A/N: I was very pleasantly surprised by the reception this story got – thanks everyone!
A Street Over and a World Away
Chapter 2: The Anger
Jackson groaned as he walked downstairs the next morning to the sound of his parents' voices in the dining room.
"What are you doing here?" he asked his father, who hadn't been at home during Jackson's breakfast on a workday in at least the last three years. His gaze shifted to his mother, who was already dressed and made up for the day, another anomaly for this hour. "And what are you doing awake?"
"We need to talk to you, honey." His mother patted the table in front of the empty chair next to her and across from Jackson's father.
"Oh god." Jackson sighed and cast a look at their maid, Vicky, who was hovering in the corner of the room. "Protein shake, feta and kale omelet, and an orange."
Vicky nodded and walked out of the room as Jackson reluctantly sat down at the table next to his parents.
"Son, Mr. Lahey was arrested last night for domestic abuse," Jackson's father said. As always, he was calm but didn't mince words. It was one of the things Jackson admired most about him, not that he'd ever admit it.
"Okay." Jackson shrugged. He had already assumed there was a good chance his neighbor would be arrested when he had heard the sirens the night before.
"And Isaac is still in the hospital," his father continued.
Jackson rolled his eyes as his mother hummed in distress even though this obviously wasn't news to her.
"What does this have to do with me?" he asked.
His father frowned at him and gave him a hard look. Jackson didn't know if his father had planned to preface his announcement any further, but he cut to the chase after that. "He's moving in with us once he's released."
"What?!" The legs of Jackson's chair scrapped the polished marble floor as he pushed himself away from the table but didn't get up.
"He's moving in with us once he's released."
Jackson gritted his teeth, recognizing his father's tone as the one he used when he wouldn't accept any further argument on a topic. Jackson would have to save his complaints for later with his mother or he'd risk losing a privilege or actually having his curfew enforced for a few weeks.
"When is this happening?" Jackson asked, struggling to keep his anger in check so he could get the information he needed.
"When he's released," his father repeated before elaborating. "We don't know when that will be yet. Possibly today, but perhaps not until tomorrow or later. We need to see his doctor."
"Why is this happening?" Jackson asked, trying to reconcile the incongruity of his father needing to talk to Isaac's doctor about anything. Isaac wasn't anything to Jackson or his family. Why were his parents taking an interest in Isaac's healthcare or living arrangements?
Jackson's father frowned and gave him a look that clearly said his patience was wearing thin. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Do you know how many homeless, abused kids there are in the world? Why do we have to disrupt our lives for this one? Jackson thought, his jaw clenching. He said, "For how long?"
"Indefinitely."
Indefinitely. In-fucking-definitely! That sounded a damn lot like his parents were making a long-term decision that affected him without even consulting him.
"Not okay!" Jackson shouted, slamming his hand against the table. He stood up and glared down at the man. "Are you seriously telling me someone is moving in to my house and I don't get any say in it?"
"That's right," his father answered calmly. "Now sit down and lower your voice."
"Fuck you," Jackson answered. His hands were balled into fists as he turned and stalked out of the room. He didn't stop when his father called after him or when his mother got up and ran after him. He stormed straight to his room and slammed the door in her face.
Isaac awoke in his hospital bed that morning already filled anger. The night before when his darkest secret had finally come into the light he had been sad, even frighteningly vulnerable. Today all he felt was pissed off. He didn't want to move in with Jackson Fucking Whittemore. Jackson was an entitled, arrogant, selfish asshole. When he wasn't bragging about how much money he had, how talented he was at lacrosse, or how he was so hot he could have anyone he wanted, he was making fun of Isaac or other people at school who weren't as popular or privileged as him. He would shove Isaac or other guys against lockers, ridicule their clothes, or embarrass them in front of girls. Jackson was intolerable enough at school. How was Isaac supposed to live with him?
How was Isaac supposed to live with the Whittemores at all? He couldn't imagine himself in their world of fancy parties and privilege, and it wasn't something he wanted. He was angry that the Whittemores had interfered in his life. He just wanted to get well enough to go back to his house and try not to piss his father off enough to end up back in the hospital. But now that would never happen. Now his father was in jail and Isaac's life was even more fucked than it already had been.
His ruminations were interrupted when a middle-aged blonde woman in a blue skirt and white blouse walked into his room. She wore black-rimmed glasses and carried an over-sized bag on her shoulder.
"Isaac?" she asked, hesitating in the doorway.
"Yeah," he said quietly with a nod.
