips? I was surprised that bastard wasn't fat.

I sensed him take his seat again. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into my hair. A kiss. Yes. Neither us seemed to be much affected if one kisses the other. I kissed him once on the cheek. His favorite spot was my head.

"What's your mom doing, anyway?" I asked him. No response. Just chip-eating.

How rude.

"Jackson Dale, don't get crumbs on my forehead," I chastised. "Answer my question, dumb butt."

He finally replied, "I'm not dumb. And Mom's doing plans for the anniversary party. Remember the one she asked you to cook in?"

Anniversary . . . Anniversary party. "That's in three days," I realized. I still couldn't wrap my head in the fact that Maira Dale was going to have me cook for a celebration, and she's going to put me in a dress. In a horrible, frilly dress.

"Yep," said Jackson, "She's crazy about the planning. Originally, Dad hired a party planner, but Mom wants to do everything her way. She flipped out yesterday because the decor colors went jumbled."

"Sounds like a reality show. And Walter? No, God, don't tell me Brennan's going to have a song number that night."

"Sweets, I don't think Dad would let Brennan sing Happy Birthday in front of the guests. Or his teenage pop songs. He'll just be playing the piano for classical music, I'm sure," he assured me. More chips eating. The nuggets decreased in temperature.

"But what he's doing right now with Dad is just business matters. Or stupidity. Either works. Brennan's going to be the next president for Dale Studios after all." His fingers traced my arm. Goosebumps went into full action mode.

"What about you?" I asked.

"What about me?"

"Don't you want to run Dale Studios, in the future? Does Brennan really want to do it?"

It took him a while to answer. "No pressure on Brennan's part, really. For Dad, the next successor for Dale Studios isn't necessarily his son. Just someone he could trust with the company. And I suck at business things - the whole black tie stuff. Not for me."

I thought about how Montana was heir to Reynold Records. Everyone knew my father wouldn't let any stranger take care of the company. It was passed through the Reynolds lineage, and he wasn't going to break that tradition. Montana wanted to do more than that, though. Certainly, I would never fit the job if I was given the responsibility and I didn't know what Harmony though about it.

And if Dad had a chance, he would take charge of Reynold Records forever.

"You have a drawn up plan for the future?" I questioned him. I still didn't let my arm move from my closed eyes, even though Jackson was trying to tickle it. No, jackass, not much ticklish there.

"How could I?" Said Jackson, "Future can change anytime. I could go anywhere."

"True."

With the contract from Dad, the deal with the Dales and other conflicts, things were unpredictable now. I couldn't even tell what would happen each and every day.

"Ollie?" Jackson called.

No sound from me. I pretended to snore.

"Oliver."

Ah, no. Still none.

"Ollie."

No.

"Sweets!"

Sighing, I shifted my feet on the couch. One of my hobbies included annoying Jackson and admiring his nickname for me. I moved my other arm to feel for his hand. And once I had it, I squeezed his fingers in mine. "Yes?"

"You could get out of this contract, you know. Your Dad's." As soon as I heard the words 'contract' and 'Dad' I dropped his hand and fidgeted with mine. He didn't seem to take notice of it when he continued, "You could stop all of this. Tell my parents. We'll get you out of that contract, I promise. I'll help you out."

He didn't understand. It wasn't that easy getting out of it. He didn't know.

"We'll help you. Get you a lawyer. Mom and Dad will understand. Ollie, you can't be stuck here like this," he pleaded.

I opened my lips to speak, "He has things on me. My mother. The shop. We'll be ruined if I don't –"

He cut me off, "My family has that much money. We'll fund your shop. We'll help you. You just have to stop your Dad. You don't deserve this, sweets. I want you to stop it."

"My father's a powerful man, Jackson –"

" – and so is mine –"

" – even if you manage to get me out of this, it will only makes things worse. He'll have something against us. Imagine it, what things he could tell the media. Even if your family tries to defend me, reputation will be destroyed. I can't do that to you."

"I don't care. Just hear me out, Sweets. Brennan will be with me, too, as far as he could go. We could help you. And you're his daughter. He would never go that far to hurt you."

"Yes, I'm his daughter, who he left with his ex-wife. He doesn't care for us. He'll do whatever he can because he's that desperate."

"Don't think like that."

I really appreciated what he was willing to do for me, but he was hoping for the impossible. If he was going to fight with me on that, he should fight himself.

At long last, I pried my arm away from my eyes and blinked at the sight. Textbooks scattered on the opposite chairs and just as I expected, the plate of nuggets were alone, looking plain against the bag of chips. The room was as dull as I saw it upon entering. I sat up, tucking my legs in front of me and burying my head on my knees.

