Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
For a half-second he was back in that car with Lola's knife on his skin and nowhere to go but six feet under. Neil didn't know what sound he made but Andrew's fingers were a sudden and unforgiving weight on the back of his neck. Andrew pushed him forward and held him down. Neil tried to breathe but his chest was as tight as a rubber band ready to snap.
"It's over," Abby said as she gently combed her fingers through his hair. "It's over. You're going to be okay. We've got you."
Neil breathed, in-out-in-out, too shallow to reach his lungs, too fast to do him any good. He flexed his fingers again, then clenched them, knowing he was splitting the scabs open, knowing he was pulling at burned flesh trying so hard to heal, but needing to know he still had a grip. He needed to know that his father and Riko had both lost, that he could walk away from this and step back onto the court as Neil Josten. For a moment that single-mindedness was enough to startle a bit of clarity into him, and Neil was desperately grateful he didn't have the breath to laugh. He knew how panicked it would sound.
"Stop it," Andrew said, like it was really that simple.
It wasn't, but Neil's tangled mix of anger and exasperation was enough to put a hiccup in his gasping. That catch disrupted the frantic pace enough that Neil managed a real breath. He sucked in a second one as deep as he could, then a third as slowly as he could stomach it. His insides were still quaking by the time he got a sixth, but he was off that ledge and safe in their hands and Neil didn't care if he felt two seconds from getting violently ill. He went limp and let Andrew pull him back upright. Looking at him was safer than facing the damage again, so Neil studied Andrew's profile and let Abby work.
She was halfway done with his left arm when Wymack returned. Andrew had to get up to let him in, but he came right back. Wymack stood between the beds to survey the mess. His expression was unreadable, but his half-lidded eyes were dark, and Neil knew how to read the anger in every inch of an older man's frame. Neil made another fist, a silent promise that his hands were still in working order. It did nothing to take the tension from Wymack's shoulders.
"Are we spending the night here?" Wymack asked.
"I hate Baltimore," Neil said. "Can we go?"
Wymack nodded and looked to Abby. "How much longer do you need?"
"Ten minutes, maybe," Abby said. "We'll be done by the time everyone's checked out and on the bus."
"I'll round them up," Wymack said. "They won't bother you until we're back on campus."
"I promised them answers," Neil said.
"The bus isn't set up for a conversation like this. Even two to a row they'd be too spaced out to hear you easy. The locker room has a better setup. Nap back to the stadium and deal with them in familiar territory."
"My room key's on the dresser," Abby said to Wymack.
Wymack plucked it up, grabbed his paperwork, and left to get the Foxes. Abby finished cleaning and rewrapping Neil's arms, and Neil and Andrew waited while she repacked her bag. Neil swallowed some painkillers dry before handing her his medicine for the ride back. The team hadn't come to Baltimore with much, just what they'd needed for the game in New York, but Neil checked every drawer to make sure nothing was left behind.
The bus was waiting for them downstairs, door open and overhead lights on. Matt was putting the last gear bag in the storage compartment as they approached.
"I dropped my gear in New York," Neil said.
"Andrew found it while he was looking for you," Abby said. "Your bag was four gates down by the time the police broke things up. Everything's a bit worse for the wear, but at least it's all accounted for."
Matt slammed the doors closed, tugged the handles to make sure the locks caught, and gave Neil a once-over. "Hey," he said. "Coach made us promise to leave you alone, but are you okay?"
"No," Neil said, "but I think I will be."
He stepped up into the bus and found the Foxes sitting one to a row. They usually left space between the upperclassmen and Andrew's group, but tonight Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin had settled in directly behind their older teammates. Neil would have taken the cushion behind Kevin, except Andrew headed for his usual seat in the far back. Neil followed him back and sat in front of Andrew, leaving a two-seat gap between him and the rest of the Foxes.
Getting comfortable was almost impossible thanks to the injuries on his face. He had to sleep on his back, but the seat wasn't long enough for him to completely stretch out. His thoughts kept him up most of the night, but he managed to doze off occasionally. Those stolen snatches of rest did almost more harm than good, but something was better than nothing.
Neil knew they were getting close when Wymack parked the bus outside a gas station. It took three Foxes to carry back enough coffees for everyone, and they didn't bother to pass the cups out. A couple minutes later the Foxhole Court rolled into view outside Neil's window. The sight of it was a much-needed jolt of adrenaline. Neil trailed bandaged knuckles along the cold window.
"Neil Josten," he mouthed. "Number ten, starting striker, Foxhole Court."
Even if the Moriyamas rejected Stuart's truce and came after him, the process had begun. Neil Josten was in the system to become a real person. He wouldn't die a lie.
Wymack killed the engine, and Neil painstakingly sat up. The Foxes filed off the bus and divvied up their gear. Neil looked for his bag and found it slung over Matt's shoulder. He tried to take a tray of coffee instead, but Dan sent his wrapped hands a pointed look and ignored his silent offer.