"I'm Dr. Johnson," she said, walking fully into the room and extending her hand to him. "Your foster parents sent me."
Isaac cringed. Foster parents. He had foster parents now. He awkwardly took her hand with his left one, the one that wasn't broken, and gave it a quick squeeze. "Are you my new doctor?"
"Well yes," she answered with a crooked smile as she sank into the chair by his bed, "but not for your physical injuries. I'm a psychiatrist."
Isaac frowned. A psychiatrist? He hadn't even moved in with the Whittemores yet and they already thought he was broken enough to need psychiatric help.
Dr. Johnson laughed softly as she opened her bag and pulled out a pen and a notebook. "I've seen that look before. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking?"
"Sorry. I just didn't know you were coming." Isaac forced a neutral look onto his face. He had no way of knowing how much trouble he would be in with the Whittemores if he were rude to this woman. "What do you need to know?"
"Let's start with the basics – your interests and hobbies, stuff like that."
Issac furrowed his brow. What was he supposed to say? "Uhm, I'm Isaac. I'm sixteen...I'm a Gemini."
Dr. Johnson laughed again and smiled at him. "Do you enjoy long walks on the beach and spending time with friends?"
Isaac winced, realizing how stupid he'd sounded. He laughed softly anyway, surprised and slightly amused that she was teasing him. He answered truthfully, "I haven't been to the beach in a really long time and...I don't have any friends."
Dr. Johnson didn't quite frown, but the mirth left her face as she nodded and scribbled a note on her pad. "It can be tough making friends when you have a big secret."
"I guess," he answered noncommittally before attempting to shift the focus. "I work as a gravedigger at my dad's cemetery, and winter's my favorite season."
Dr. Johnson smiled again and made notes, but Isaac didn't think she was actually very interested. This seemed to be confirmed as she changed the subject. "How do you feel about moving in with the Whittemores?"
He inwardly cursed. He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask anything along those lines. "Oh, I can't wait. It's going to be great. It's so nice of them to do this for me."
Dr. Johnson gave him a long, appraising look and despite his best efforts not to, he shrank under its weight. "I'm not going to report back to them, Isaac. Anything you tell me is in the strictest confidence. I'm sure you've heard of doctor-patient confidentiality. It's a real thing and something I take very seriously."
"But aren't they...paying you?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm your doctor."
It was Isaac's turn to give her an appraising look. She didn't wither under it like he had, and he found himself believing her. He sighed. "Okay fine, I'm angry. I just want to go home and get back to my regular life."
Dr. Johnson nodded. "I'd be angry too if someone were making me move against my will. It's tough going through a major life change like you are right now. But you may find your new life will ultimately be better."
"Because they're rich?" he asked, frowning.
"Because they won't hurt you."
He laughed. "Of course they will."
Dr. Johnson smirked and shrugged, conceding the point. "You're right. There will always be some disagreements and misunderstandings in any significant relationship, some pain. But they won't abuse you or hurt you on purpose."
He scowled at her. He wasn't sure how therapy was supposed to work, but he didn't think she was supposed to throw his past in his face, especially when he hadn't technically told her anything about it. Wasn't she supposed to pretend she didn't know or something until he brought it up himself?
"Why are they making me talk to you?" he asked, not quite hostile but bordering on it.
"That's something you would need to ask them, but usually when parents or guardians send their children or teenagers to therapy it's because they're concerned about them and want to make sure they get the help they need."
"They barely know me. Why do they already think I'm messed up?"
"You've been through significant trauma, Isaac. It's normal for anyone in your situation to need someone to talk to about it."
She was patronizing him, telling him how he was supposed to feel. "Actually my situation was normal for me. I was used to it. It's all this" –he waved his cast-encased arm through the air, indicating the hospital room and pointedly lingering on Dr. Johnson– "that I don't know how to react to."
"Give it time," she answered.
After that the conversation shifted to less fraught subjects. She asked him additional basic questions about his life and daily routine and also told him more about herself and how she had come to be sitting with him. He had assumed Mrs. Whittemore had been the driving force in getting her here, but evidently it had been Mr. Whittemore who'd made the call. They had known each other professionally from a case Dr. Johnson testified in the previous summer. Her specialty was adolescent and family therapy. Isaac decided he liked her well enough as a person, but he resented her presence and quit trying to hide it as the session continued.
Almost as soon as she left, the Whittemores entered his room, and Isaac suspected they had been waiting outside for her to finish. He didn't like it. Despite what she'd said about keeping his secrets, despite mostly believing her, it seemed too convenient and plausible that she would fill them in on what she and Isaac had just discussed.