Darkness again. Echoes, echoes in my mind. Memories. Stupid memories.

'That's it. Get the boy to like you and you can get information from him.'

Shut up, Dad. Go away with your stupid opinions.

'No, you could do it. You could seduce him. Ask him to let you in Walter's office. Get plans from him. Remember what happens if you don't follow.'

How long? Why, how long will you give me?

'I have to have it by the end of the month.'

Get your fat ass out of my mind.

Monday. Monday. Monday. It all happened in Monday. I was summoned to the building after work. It was already late night. Barely anyone was around in the offices. Ezra had been asleep on her desk. I remembered Dad had sunglasses on to hide his ugly eye bags.

He thought the plan to use Jackson was ingenious. I thought I was deeper in his clutches than I expected.

Breathe. Breathe. I dug my nails on my knees, breathing heavily. Not Jackson. He wasn't going to be involved. I'm not going to let it. I'm not going to tell him.

But I still have to do what my father said.

"Sweets?" I felt a hand on my head. Jackson began to gently stroke my hair. I swatted his hand away. Not my ombré hair. Not now.

"If you want, we'll talk about it another time," he said softly.

"What about never?" I muttered.

"What was that?" He leaned closer to me. I didn't move. He nuzzled into my head and kissed it a few times.

Gross.

Footsteps. Now, who could that be? I looked up instantly, to decide whether I should have an insult ready, or a greeting. As a result, the back of my head collided with Jackson's face and he stumbled backwards, hand rubbing his nose. "What the hell?" He exclaimed but I paid no attention.

Meanwhile, Brennan was by the doorway, laughing hysterically. "Chocolates," I said, assessing his outfit, "A face like that should come with a warning, Brennan."

"You almost gave me a nosebleed!" I turned to see Jackson frowning up at me. An urge to laugh all of a sudden popped, but I stifled my chuckles.

"Warning?" Attention now back to Brennan. "You mean a warning for the intense sexiness overload." He wiggled his hips side to side, showing off his furry belt and ripped pants. I stared at him in utter disgust. I didn't even want to ask about the sparkly vest and shoes lighting up.

His hair was gelled up - oh, Castiel help me.

"You repel me," I put on a blank face.

"What are you wearing?" Jackson scanned his brother, having the same expression as I. Brennan's smugness went up because of the question.

"This," he modeled a pose for us. Gross. "Is my costume for the new music video's trailer. Just stretching it out. You like it?"

How about a no? If this was just the trailer, what about the actual music video? The things Hollywood came up with were beyond the comprehension of my mind. Jackson didn't say a word and so didn't I.

"You just can't recognize true art," complained Brennan. He trudged inside the living room and spotted the chicken nuggets. "Ooh, nuggets," he popped one into his mouth.

At least he liked my nuggets.

"What are you holding?" Jackson asked. For the first time, I saw the glass of a red beverage Brennan was holding. It had thin foam on top, and judging by the droplets, it was a cold drink. Cherry, or strawberry maybe?

"Dad's drink!" Brennan's eyebrows wagged. Realization and horror settled on Jackson's face as he stared at the glass. Meanwhile, I was clueless what this 'dad's drink' was.

Brennan seemed to notice my curiosity. He held out the glass to me, and gave a tantalizing smile. I was about to take the glass when Jackson pushed me aside. I tried to push him away and take the glass for myself but he got hold of my wrists.

"You don't want to drink that, sweets, I promise," his face held alarm. I still didn't see what the big deal was.

The older brother groaned, "Oh, come on, Jackson. Let her drink. Just this once."

"Never!"

Jackson looked at me, "Brennan's offering you a random drink and you have no idea what it is made of. Do you really trust him with that?"

Brennan protested in defense, "Don't listen to him, Ollie!"

"Jackson," I held onto my scolding tone. I took Jackson's face and turned it so I could look into his eyes. "Let me." There came an evil laugh from Brennan. Dejectedly, Jackson let go of me and Brennan practically shoved the glass under my nose.

I cautiously sniffed the top of it. "This doesn't have alcohol, does it? Spiked?"

Brennan grinned broadly, "No, it has something better."

Oh, well. I brought the brim to my lips and sipped. Brennan watched in wonder, and Jackson was ready to shoot out of his seat to snatch the drink from me. I raised both my eyebrows as the liquid touched my tongue. It had a tangy taste to it, sweet and prickly. Fairly okay.

As I drank some more, Jackson stood up, "I'm going to get water."

