Page 5 of Veil of Lies

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Brax steamed into our apartment with a face like thunder. We were used to his moody ass, but this seemed more than a hangover. Something was eating him, and not in a good way.

“Nothing,” he snapped, dumping his bag on the couch and heading to the refrigerator for a beer.

“You’re drinking too much,” I pointed out. I knew he wouldn’t listen, but as his friend, I felt like I had a duty to address his functional alcoholism.

“Fuck off.”

I sighed. “Come on, what’s crawled up your butt?”

He huffed and drank and huffed again. “Some stupid girl. I was going to ask if she’d help me out with some study notes and she fucking blew me off like I was a Stage 5 creeper.”

I snorted. Yeah. I could see why that would piss him off. The dude wasn’t used to rejection. He had girls throwing themselves at him on the regular, pushing love notes under the door, and stalking him on social media. It had been even worse since his dad died. Now they wanted to mother him as well as fuck him.

“Maybe she’s into chicks not dicks,” Quinn suggested, having caught the tail end of the conversation when he appeared from the bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

Brax brightened up at the thought. “That would make sense,” he mused. “She was wearing the most unflattering sweatshirt I’ve ever seen, and her glasses were just awful. Maybe she’s one of those hairy, butt-ugly feminist types.”

“Why do you need her for study notes anyway? I thought Amber had that sorted.”

“She does, but her notes aren’t great and this new girl seems more diligent.”

I shrugged. “Ok… well maybe offer her something before you ask for her help.”

“Fashion advice would be a good start,” he muttered.

Quinn laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t run with that. I’m not sure she’d appreciate it.”

Brax chugged the rest of his beer and closed his eyes while Quinn banged around in our small kitchen, making some pasta. I could see the strain on my best friend’s face. Since his dad had died, he’d barely been sleeping. The stress of the court case, on top of dealing with his mother’s grief, was taking its toll. Not that he would admit that. Brax hated to show any kind of weakness, but we’d been friends for years and I knew how much he was hurting. I just wished he would stop drinking so much. At the rate he was going, he’d need a new fucking liver within five years.

“You guys hungry?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah, dish me up some.”

“What did your last servant die of? I cooked so you can fill your own fucking plate. Lazy bastard.” He walked past with a steaming plate of pasta covered in grated cheese.

I rolled my eyes and jumped up to get some food while it was hot. Quinn often cooked for us. His Italian mama had taught him all her best dishes and pasta was on the menu at least twice a week. The rest of the time we ate in the cafeteria or ordered takeout. Nobody was stupid enough to suggest I cooked. My skills in the kitchen were non-existent. I had no issue with loading the dishwasher though.

Brax lay on the sofa with his eyes closed. It didn’t look as if he planned to eat, which was not great. “Hey, asshole, you want some food?” I asked.

“Nah, not hungry.”

“You need to eat something to soak up all the booze.”

“Fuck off, you’re not my fucking mother.”

Quinn grinned at me, knowing full well I’d bring Brax a plate of pasta anyway.

“Here, eat.” I dropped the plate on his lap and he bitched at me but started shoveling his face regardless. In less than five minutes, the plate was polished clean and he pushed it onto the coffee table.

Just as I’d finished my pasta, there was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Quinn offered, jumping up.

“Is Brax in?” God, Rowena’s whiny voice irritated me.

“No.”

“But I can see him on the sofa!”

“FUCK OFF, Rowena, I’m busy,” Brax yelled.

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