“The batting cages? Really? The same man who used to have doctor’s notes excusing him from any sport that involved a moving ball, stood in a batting cage with baseballs being shot at your face at extremely high velocities?”
“People change, Lucia.”
She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me like bacterium under a microscope. She’s the one person who can see right through my gossamer web of untruths. “So, you’re dating a murderer,” she concludes at last.
“No, he’s dating me.”
“You know, I thought that crackhead you picked up from Gold Diggers was your romantic low point. Remember him? The guy who stole all your cufflinks and shat in your bed?”
“In his defense, we were both highly inebriated at the time.”
“And look at you now, scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel like a true addict.”
Lucia isn’t one to proselytize but when she does… “Are you here to support me in my time of crisis or criticize my choice in romantic partners?”
“Both,” she says haughtily. “Do you know what will happen if you can’t pull this off? You’ll go to jail, Cassius, for murder. All for that superficial piece of—”
“Mind your manners,” I warn.
She snorts in derision. “You’re being an absolute imbecile.”
“Only fools fall in love.”
She continues to glare at me until I feel her gaze burning a hole into the side of my face. Meanwhile I stare placidly at the floor, completely drained. I can’t even conjure the energy to verbally spar with my best friend.
“What if he changes his story?” she says at last.
“He won’t.”
“But what if he does, even accidentally. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“He won’t because he knows how to follow instructions. And he’s very loyal.”
“Loyal? Just wait until he sees his face.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he finds out that his perfect complexion is ruined, he’s going to be livid. Elliot is dead so there’s only you left to punish. He’s going to lash out. Christ, he could have killed you too, Cassius.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that,” she snaps, getting exasperated with me now.
“You’re right, Lucia, I don’t know what he’ll do, but I’m far too invested now. It’s what I signed up for, knowingly or not, when I took Adam on as my project.”
“Your project?”
“He’s my very own work of art. I’ve devoted all this time and effort into transforming him into the star he’s destined to become. My masterpiece. I’m not going to abandon him because of one little setback.”
“Elliot Anderson is dead,” she dutifully reminds me.
“A tragic accident.”
“Do you honestly even care?”
“I care immensely in my own way.”
“What is ‘your own way?’” she asks.