But his brother gripped his shirt and told him to sit back down. "Milk's the best medicine for it, you nerd," Brennan gave Jackson a disappointed look. Milk?

Their eyes began to widen into saucers as I gulped down half of the glass. Wondering why they looked so surprised, I set down the drink onto the coffee table and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

"It was good," I shrugged nonchalantly. A few points for whoever made that drink.

"What!" Brennan screeched. Madly, he dashed towards me and took my mouth, prying it open and looking onto my tongue. Then, he looked back at the glass, half-emptied.

"Is your tongue immortal or your tastebuds are just numb?" he said incredulously.

"If her tastebuds are numb, nerd, she wouldn't cook that well," Jackson argued. He turned to me, "I'm willing to bet her tongue is powerful."

"Your tongue's inhuman!" Brennan pointed at me. He took the glass, sniffed it as if to confirm something and set it down again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said slowly. And these two were on about . . . what? Was this another prank of theirs, or was there something they were not telling me?

Brennan suddenly screamed. He took the glass, hopped over the coffee table and ran out the room, yelling, "Dad! Ollie's immune to your drink! Dad! She's an alien!"

My eyebrows furrowed. Alien? I turned to Jackson, who looked just as appalled. "What's wrong with him?" I muttered.

"Ollie," he began carefully, "Was the drink spicy to you?"

"Yeah, it was." Really spicy, I forgot to mention. It was a disaster to my tongue, but I could barely react. No, it wasn't because I didn't have a soul.

"Sweets! That was Dad's drink. He makes it just for his enjoyment. He'd drink up a fourth of that and won't bat and eyelash. If Brennan and I drink a fourth of that, we would die. We don't know what Dad puts in it, but it burns our tongues."

"Oh, it burns!" We heard Brennan shout from the kitchen. I guessed he took a sip to see if it was really spicy. Followed by his screams of agony was Maira's curses against her husband and Walter laughing cruelly.

"And Jackson," I smiled slyly, "Didn't you know? I might like sweet stuff, but I'm also a sucker for spice. I'm – I guess you could call it – 'immune' to spicy things. Most spicy things. I guess I got trained when I was four, when Mom fed me chili, but I'm not sure."

"Y – you?" he stuttered.

"Yes," I nodded, "We have this spice contest at the school fair sometimes, and I get to win every time. Even had a chunk of wasabi. That drink tastes good, by the way, I have to thank your Dad."

"Wow. I didn't know you had this superpower."

"It's a superpower?"

The things you learned every day.

"It's kind of hot, you know. You immune to that."

I glowered at him, "Is that supposed to be a pun, jackass?"

My attention was grabbed when Walter and Brennan filed into the room, Brennan hiding behind his father's back. Brennan's face seemed to be doused in milk and his tongue was out as he panted. Walter looked like me during Halloween – overjoyed. The glass of spice juice was in his hand.

"I heard you had half of this, Ollie? Is that true?" Walter held up the glass.

"Immune to spicy things since I was five."

"I didn't know that! Why didn't I know that?" Brennan exclaimed from behind Walter.

"My, my, my, kudos to you, Oliver," Walter began to down the rest of the drink – casually. "My sons are such sissies. Finally, I found someone who could stand this drink."

"That drink is an abomination!" said Jackson.

Walter just laughed and went out, Brennan in tow. I mimicked Walter's smile and leaned my head against Jackson's shoulder. Jackson seemed to be fuming silently. I couldn't blame him. I pressed a light kiss on his cheek before leaving and saying that I have to cook dinner.

♫ ♫ ♫

Jackson watched me and initiated conversation after conversation the whole time I cooked dinner. He even became my chef assistant, the sweet little things. He fetched me all the kitchen tools, handed me the salt, tucked my hair away from my face and cleaned up here and there. But it wasn't so sweet anymore when I accidentally dropped sugar on him. Sort of. He had the most devastated look when the sugar got inside his shirt.

As Jackson disappeared to take a shower and keep ants off him, Maira came to the kitchen and helped me make tonight's dessert – panna cotta. Thankfully, I supervised everything so that it turned out untainted. I even let Jackson be the taste tester.

Dinner time. Walter and Brennan fooled around with the spice drink – 'spice shake' as Walter liked to call it. At times, I saw Walter slip some of it on Brennan's dessert, and Brennan would tattle it to Maira, and Maira would tell Walter to stop. But he didn't. In my seat, Jackson would subtly touch me, taking hold of my fingers or bumping his leg against mine.

Also, under the table, I read Mitch's texts to me. She retold the story of her father seen in public with a Twilight book and how her mother threatened to disown him. My fingers flew over my phone, as I typed back a story of how I was badass with my spicy tongue.