"Good morning, sweetie!" Mrs. Whittemore said as she entered the room in what could only be described as a flourish, hands clasped in front of her and coat billowing out dramatically behind her. She flounced to Isaac's bedside, laid a hand on each of his shoulders, and kissed his cheek before perching daintily on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay? You're not still a four are you?"
Isaac recoiled but tried to keep a pleasant expression on his face. He wasn't used to such an effusive greeting and he didn't like being touched or kissed, especially by someone he didn't know very well. Nevertheless, she was being nice and the Whittemores were going out of their way for him – even if he didn't particularly want them to or understand why – so he gave her a small smile as he answered. "Morning. I slept fine. Uh, a four?"
"Your pain level, sweetie. Last night you were a four." She patted his arm, her meticulously shaped eyebrows knitting together in worry.
"Oh. I'm better. Just sore."
Her brow smoothed and she squeezed his arm. "What a relief!"
Mr. Whittemore sank into the chair and gave Isaac a scrutinizing look, his face neutral. Isaac looked away and fussed with his blanket. Whatever, Mr. Whittemore was thinking, it couldn't be good. Isaac knew he didn't measure up to Mr. Whittemore's standards.
"What do you need?" the man asked eventually, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.
Isaac flinched. Mr. Whittemore's tone wasn't harsh exactly, but it was commanding and conveyed a sense of urgency. He didn't want Isaac wasting his time with hemming and hawing. The trouble was, Isaac had no idea how to answer or even in what context Mr. Whittemore meant the question.
"I don't need anything," he said, eyes in his lap.
"I'm going to have the authorities open your home so we can retrieve your things. I'll have everything moved from your room. But do you need anything from any other rooms? And what do you need that you don't already have?"
"I don't...uh, just the stuff in my room will be good. Thanks." Isaac hated the idea of someone going through his things, but it didn't seem to be up for discussion.
"Did you like Dr. Johnson or do we need to look for another therapist?" Mr. Whittemore asked.
Isaac frowned and dropped his head further. Were those the only two options? "I like Dr. Johnson."
"Good." Mr. Whittemore stood and stepped to Isaac's bedside. "I'm going to work. Lana, see that the boy has my office number. Isaac, call and tell my assistant if you think of anything else you need. Her name's Mary."
Mr. Whittemore dropped a heavy hand on Isaac's shoulder and squeezed. Upon reflection, Isaac realized it had been meant as a nice gesture, but it was just shy of terrifying and he barely managed to keep from crying out in alarm.
"We spoke with your attending physician, Isaac," Mrs. Whittemore said a little while after her husband had left.
Isaac wasn't sure if she was about to tell him something important and wanted to make sure she had his full attention or if she was just making idle conversation. He looked up and gave her a quick smile, hoping it would work as a suitable response for either scenario.
"He says you can come home today!" She beamed at him, apparently delighted by the prospect of having him in her home.
"I- uh, are you sure you want me?" Isaac asked. He could never live up to that kind of enthusiasm. She'd find out what he was really like and send him away within a week.
Mrs. Whittemore's smile faltered for a few seconds before it reformed on her face, tight this time. "Of course I want you, Isaac. I've always wanted-" She stopped and raised manicured fingers to her mouth. "Of course we want you to live with us, sweetie."
Isaac looked at her curiously but didn't respond. It wasn't necessary anyway. She began rambling about picking out paint colors for his new room and taking him shopping for new clothes and bedroom furniture. Then somehow the topic changed to Christmas and their holiday party, and wouldn't it be lovely sending out holiday cards with Isaac in the family picture?
He tried to hide his anxiety and discomfort as she kept talking. Family picture? Wasn't she getting way ahead of herself? Maybe his dad wouldn't be convicted and Isaac could go back to his old life. Maybe the Whittemores would be sick of him by then and he'd be in that group home Ms. Newcastle had mentioned. Either way, it was only October. Why was she planning so far in advance?
When she mentioned how happy Jackson would be with Isaac living with them, he couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped his throat at the ludicrous suggestion. Right, Jackson Whittemore was going to be over-fucking-joyed to have Isaac in his home. They'd probably end up wearing matching Christmas sweaters in that 'family picture' they'd be taking.
Jackson lowered his shoulder and squared his stance, his knees bent, coiling power in his legs as Theo Raeken caught the lacrosse ball in his stick a few yards in front of Jackson. He was so fucking happy Theo was the one who had the ball. As soon as Theo turned to run down the field, Jackson leapt forward and slammed into Theo's unguarded chest as hard as he could. The ball tumbled from the net on Theo's stick and onto the field as he landed on his ass.
