Page 18 of Just Business

“He certainly wouldn’t have kept the company of miscreants. That one is as painted as a prostitute.”

Justin and his eyeliner. White haze ringed Eli’s vision, but everything else became sharp, including the beating of his heart, the ache in his leg, and the rage clawing through his chest. Eli spun, cane scraping against the floor.

“They’re my coworkers, actually.” He spoke English through years of bile and pain. He couldn’t navigate the heat in his heart and mind to even attempt Ladino. “My CEO and his assistant.”

The nearby banter in the restaurant quieted.

“E—”

He ignored Sam’s voice, his tug at Eli’s sleeve, and stared into unflinching eyes the same color as his own.

“Is that any way to speak to speak to me?” his father said, but then he’d always been strict with Eli.

“You shouldn’t be so rude.” So much worse to look at his mother. At one point, she’d actually loved him.

Justin pulled him away from the memories that lurked, the ones that might drag him under again. “The table’s ready.”

Eli managed a shuddering breath. “I’m dead to you. How can the dead be rude?” He put his back to them and followed Sam and Justin to the table.

Both men were quiet. Eli’s fingers shook. He shouldn’t have lost it, should have just ignored the taunting. But the hole in the center of his being, the one filled with loss, betrayal, and dishonor, hadn’t quite healed over. He needed to ignore the prickling at the backs of his eyes, too.

Eighteen years.

“E...”

“Don’t start with me, Sam.” The words snapped out like a whip. Justin flinched.

Sam tilted his head. No anger. No condemnation. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You know we have your back.”

The tension in Eli’s shoulders eased. The waiter brought water, and a long sip of that helped as well. He blinked until his eyes stopped watering, until the storm in his head quieted. The voices, the screeching of tires, and the rending metal faded.

Justin wrapped his hands around his glass, his blue eyes wide. “Are you all right?” Concern and a total lack of snark. Eli hadn’t thought that possible.

“Yes.” Eli paused. “I will be. Give me a moment.”

Justin nodded and searched his water for several heartbeats. “What the hell had you in a meeting until twelve thirty, anyway?”

Sam sat back. “Sanhex wants assurances that we’d succeed in turning their mess around.”

Justin flipped open his menu. “But you don’t do that. No consulting firm can.”

“Exactly, and we won’t. It’s a big legal black hole. But they wouldn’t take that for an answer.” Sam gave the menu a cursory glance before setting it aside. Probably lamb curry. Sam had his habits and only Michael could break them.

Eli stared at the menu, but the words didn’t make sense. Somewhere behind him—he’d purposefully put his back to the rest of restaurant—his parents sat. Whatever they ate, the protein would likely be tofu—they might not be so strict anymore, but he doubted they’d dropped kashrut completely, so eating out meant vegetarian. Funny how they could bend the rules for themselves, but not for their ownson.

Eli closed his eyes. There was the pull to order something pork or shrimp... and the resistance not to. The desire to rebel. The need to not react. His hands shook more, which made holding the menu hard.

Justin’s voice broke through the pounding of blood in Eli’s head. “Do you know what you want?”

“Yup,” Sam said. “Beef Massaman curry.”

Eli opened his eyes. “Not lamb?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded stretched and thin.

Sam shrugged. “Michael’s tired of leftover lamb. Suggested I try something else.”

Bingo.

Eli tried the menu again and this time, he could read it, but his lungs and chest hurt. Noah’s smile. The EMTs draping a sheet over his face. Noah’s mother’s tears when she visited Eli in the hospital. He hadn’t been able to visit shiva or go to the funeral. Eli shut the menu.Why am I not free of this? When will I be free of this?