Foxe looked no different from the day Luke had left him to get a job with the Marwoods. His clothes were clean, which was interesting since the man hated doing laundry. But what Luke disliked immediately was the way Foxe was staring at him. There was a mixture of betrayal and rage in his hazel eyes.
“You left a few things out in your texts and voicemails,” Foxe drawled.
“Oh, you did receive them?” Luke asked. “I wasn’t sure since you didn’t bother to reply.”
“You stopped sending money. I didn’t have time to sit around and catch up on my correspondence. Some of us don’t have rich soulmates to rely on for everything.”
“From what I understand, the Arwynns are quite wealthy,” Clark said.
“Didn’t you tell them that my brother cut me off?” Foxe asked. “Yeah, that’s right. My own brother. Tossed me out like trash. I went to his house a week ago. Rowan wouldn’t let me through the front gate. What no one seems to understand is that I can’t get a job like a normal person. I’m a necromancer. My family won’t hire me. It’s too dangerous for me to work for humans.”
“Your father offered you jobs,” Luke remarked.
“I can’t sit in an office, Luke. You know that.”
“Because you don’t want to be too tired at night to gamble,” Luke pointed out. “That’s not a valid reason to avoid being employed.”
“Why are you suddenly judging me for everything I do?” Foxe demanded. “For ten years, we were together. Friends. We did everything together. Suddenly, you’re out here in Vegas and changing everything. You were supposed to be providing for us both. That’s the way we’ve always done things.”
Luke remembered those years—likely in greater detail than Foxe. What he recalled was how the burden of feeding them and driving them from one spot to another had fallen on his shoulders. He hadn’t minded. Luke liked to care for others.
But what he’d learned was that there was a vast difference between giving freely and being expected to perform a role for a selfish prick who couldn’t raise a finger to help himself. Not even to fight the addiction eating away at himself. All Foxe had wanted to do was gamble, so that was what he did. Without care for each dollar he spent or what Luke had to do to find the next one.
“It was the way we did things,” Luke said. “But that was because I didn’t understand how I was being used.”
“I summoned you. Inspirits like to help. It’s their job. You liked doing everything.”
“Inspirits get to decide how or if they want to help,” Richard stated succinctly. “They are under no obligation to do shit for anyone. That rule applies to demands from their summoner too.”
Foxe’s expression soured. “So, you’re fine with tossing me out on the street too, Luke? When you know I don’t have any money or a bed to sleep in tonight?”
“There are choices you can make to improve your life,” Luke told Foxe, dearly hoping the necromancer would help himself. “But you have to be willing to learn to cope with your addiction.”
“Gambling addiction isn’t a real thing,” Foxe responded, his gaze darting around the room and his cheeks reddening. Luke didn’t know what he was thinking or how to get through his thick skull. It was sad to realize that Foxe had used him, but thankfully, Luke was no longer in that position and could live however he wanted.
“Yes, it is,” Luke corrected. “We can offer you information to prove that it is, and there are programs available, but I can’t force you to take the first step toward a new life. That must come from you and be your choice.”
Bowing his head, Foxe stared at his feet for several tense minutes. Luke glanced at Richard, and his soulmate shrugged.
“I don’t know if I can do it, Luke,” Foxe eventually said.
A sense of relief flowed through Luke, but he couldn’t celebrate yet. “You can, Foxe. I believe in you. We can be friends as long as you are trying to get better.”
“I abandoned you,” Foxe argued. “Sent you over here with these rich-ass Marwoods to send me money. Why would you want to be my friend?”
“Because I think you are more than your addiction,” Luke responded. “I believe you can change and be a better person.”
“No one believes in me, Luke.”
“I think the problem may be that you don’t,” Luke said. “I can’t do anything about that, all I can do is offer you resources to help you figure out why you lack that conviction in yourself.”
Foxe lifted his head, and there were tears sliding down his cheeks. “I’m scared. What if all I am is a gambler?”
“I know it’s frightening. It’s a big change. But no one is just one thing, Foxe. No one.”
“Fine,” Foxe said, brushing the wetness from his face with the heel of his hands. “Fine. I’ll go wherever. I don’t have any other choices anyway. I have no place to go, and my car is out of gas. It ran out a few blocks away. I had to abandon it and walk here. It’s not even mine, I borrowed it from a gal I met in Utah.”
Delighted that Foxe was interested in doing something about his addiction, Luke walked over and hugged him. “We’ll take care of it, Foxe. Right now, stay focused on you.”