Jackson snatched up the ball and sprinted toward his goal. Aiden ran toward him, but Jackson feinted left then pivoted right, clotheslining him with the back end of his stick and barely slowing down. A few seconds later Jackson took the shot, whizzing it past Danny's shoulder and into the net.
As practice continued, Jackson laid out Theo three more times and took down Liam twice. Aiden got revenge on him, however, as he herded Jackson toward the edge of the field where Ethan was waiting and they body checked him at the same time from opposite sides, leaving him in a throbbing heap on the field as Ethan snatched up the ball and ran down field with it.
Jackson grudgingly admitted the twins played well together as he watched his teammates circle Ethan to stop him, only to have him suddenly pass Aiden the ball at the last second without even looking, somehow sensing where his brother was. Aiden caught it easily and immediately took the shot, scoring on Jackson's goalie. Jackson was pissed. His teammates were idiots. How had they not seen that play coming?
Near the end of practice, Theo tried to exact his own revenge on Jackson, slashing him with his stick across the back as Jackson ran past him. Fucking asshole! Jackson turned, ready to lay into him when Coach Finstock blew his whistle and called a foul on Theo. Jackson forced himself to calm down and use the foul to his advantage, clinching the scrimmage for his team.
Once practice was over and they were in the locker room changing, Jackson went up behind Theo and slammed him against his open locker. "You fuckin' bitch! Gotta cheat because you can't handle me fair and square."
"Dickhead!" Theo snarled, whirling around and lunging for Jackson. He never made contact as Danny was suddenly between them, a hand on each their chests. Theo shouted past him at Jackson. "What the hell's your problem?! You wanna cripple half the team during a fucking practice?"
"Guys cool it." Danny's tone was level as he held Jackson and Theo apart. "It's just a game. You're friends. Calm down."
Jackson grunted and went slack against Danny's hand, signaling he wasn't going to try anything else. Danny was technically correct. Jackson and Theo were friends, but that didn't mean Jackson didn't legitimately hate that smug asshole. They were only friends because they were both popular and ran in the same cliques. Being 'friends' was mutually advantageous; whereas, being open rivals would have risked one or both of them taking a social hit.
"Psycho jerk," Theo muttered under his breath as he turned back to his locker to finish undressing.
Fifteen minutes later, after showering and dressing, Jackson left the locker room accompanied by Danny and the twins.
"Dick," Aiden remarked with a smirk as he bumped shoulders with Jackson. His fingers hooked in the front of his v-neck, pulling it lower. "My chest is already bruising."
"Aww, you gonna cry about it, Aiden?" Jackson asked with mock sympathy as he glanced at the discolored marks on Aiden's chest and rolled his eyes.
Aiden laughed, releasing his shirt to pull his phone out of his pocket. Jackson actually kind of liked Aiden. He was an aggressive, skilled player and he didn't take shit personally and get all butthurt like Theo always did. Plus, Jackson and Aiden had competed for Lydia Martin's attention over the summer and Jackson had won. Now that she was his girlfriend, he loved lording it over Aiden.
"Me and Lydia are going bowling Friday. If you can find someone dumb enough to go out with you, you should come."
"I already have plans," Aiden answered, grinning as he showed Jackson a text.
Malia: Sex and deer hunting this weekend?
"That girl is such a freak," Jackson remarked. Hunting weirded him out in general, and what kind of girl suggested it as an activity that paired well with sex?
Aiden narrowed his eyes in a glare before his face once again lit with humor. "She's a freak in the bed too." He winked.
Jackson took a few moments to imagine just what that meant as the twins stopped alongside their motorcycles in the school parking lot.
"You coming, babe?" Ethan asked Danny, holding out his spare helmet in offering.
Danny shook his head. "Nah, Jackson's giving me a ride home."
That was news to Jackson, but he didn't say anything as the couple exchanged a kiss and made plans to talk that night. A few moments later the twins started their bikes and drove away, leaving Jackson and Danny alone as they walked to Jackson's Porsche.
"So," Danny said, his hand coming to rest on Jackson's shoulder, "why were you trying to cripple half the team at practice?"
Jackson frowned, angry that Danny was ambushing him. "I wasn't. Theo's just a little bitch."
"Jackson, quit bullshitting. I know when something's bothering you," Danny said as he went around to the passenger side of Jackson's car and waited to be let in.
