No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,17

that nobody was going to do anything for him. So, if he was ever to have anything, he’d need to take control of his world and keep a stranglehold on it. Fearing that it might be his last chance, he’d written the thing, pouring his heart and his anger onto those pages.

Glancing back at Jack, Lucas recalled when Mr. Roxbury had walked up to the tree under which he’d been sitting that day, very much the way Jack was today—glowering, cursing everybody and everything. Roxbury had sat down and offered Lucas a cup of hot cocoa, saying, “You wrote the best essay of the bunch, my boy. I have a feeling there won’t be any stopping you in this world.”

Lucas winced at the memory. His fingers were laced together, his elbows resting on his knees. He stared at his hands for a long, pensive moment. Why was he thinking about that damned cocoa, now?

He recalled what he’d thought when Norman had brought the cup to him, and he’d caught a whiff of it. He hadn’t had cocoa since before his grandmother’s death. The familiar smell had wrenched at his heart. Upset, he’d sneered at the idea of accepting a cup of hot cocoa—mumbled something about it being for sissies and babies. Acting tough, he’d turned his back, too angry, hurt and mistrustful to be civil.

Still, at that moment, Lucas’s life had changed. He’d sensed it even then. Lucas had a feeling Roxbury had known it, too, for as he rose to leave, he’d touched Lucas’s shoulder. “You’ve been in a dark cage, my boy,” he’d said. “I’m handing you a key, because you’ve got the brains and the nerve to unlock that iron door.” He’d patted again, encouraging, “I’ll be proud to watch when you step into the sunshine.”

Eyes narrowed, Lucas studied Jack. He looked closed, resentful, sullen. If Norman were here, that kid would be facing a steaming cup of cocoa right now, along with a gentle smile and a pat on the shoulder. After all, Jack’s was the best essay. The boy didn’t know it yet, but he was going to win one of the ten coveted spots on the retreat and, what was probably even more reward as far as the kids were concerned, get to miss a week of school.

Lucas knew he should go over there to say something positive to the boy. But, hell, he wasn’t Norman. What could he say that wouldn’t sound fake and forced? Hey, kid, you wrote a good essay. You’ve got a shot at not becoming an ax murderer. Have some cocoa…

He closed his eyes. It sounded stupid, even to him. What would a street-smart, twenty-first century, borderline juvenile-delinquent do with cocoa?

But that kid was his responsibility, today. For all it was worth, he was Mr. Niceguy. Maybe he ought to—

His cellular phone trilled and he jerked it from his jeans hip pocket. Saved by the bell. All business now, he barked, “Brand, here.” His jaw clenched. Sol was off on another whining, it-can’t-be-done tangent. Lucas cut in impatiently, “Sol, we don’t have time for negative crap. Try this. KW equals VR-to-the-fourth-power minus S—” He was interrupted when Sol misunderstood what he’d said. “No, not F. S as in—” Something thumped solidly against his boot. He heard a shriek and felt someone land like an explosion of TNT in his lap. The agony of being hit hard in his groin was so intense, he barely noticed as a football glanced off his forehead and wobbled away along the ground.

“Shit!” he ground out, pain shooting through his body like red-hot buckshot, transforming him into a bent-over cripple. Though the phone was no longer at his ear, he could hear Sol’s startled inquiry. Lucas brought the phone back up, rasping through clenched teeth, “Yes, S as in shit. I’ll call you back.” He clicked off and dropped the phone to the dry grass, hoping for a quick death.

The human missile that had caused his injury was righting herself. A part of his brain that was still minimally functioning registered that it was Jess Glen. She groaned, squinted around, then seemed to realize who and what had broken her fall. Her cheeks, already pinkened from the game, quickly darkened to a flaming cherry when she noticed she was cradled in Lucas’s lap. Sliding to the grass, she mumbled, “Oh, I—I’m sorry. I was going after a long one.”

Her flinch told Lucas she knew her remark had come out sounding lewd, considering the part