Haze - By Andrea Wolfe Page 0,46

they would have done the same for me after such a short amount of time. Hell, I doubted any of them would have followed through the way Jack had, even after years.

I suddenly pictured Timothy going crazy, smashing in the other guy's face—which happened to be his own in my memory—with his fists until it was a bloody pulp and the guy's heart stopped beating. Pretty confusing thought experiment.

And then he'd wind up in jail—I strongly doubt he'd be able to justify it as self-defense—and I'd be alone. Prior to his behavior on Saturday, I never would have associated such imagery with him. Now, it seemed like the norm, his violent imagery replaying in my head like a scratched DVD left to run its course in the player.

Enough.

I wiped that slate clean in my mind as quickly as I could. Focusing too much on Timothy could legitimately give me nightmares. At least he didn't know my address...

Actually, the whole situation made me feel a little bit like moving, something I obviously couldn't afford. It was weird that I was finally digesting these events now that I was at the office. It felt somewhat incongruous at first.

But then, I realized that I had spent the whole weekend with Jack, and time with him was pretty much like a drug trip that made you forget about everything except the good stuff—and I was definitely sober now.

I figuratively slapped myself and insisted that Timothy wouldn't be a problem. The situation had just been too much for him to deal with and he had handled it poorly. He hurt me, but the physical damage wasn't permanent. And at least now I had some real closure with him, closure that was signed, dated, and mailed to those in charge.

My own woes aside, Sam had barely spoken to me all morning, and that was unusual. He also seemed to be peeking at me from inside his office more than usual. I suppose he had asked me about my weekend, commenting that Timothy sounded like a creep after I vaguely told him about Saturday.

Some random guy grabbed him, I had said, my response cursory. As far as I actually knew in that painful moment, it was the truth. Sam did seem legitimately concerned, which made his silence all the more weird.

Why had I even told him about it? Well, because he asked.

After lunch—it was a quick meal out with Jack, of course—Sam finally approached me again.

"Effie, you're sure you're all right? That story you told me was really rough." He seemed more distraught about the situation than I was.

"I'm fine, really. Just a bump on the head." When he didn't even seem to notice that I had spoken, I inquired. "Sam, is everything okay with you?"

"The man upstairs is giving me a hard time about this Jack Teller/Lexy Brown shit."

"Is that supposed to be a religious reference?" I asked jokingly.

Sam just stared back at me disapprovingly and continued. "I've still heard no word about it, and that worries me because it probably means he signed with someone else. Who knows how much longer I'll be around here. This might prove to just be the one deal I couldn't afford to lose. She's blowing up on college radio and we're missing out on all the action."

I sipped my coffee and smiled at him. "I'm sure he's just taking his sweet time making the decision. He's an artist type—you know how indecisive those guys can be."

"You're sure he's just taking his time?" he snapped. "How the hell would you know that? He's probably just too busy fucking Lexy to make a decision."

My cheeks flushed a little red, partially out of irrational jealousy, partially as a defense mechanism. "He would never do—" I trailed off, not sure where I was going. "He didn't seem like that type to me."

"What? You really don't think he's the walking hard-on type? I've met hundreds of guys like him and they're all exactly same. If it's hot, they'll fuck it and never turn back." Sam ran his hands through his already-messy hair. "Why do you think I'm divorced?"

I was close to boiling over at that point. Thankfully, Jack had discussed his views on promiscuity with me, otherwise I would have probably started crying. "I don't know why you're divorced, Sam. You tell me!"

"Because some hot-shot musician like Jack Teller couldn't keep his hands off my goddamn hot wife!"

I really didn't know what to say to that. We both fell silent for what felt like