After a moment's hesitation, Jackson clicked the button on his key fob and unlocked both car doors. It was tempting to only unlock his side and drive off, but that might damage his friendship with Danny, and Danny's friendship actually sort of mattered to him. Theo, Aiden, Liam, or one of the other guys would have already been eating his dust.
"Isaac Lahey," Jackson said with a grumble as they got in and closed the doors.
"What about him?" Danny's hand landed on Jackson's arm, keeping him from starting the car.
Jackson pulled away from the touch but turned in his seat to face Danny as he answered between clenched teeth, "He's moving into my house."
Danny's eyebrows shot up. "What the fuck?"
"Yeah exactly."
"No really...why?"
Jackson sighed, wondering how much of this he wanted to get into. "His dad got arrested."
Another burst of surprise flitted across Danny's face. "For what?"
"I don't know. What do I look like a police ledger?" Jackson answered, deciding to draw the line there. Danny might be pissed at him if he found out Jackson had known about Isaac's abuse but hadn't done anything.
"So why's he moving into your house?"
"Fuck if I know. Ask my dumbass adoptive parents."
Danny frowned and tilted his head. "Adoptive parents?"
Jackson huffed and started the car, ignoring Danny's attempts to stop him. He just wanted to take him home and be done with this conversation.
"Adoptive parents?" Danny repeated.
"Yes, what the fuck? You know I'm adopted."
"But you always just call them your parents."
"But they're not really my parents," Jackson answered, glaring at a cheap domestic car that was crawling toward them, preventing him from exiting the parking lot.
"Oh come on," Danny snapped, swatting Jackson's arm as they finally pulled onto the street. "They've raised you since you were a baby. Of course they're your parents."
"Well I guess I'm not really their son," Jackson answered, ignoring the sick, tense feeling in his stomach and chest. Fucking Danny, making me talk about this shit.
"Whoa, Jackson! Your parents fuckin' adore you. What are you even talking about?"
"Apparently I'm not-" Jackson slammed on the brakes and took a sharp left as he noticed his turn a few seconds before it was too late.
"You're not what?" Danny prompted, untroubled by Jackson's erratic driving.
"I'm not enough okay?!" Jackson shouted, struggling to keep an unexpected sob from slipping out. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and slid into the next turn intentionally hard, getting even with Danny by jostling him around in the car's cabin.
"Stop the fucking car," Danny shouted, clinging to the shoulder harness of his seatbelt.
"We're almost there," Jackson answered, speeding up. He needed to get Danny out of his car before he lost his composure and embarrassed himself.
"I said fucking stop! Now!"
Jackson growled and slammed on the brakes as he pulled over on the side of the road.
"What?!" He yelled, crossing his arms and turning in his seat to face Danny.
Danny glared at Jackson as he unhooked his seatbelt. Then he sighed and the hostility left his face. A moment later he startled Jackson by grabbing his shoulders and pulling him across the seat until he was pressed against Danny's chest.
"You're a moron," Danny said, wrapping his arms around Jackson's back and refusing to let go as Jackson tried to pull away.
Eventually Jackson gave in and reluctantly hugged Danny back. He was almost pissed when some of the snarl of emotions strangling his chest and stomach abated. Fuck Danny for knowing how to make me feel better.
"You're enough," Danny whispered, almost too low for Jackson to hear it.
"Are we done yet?" Jackson whined, lifting his hands away from Danny's body but not trying to get loose.
"We're done, asshole," Danny answered, squeezing Jackson one more time before letting go.
"Thanks." Jackson tried to make it sound sarcastic, but he knew by the smile on Danny's face that he saw through him.
Isaac felt a wave of discomfort as the Whittemores' maid, Vicky, brought him another glass of soda, fluffed the pillows behind his back and under his foot, then left with his empty food tray. He was setup for now in the Whittemores' parlor – they had a frickin parlor – on the bottom floor of the house, since his new room was still being prepared and since his broken leg made it difficult to navigate the stairs, at least according to Mrs. Whittemore. Isaac didn't think it would actually have been that tough going up the stairs on his crutches but she had insisted, and Isaac did not want to piss her off now that an unasked question had been answered.
The night before in the hospital, Isaac had noticed her slightly clumsy movements and the unslurred yet also unusual cadence of her speech and suspected that she had been a little tipsy. Thanks to his father, Isaac had gotten quite good at noticing the signs of someone who had been drinking too much. However, he hadn't been sure, and there wasn't anything he could have or would have said regardless. Tonight though he was sure, especially considering that she had been sipping cocktails since they had gotten home from the hospital...at 12:45pm.