After dinner, we left the dishes to Maira and we moved to the living room where Walter set up a fireplace. Why he did that, I was clueless. Brennan sat down on the rug, curling up the best he could with his tight vest and I took a seat on one of the chairs and leaned back, resting my hands on the arms.

Jackson made himself comfortable on his stool next to me. He seemed to be fond of that rolling stool. A stool with wheels.

Walter took one side of the love seat. We all were silent except for Brennan's yapping until Maira came and took the seat beside her husband.

"So, how's the anniversary planning going?" asked Walter as he massaged Maira's hands. True love, right there.

"You should know!" Maira gasped, "You bastard, it's your company's anniversary not mine."

"Mom's got a point," Brennan pointed out.

"Son, it's not my fault your tongue is weak. And I just want to know what preparations need to be taken care of. How many checks do I have to write?" said Walter. Maira chuckled and bumped her shoulder on his. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Well, I have the guest list to make. I was wondering who else you want to invite?"

Walter let out a laugh, "You make sure the Parkers, Yang, Ellis and Reynolds are there. Yes, especially Grant. He'd have a heart attack to see he's invited. But I leave no one behind."

I froze at the mention of my father. His words came rushing in, Use the boy.

I said, shut up, Dad.

Jackson must have noticed my tension because he took my hand. I looked at him and he gave a small smile. I returned it reluctantly.

"Grant Reynolds? Are you sure?" Maira spoke suddenly.

"Of course."

"What's he got against you anyway, Dad?" Brennan asked. I almost strangled him there and probably pour spice shake on his butt crack. No, bad Brennan, you don't ask those questions and get away with it.

Walter turned pensive for a while. In the lit fire, he seemed depressed thinking about my father. But I was curious, too. What could have Walter down to receive that much harbored hate from Dad? The same hate that brought me here?

"There was a time," Walter heaved out a puff of air, "When we weren't enemies. Just friends. Best friends, in fact."

Brennan sucked in a breath quite melodramatically.

"To make it simple why we were torn apart, it was because of a girl."

Another gasp from Brennan. Jackson and I sat attentive. "Mom?" Brennan's eyes widened at Maira. She shook her head in reply.

Walter explained further, "No, it wasn't Maira. I met your mother in college. This is a high school drama, okay? Anyway there was this girl – "

"Was it Glenda Reynolds?" suggested Jackson, leaning forward a bit. He was referring to my 'stepmother'. Or at least my sisters' stepmother.

Walter frowned, "No, God no."

"Raquel?" It was Brennan this time. He mentioned my mother, too. Another mental mauling for Brennan.

Walter looked surprised, "You know Raquel?"

Brennan rolled his eyes, "She's my girlfriend's mother. Know people, Dad."

"Well," he dismissed the thought, "We knew Raquel, before, too. But she was not that girl. Raquel was – what do you call it these days? Queen Bee? Ah, yes that girl. She was the most popular at our school."

My hand covered my gaping lips. My mother? That kind of girl (which I thought only existed in movies)? Montana-kind of girl?

"So, without any more interruptions," Walter shot his sons a look, "This girl I'm talking about was named Elise. We were a trio then – Grant, Elise and I. Inseparable."

Another interruption from Brennan. He couldn't just sit still, could he, "Where's this woman now?"

Walter said it straightforwardly, no beating around the bush, "She's dead."

A thick quickness ruled over us. The crackling fire made it seem peaceful, but the tension was all around felt. I looked at Maira, who didn't seem fazed about Walter talking about the topic. She was gazing down on their intertwine fingers, a somber expression on her face.

My guess would be that Dad and Walter were involved in this 'death', maybe not directly.

"As I said, we were a trio. Inseparable. But usual teenage problem, Grant and I liked the same girl – Elise. No one would mention it, but tension would be there. And honestly, our roles were reversed before. I was more of the moody envious guy and Grant was popular among everyone. We went along fine, but there was only someone who would be the constant topic of our fights."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this.

"Then times changed. The three of us grew apart. Elise became the most distant and Grant and I didn't know what was happening. We saw her scars on the arms one day. Weeks after that, she became the same again, but she hid the scars. She started playing with both of us, giving us mixed signals. Played with our emotions. We had a huge blown up argument. Grant and I confronted Elise, told her to choose between us. She stormed off on us. She said we didn't understand."

Walter paused. Like the dreaded pause nobody wanted to encounter. We all knew what happened next.

"The next day she was found dead. Suicide."

