Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 109903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
"He is lucky to have a friend like you worrying about him."
"I'm not his friend," Neil said. "I'm his teammate."
"Are you not his, or he not yours?" Betsy asked, and when Neil just looked at her, said, "They are distinctly different matters and it is possible to have one without the other. I'm sorry if I'm making assumptions, but it seems to me that he views you as a friend." When Neil didn't immediately respond, she said, "What about the rest of the team? Are they your friends?"
"What do I need friends for?" Neil asked. "I came here to play. That's what Coach's contract asked of me, so that's what I'm going to do. Is this really what you want to talk about?"
"I want to talk about last night, but I also want to talk about you. I want to make sure you have a support network that can get you through the next few weeks. If you don't want to talk about the latter, we can focus on the former. Can you tell me what happened?"
"How many times do you want to hear that story?" Neil asked. "I'm sure you got it from Nicky and Kevin. Coach probably told you what the police said. Maybe you even got answers from Andrew. I have nothing to add."
"Could you at least tell me why you brought a racquet into that room?"
"Do you own a gun?" Neil asked, and when Betsy shook her head, said, "Imagine you did. One night you wake up because you hear someone moving around in your house. You have the right to confront them and, not knowing whether or not they're armed, are smart enough to bring your gun with you. If he attacks you and you fire on him, the police will call it justified self-defense. I don't have a gun, but I had a racquet."
"I understand what you're getting at, but no one else suspected Andrew was in any trouble," Betsy said. It wasn't really a question, so Neil didn't answer. When they stopped at the next red light, Betsy considered Neil in silence. Only when the light turned green again did she say, "There is a fine line between self-defense and premeditated murder here, Neil. Why did you bring the racquet upstairs?"
At length Neil grudgingly said, "I knew who Drake was."
"How? Did Andrew tell you about him?"
"He told me parts of the story, not enough," Neil said. "I knew the Oakland police were investigating the Spears and I knew Cass's son was a Marine. I can't take on a Marine in a fair fight. That's why I grabbed my racquet." Neil stared out the window and wished the conversation was already over. "I gave it to Aaron so I could break down the door, and I didn't have time to take it back."
"You stormed the room," Betsy said. "What did you see?"
"Drake attacking Andrew," Neil said. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie as it rolled off his tongue. Three words were a pathetic description of what he'd walked in on. "I was off-balance from kicking in the door, so Aaron was faster than I was. He caught Drake right here." He touched his head where his racquet had shattered Drake's skull. "It was a heavy, so it only took one hit. If Andrew gave you the p-card, that means the police are keeping my racquet, aren't they?"
"Would you want it back?" Betsy asked.
"Do you have any idea how much it cost?" Neil asked. "Yes, I want it back."
"It wouldn't bother you that it was used as a murder weapon?"
"It didn't kill anyone important."
"Interesting," Betsy said, but she didn't elaborate until she'd pulled into a department store parking lot. This early on a workday, it was easy to get a spot near the door. She took the key from the ignition, turned off her GPS, and looked at Neil. "Drake's crimes aside, he met a violent end only a few feet from you. It would be natural and completely understandable if you felt some sort of shock or grief."
The smart thing to do was lie, but every time Neil blinked he saw Andrew's white-knuckled grip on the headboard. He could still hear Andrew's laughter, muffled by the pillow. If he could reach inside his head and claw the memory out he would, but he couldn't. All he could do was lash out at Betsy. She wasn't the shrink who'd put Andrew on this medication two and a half years ago but she was the only one close enough to hit.
"I don't," Neil said flatly. "And you know what? Neither does Andrew."
He wanted her to defend herself. He wanted to see her try to justify any of this. His father's temper was hot in his veins, raging for an outlet. The only response he got, though, was a calm, "Did you ask him?"
"Did I ask him?" Neil repeated, disbelieving. "He said he can't feel. You saw him smiling last night. Did you hear him—" Neil gave a vicious jerk of his hand, willing himself to shut up before he said too much, and levered himself out of the car. He slammed the door behind himself, but of course Betsy was getting out on the other side. Neil attempted to cut her off with, "We're not talking about this."
"You can't choke back on everything forever," Betsy said. "You need an outlet, whether it's with me or David or your teammates."
"I don't need anyone."
"Would you at least like one of us to contact your parents?"
"No," Neil said, and started for the door.
Betsy followed but didn't push it, and they split up inside. Neil was the only one browsing the clothing aisles at this time of day, but an ancient woman was already keeping watch at the changing room. She paused in sorting out returns long enough to unlock one of the stalls for Neil. He listened for the lock to catch behind him, then shrugged out of his coat. He went still with both hands on his shirt when he saw his reflection.