As Mrs. Whittemore stumbled into the parlor a few minutes after Vicky left, Isaac braced for a tirade. He hadn't been on the receiving end of one yet, but it was just a matter of time. He just hoped she would only be verbally abusive and not also hit him or throw things like his father. He was still sore and too incapacitated to defend himself.
"Are you okay, sweetie? Do you need anything?" She asked, leaning against the back of the oversized leather couch he was stretched out on.
Isaac studied her for a few seconds before looking away. Her eyes were as kind as they had been all day, if a little less focused; her tone was somewhat different now, but not sharp or hostile. He just wished he knew what would set her off so that he could avoid doing it.
"I'm fine, thanks," he answered, smiling sweetly.
"Jackson should be home soon." She said it like it was good news.
"Oh. Cool." Isaac hoped her inebriation would hide his lack of enthusiasm...well downright dread. This would probably be what set her off because there was no way in hell Jackson wasn't going to be seething with anger when he saw Isaac, and of course his mother would side with him. Isaac wondered if they'd let him call Ms. Newcastle before throwing him out. He had her business card with his clothes from the hospital somewhere.
As if on cue, Isaac heard the sound of someone walking through the hallway toward them.
He sighed in relief as Mr. Whittemore stepped through the doorway a few seconds later.
"Oh darling, you're home early!" Mrs. Whittemore crossed the room, threw her arms dramatically around her husband's neck, and kissed him.
Isaac glanced at his phone. It was almost 7pm. If that was early, he wondered how late Mr. Whittemore usually worked.
The man grumbled and stepped back, keeping his wife at arm's length. "I wanted to be here when Jackson got home."
"How sweet!" she declared, kissing him again.
"Not really. I just don't want him picking a fight with Isaac."
Isaac's mouth opened in surprise before the corners pulled up into a smile. He had never liked the man more than he did in that moment.
They settled in and waited after that. Isaac stared at the giant flat screen television without comprehending what he was watching. All he could think about was how Jackson was going to react to finding him watching television in his house.
Mrs. Whittemore called for Vicky and requested another cocktail as she sat at the end of the couch with Isaac. Mr. Whittemore sat in a wing-back chair nearby, answering emails on his phone and complaining about work.
Eventually Isaac heard another set of footsteps approaching and this time it was Jackson who stepped through the door. His eyes immediately landed on Isaac, and he gave him a look hateful enough to rival any from Isaac's father.
"Vicky said you wanted to see me," Jackson said stiffly, looking away from Isaac and training his eyes on his father.
"Oh honey! There you are!" Mrs. Whittemore handed Isaac her drink and got up. She stumbled across the room and wrapped her arms around Jackson's neck in a greeting similar to the one she'd given her husband, except she kissed Jackson's cheek and didn't press her body quite as close.
Isaac grimaced as some of the orange liquid – a Sidecar if he remembered correctly – sloshed out of her martini glass and onto the blanket he had draped over him. He leaned forward and carefully set the glass on a nearby table.
"Look, Isaac's here!" she said cheerfully, wrapping one arm around Jackson and pointing at Isaac with the other.
Jackson shot Isaac another hostile scowl. "When's he leaving?"
"Jackson, tell Isaac hello," Mr. Whittemore said, sounding more patient than Isaac had expected, much like a parent prompting a child to greet a distant relative he didn't know very well.
"Hello," said Jackson sarcastically with clenched jaw.
"Hey," Isaac answered softly with a nod. He immediately felt stupid for doing it.
"When is he leaving?" he asked again, directing the question to his father.
"He isn't. Get used to it," Mr. Whittemore responded, most of the patience leaving his voice.
"I'm going to my room," Jackson announced, pulling away from his mother and turning to leave.
"And you're staying there all weekend," Mr. Whittemore said.
"What?!" Jackson spun around and glared at the man.
"You're grounded for your little outburst this morning."
"But I have a date with Lydia," Jackson protested. Isaac found his whining complaint oddly humanizing.
"Better cancel it. Or stand her up – that's your business. But you're not going."
Jackson's head snapped back to Isaac. "I hate you," he muttered under his breath before storming out of the room.
"Honey, have you eaten?" Mrs. Whittemore called after him.
Isaac laughed, quickly hiding it with a series of coughs. He knew without a doubt that Jackson would make his life miserable and eventually figure out a way to get him out of his house – which was fine with Isaac – but at least he had survived his first day in the Whittemore home.
-000-
End Note: Feedback is always greatly appreciated!
