“Thomson?” I ask, mulling it over. “Do you ever think about making things, I don’t know, better? Fixing things?”
Thomson’s eyes shine. With both hands, he clasps the necklace he always wears, the one with the cross of The Order, each side of equal length, and says reverently, “Ido. I think about itallthe time.”
I stand and walk over to him. Clap him on the back and pretend I don’t notice how it makes him stumble forward.
“This,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure what I mean, me taking control or him stepping into place beside me, “is the beginning of something great.”
He nods quickly, glasses slipping again. His gaze flicks past me to the shelves lining the back wall, the ones stocked with alcohol for guests we’re trying to impress.
“We should celebrate,” he says. “Seal it with a drink.”
I think about the rest of the meetings waiting for me. The noise. The expectations. The walls closing in. And then, without permission…
Her.
“Why the fuck not?” I say, though I’m not much of a drinker. Don’t even know what to ask for. A memory of my father, glass in hand, amber catching the light, the smell of it. It takes me a second.
Then it clicks.
“I’ll take a bourbon.”
Chapter thirty-seven
Threat
Becky
My Ancient Civilizations class runs over, so I’m halfway down the stairs before the room’s even empty, keyed up with the need to see Carrson.
But he’s not the one waiting outside.
It’s Jackson.
He leans against the brick wall of the sociology building, hands in his pockets like he’s been there a while. A group of girls hovers a few feet away, staring at him while they whisper and giggle behind their hands.
I almost tell them not to bother. That his pretty face is nothing more than a mask, built to hide the rot underneath.
I skid to a stop, rising onto my toes to look past him. No one else. I drop back onto my heels. “Where’s Carrson?”
“Meetings.” He flicks invisible lint from his sleeve, then slides his gaze up my body, leaving no part untouched. I resist the urge to gag. “He’ll be in them all day.” Jackson watches me with a nonchalant expression, but his eyes stay alert. “Carrson’s quite the busy bee. Ever since he got back from spring break.” His mouth flattens. “With you. Any idea why that is?”
I shrug. “Dunno.”
I start across the quad, heading to Rosewood Hall. Jackson falls in next to me, shortening his stride to match mine.
“You don’t have to walk me home,” I say.
“Oh, I think I do.” His voice is light, amused. “Campus isn’t as safe as it looks.”
I glance over at him. “Pretty sure the biggest threat is right next to me.”
He smiles at that, pleased, and reaches out, fingers closing around my shoulder long enough to slow me. “Thanks for the compliment, babe.”
I shove his hand away. “It wasn’t a compliment. It was a warning. And don’t call me babe.”
I expect some nasty comeback, but instead something else flashes across Jackson’s face, so unexpected it takes me a second to place it.
Hurt.
