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)
"Christ alive," Wymack said. "What did you do this time?"
"He called Riko a Class I douchebag," Dan said. "Not in so many words, but I think they got the message."
Wymack dug a thumb into his temple. "I should have asked for hazard pay when I took this job. Out, out, out. I'm not dealing with your attitude problem until I've had a couple drinks. That goes for the rest of you, too. Get out of my sight and get cleaned up. If you're not on the van with your gear in twenty minutes I'm leaving you here. And hey," he said before they could scatter. "Good job tonight."
He said they only had twenty minutes, but Neil wasted ten of them in the shower. He turned the water on too hot and didn't care that it scalded his skin. He wrote his name on the tile walls with his fingertips, over and over and over until his hand went numb.
CHAPTER SIX
The Ravens handled Neil's insults with rude grace. Their only official comment on the matter was that they couldn't care less what a loudmouthed amateur had to say about them. Neil was a little surprised they stopped there and didn't mock his miserable December performance. Belatedly he realized they couldn't throw him under the bus when he'd come back to South Carolina with Riko's number on his face. It would undermine Riko's estimation of his worth. Neil went to bed feeling more than a little smug.
The fans were less tolerant, and their retaliation started before sunrise Saturday. Pounding on the door startled Neil awake. He looked at the clock first, the dim window second, and scrubbed a hand across tired eyes. The pounding stopped, but Matt's phone started ringing a couple seconds later. Matt rolled over and blindly slapped a hand about for his phone. The pounding started up again, so Neil slung his legs over the side of the bed and went down his ladder.
Voices in the hallway were loud enough to carry through the door, muffled but angry. Neil didn't recognize any of them, but as he pulled the door open he definitely heard the word "cops". Neil opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Dan slipped past him as soon as she could fit through the doorway. Neil watched her make a beeline for the bedroom, then leaned into the hall. Doors were open most of the way down, but only a couple athletes stuck around to rant at each other. The rest aimed for the stairwell like their lives depended on it.
Neil closed the door and went after Dan. She'd shaken Matt awake and was talking as Neil walked in: "—trashed the cars."
Matt rolled out of bed and onto his feet in a heartbeat. Neil boosted himself up his ladder enough to grab his keys from under his pillow. Matt slowed just long enough to throw a jacket on over his pajama pants and pull his shoes on. He slapped his jacket pockets until his keys jangled in response. By the time Neil found his shoes Matt was already gone with Dan close behind him. Neil locked the door and ran after them, catching up on the stairwell. Matt jumped the last flight and slammed the back door open.
Neil didn't know what was worse: the sight or the smell. A layer of raw meat, broken eggs, and rocks covered the parking lot and stuck to the athletes' cars. Some cars got by with a couple dings and scratches; others had cracks and holes in their windows and windshields. Enraged athletes swarmed the parking lot, half of them on their phones, the others raging at the state of their vehicles. Someone had already been inside long enough to get a bucket, and she was steadfastly scrubbing beef off her hood. Squad cars and campus security were on the scene, with a dozen officers taking statements and pictures.
Any thought that this wasn't his fault died when Neil spotted Matt's truck. Someone had taken extra time to wreck it. Every window on the cab had been busted clean out, leaving only glittering spikes of glass around the frames. The tires were long-deflated from wild slashes. New dents were pounded into the frame from whatever tool the rioters had used on the windows. Allison's car was in the same sorry shape two spots down from Matt's. She stood by the trunk with her arms folded tight across her chest and her face a stony mask. She looked up at their approach, followed Matt's blank stare to his truck, and cut a hard look at Neil.
"The hell," Matt said in a strangled tone. He reached for his truck but drew up short, not wanting to actually touch the mess. "How did no one hear them?"
"They saved the windows for last," Allison said. She jerked her chin to indicate the men standing across the row from them. "Paris called the police when he heard glass break, but he couldn't get down here fast enough to see any faces. Just a lot of cars peeling out of here, he said. At least four, maybe five."
"Oh, Jesus." Matt made another aborted reach for his truck, then settled for raking his hands through his hair. Dan pressed herself up against his back and wound her arms around him. He held tight to her wrists. "Are we really going to do this again?"
"I'm sorry," Neil said.
Allison curled her lip at him in scorn. "Shut up. No you're not. You're not," she insisted when Neil opened his mouth to argue. It sounded less like an accusation and more like an order, so Neil reluctantly subsided. "Have you forgotten who has to paint you back together every morning? If you'd let them steamroll you yesterday after all of this," she flicked her fingers up at her own face, "I would hate you."
"You told them the truth," Dan said. "It's not your fault they don't like it."
"I don't want this fight coming back on you," Neil said.
"Too late for that now. But whatever," Allison said. She was going for lofty, but Neil could still see the anger in every tense line of her when she surveyed her car again. "They want to break my toy? So what? I'll buy another one. Maybe I'll buy two. Fuck them if they think this will hurt me."