More silence. It was so loud. I had to lean back at the information I was taking in. So this was their back story? Because of a girl? Dad grew a grudge because of what happened a long time ago. It didn't make sense.

And I couldn't believe that in the years, my parents never told me about this.

Jackson was still holding my hand. I felt him squeeze it. "So that's why Grant's so against you?" he asked the question I didn't have the nerve to ask.

Walter looked wistful, "Most of the part, yes. But when I put up a company that competed against his, I think he had that hate directed there. Dale Studios was constantly rising on top of Reynold Records after all. He blamed me for her death as much as he blamed himself."

"Whoa," Brennan had his eyes wide.

"But that wasn't the end of everything," said Walter, "We didn't see each other after high school. And in college, I met Maira and she put happiness back into my life. God – that sounded cheesy, but it's true. Soon, I got word that Grant married one of our old classmates."

Mom.

"And with all the things he has against you and your company, you're not striking back?" asked Brennan.

"It was an old grudge I'm willing to let go. I already moved on, but it seems like Grant won't let it go. I don't want to burden him more by turning this into a full-fledged war between us. Someday, he'll have a wake-up call. Something that will set him free. And when that happens, I'll be happy to help him."

Walter Dale. A wise man. He seemed to have been through a lot, but now he found himself happy. Dad wasn't. He carried the bitterness in him stupidly.

I guessed I knew now where my supreme idiocy came from.

To clear the depressing air, the talk continued about the anniversary party. But I was still in shock. Jackson looked concerned beside me.

"Ollie? Sweets?" He gently nudged my shoulder.

I didn't say anything.

I answered when I was asked questions, mostly about the cooking arrangements in the party. The night went on and the fire burnt. I kept my interest in rubbing my knees and fidgeting.

Finally, to wrap up, Maira and Walter stood up and said they were going to bed. Brennan did the same, saying he needed to be up and early tomorrow. Jackson and I were left at the fireplace.

He stood up and knelt in front of me, taking both my hands in his, "Sweets?" he kissed one of my fingers.

"I couldn't believe it. I can't believe I'm doing this," I said weakly.

"You thought about what I said."

"The facts still stand, Jackson," I said a bit too harshly, "My father will do anything to ruin us if I try to tell your family the truth. Walter might be welcoming, but telling will just drag you all into this mess. Don't bring that up again."

"Okay." He set his head on my lap. I threaded my fingers carefully into his hair, staring into space.

"It's the first time I've heard the story. I didn't have a clue before," the words came out breathlessly.

"Well, me either. And I often wondered why Mr. Reynolds hated him so much," Jackson mumbled.

"Jackson?"

"Yes, sweets?"

"Do you think," I swallowed the lump in my throat, "Do you think history will ever repeat itself? That history between them?"

"No, I don't think so. Whatever you do, Ollie, I'm right here for you."

His words sent a surge of comfort through me. Jackson was there. He wasn't going to leave me, although I was certain he would soon. But he was here. He was here.

"You know what I still couldn't believe?" he said suddenly. The fire made the atmosphere peaceful, but I didn't get the point of it. It wasn't too cold anyway.

"What?"

"That you finished half a glass of the spice shake."

A laugh escaped my lips. "Well, my tongue likes it."

He looked up at me, his eyes partly lidded, "You know what else your tongue might like?"

I suppressed my laughs. "Ice cream?"

He gave a pinch on my arm. In return, I tugged hard at his hair. "You ruined the moment!" he said.

"What moment?"

"Sweets!"

When he began pouting and grumbling, I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Then, I carefully stroke his hair again. His eyes closed slowly as he rested on my lap. Whoops. What was that? Another pull towards him. I was going closer and I wasn't moving backwards.

He was tugging me in, reeling my emotions. And I knew exactly what he was doing to me. And I had no mind to stop that.

My phone rang beside me. Now that totally vaporized the real moment.

"That's my mom," I sighed, "I have to get home."

"I'll take you." He stood up and helped me from my seat. He told me he was going to fetch his car keys and I had to get my bag from the kitchen.

Tiredly, I trudged out of the room and headed to the kitchen. But I seemed to have interrupted a moment when I saw Walter and Maira sitting by the counter and holding hands. They stopped mid-conversation to look up at me.

I smiled sheepishly, "Just here to get my bag." I picked up my pack from the floor and apologized to them. "Thanks for having me, by the way. That story was – uh – eye-opening."

Maira gave a little smile and bade me a good night. As I exited the kitchen, my mind flew back to Walter's words. I picked up my pace to get to the front door.

And I pretended not to notice Maira and Walter's piercing stares as I left.

♫ ♫ ♫