Page 97 of Endless Anger
“You’re being extra needy today.”
“I’m but a simple goldfish,” he croons, flipping his hair out of his face. “If you don’t pay enough attention to me, I’ll die.”
I narrow my eyes at him, absorbing how disheveled and tired helooks. I’m no stranger to an exhausted Foxe James—when on tour, the man works himself ragged, his dedication to music and performing unmatched—but there’s somethingoffabout him now.
The lack of direct eye contact, the overconsumption of sweets. I know I smelled alcohol on his breath not long after we came to town, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. Not enough to mention it, because that’s been our deal for years.
We don’t really talk about shit. Our fists have always been the driver of conversation between us.
Violence has always been my solution to everything. It’s why I wound up in the Primordial Forest the night Lucy’s roommate was murdered, trying to stop a wheel from turning—but I’d run out of time to execute my half-assed plan and went to find Lucy instead.
Now, I’m spending all my energy trying to win her over, and the wheel turns anyway, like it would have whether I showed up or not.
Sometimes the wheel turns because it’s the natural progression of things. The consequences of a person’s actions. Evolution manifesting.
A curse set in motion long before any of us here now were even born.
“Did something happen?” I ask Foxe.
He lifts a shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, you just seem?—”
“I’m fine,” he cuts in, kicking at me with the toe of an expensive loafer. “Don’t worry about it. This place is just kind of boring, and I think it’s getting to me. No biggie.”
Sliding off the table, he stretches his arms over his head. A few girls from a different line giggle among themselves when his shirt rides up, and he shoots them an easy, million-dollar smile.
He’s the picture of ease, but as he grabs his boxes of cookies, I can’t help the sense of dread that weighs like a lead balloon in my stomach.
When he leaves without another word, I shove all the cash from my pocket into the glass jar—a thousand or so dollars. Not as much as the shelter needs but better than nothing.
On my way out of the quad, I’m stopped by the smug, dark-hairedfucker I ran into after my first class with Lucy. He grabs my shoulder again, halting me in my tracks.
“Anderson,” he greets with a curt nod, glancing down at my occupied hands. “Ah, reaching out to the far less fortunate, I see.”
I shrug out from his grip. “I like animals.”
“Oh no, I meant Lucy Wolfe. That shelter’s one she sponsors, right?” He chuckles, shaking his head, and points to a fancy booth at the other end of the quad. I see the redhead and the brunette from that same day and realize I don’t remember any of their fucking names. “We’re down there if you ever feel like supporting a cause that isn’t doomed because of the person heading it.”
My gaze narrows, suspicion clouding my vision. “You sure like talking about Lucy.”
His cheeks pinken slightly. “I don’tliketalking about her. It’s just hard to be on campus and not have something to say. She’s fucking weird, man. You shouldn’t even bother trying to befriend her. No one’s ever succeeded.”
I inch forward a step. “How exactly is it thatyoutried?”
“Hey, man, don’t look at me like that. If you want to do her, she’s all yours. I tried a few years back, and she wasn’t into it. In fact, she tried to burn down the place we were in just to get away from me.”
“Pretty strong message from a pacifist.”
He snorts. “Please, is that what she’s telling people now? She’s a skilled liar, I’ll give her that.”
There’s a flash in my mind—the smell of smoke and the flickering of bright orange flames as they outgrow the little dive bar I’ve just set on fire.
I remember Lucy in that back room and how she wasn’t alone. A man was sitting on the sofa next to her, his hand touching her thigh.
Glancing at his arm, hanging limp at his side, I study one hand. The other is stuffed in his pants pocket, but I recognize the visible knuckles. That face.
The theta emblem on his jacket makes me even more suspicious.
