Archive of Our Own

David and Abby were sleeping - in the same room, double beds, because it was cheaper.

David woke to a strange sound. A soft, consistent tapping pulled David out of an uneasy sleep. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in the middle of the night. David never slept well. His subconscious was painfully aware of the volatility and vulnerability of his Foxes and the potential for any emergency at all hours of the day and night.

The room was silent. David blinked owlishly, trying to figure out if he imagined the noise.

And then he heard it again, a quiet-until-it-isn’t sound like a leaky faucet or a rat in the wall.

Someone was knocking on the door.

David lurched to his feet, half asleep. He stumbled to the door and didn’t think to look through the peephole. The nondescript Virginia hotel set up by the South ERC wasn’t exactly the Ritz but it was far from Motel 6. It could only be one of the kids. Awake and ready to bitch about having to stay overnight in Virginia. Whatever it was, he hoped he wouldn’t have to wake Abby or drive anyone to the hospital.

David opened the door, and stared into the face of his past and his future. For a surreal moment, David thought he was dreaming. Why else would the earthly remains of Kayleigh Day be standing outside his door?

Kevin Day stood on the other side, his face a billboard of suffering and fear. He was sweating through his clothes. Trembling all over with stress. The cause could be anything from drugs to terror. The seventeen year old prodigy had one hand clutched to his chest. His hand was red like he was wearing a velvet glove. Among the garish red of blood and sinew and clot black gore - shocks of white bone.

Kevin’s left hand - his playing hand - the best shot on any court, easily worth millions.

It was broken.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“David Wymack - I -“ Kevin coughed, or sobbed, “I need your help.”

His breathing was ragged, more shallow gasps than actual breaths. He looked like hell warmed over. Kevin’s playing hand was mangled and he held his wrist in a death grip. Beside his broken fingers was an envelope, dotted with blood, both fresh and dried -

“Kevin Day,” Coach Wymack rasped, “get in here.”

He grabbed Kevin by the shoulders and pulled him inside. David poked his head into the hall to see if Kevin was alone. The long stretch of ugly carpet was deserted all the way to the elevators. David turned his attention to Kevin. He patted down Kevin’s biceps like he was checking for injury - beyond the obvious and horrifying. David’s eyes were stuck on the mess of Kevin’s hand. The longer he looked, the less real the catastrophic damage seemed.

Kevin was dazed and hyperventilating as David towed towed him further into the room, and deposited him gently on the edge of the bed. He was shaking like the Holiday Inn was a meat locker.

“Abby,” David tried to call out but his voice was strangled by the bleak reality sitting in front of him - a dream crumbling before his very eyes. Not his own, but that didn’t matter when someone you cared about, if at a distance, was going through hell.

“Abby!”

David voice piqued in a panic he usually had under wraps. David did not lose control of his emotions. He was more prone to shades of anger and frustration than he’d like, but he never showed his players a moment of doubt. The Foxes needed him to be consistent as the sun. Stable and ever shining burning hot rays of nurturing and or something. He read it in some book Betsy had in her bathroom.

Bile rose in the back of David’s throat. The longer he stared at Kevin’s hand, the worse the damaged appeared God, the kids hand was completely crushed. David covered his mouth like he could keep his dinner and his composure through sheer force of will. It's worked before.

Abby was up immediately and probably expecting a few of their Foxes got into a brutal fight and needed a couple stitches, a shot of vodka, and a stern reprimand. She grabbed her first aid kit and went to the foot of the bed, all business and measured authority. She did not recognize Kevin for who he was until after she noticed his hand. Abby was shocked by the grisly, gruesome sight, enough to drop her carry-on sized kit at Kevin’s feet. She bent down to retrieve it, and looked under Kevin’s bent head.

“Kevin,” she said in her gentle voice, “can I look at your hand?” Her voice was hoarse and thin. Abby’s face was pinched and drawn, ghostly pale and deathly serious. Her hands suspended in the air, desperate to heal but afraid to touch. After a few minutes of examination visual examination, Abby hesitantly reached out. She handled Kevin’s wrist tentatively, turning his hand in different directions to analyze the damage. Her other hand was nearly behind her back. She didn’t touch Kevin’s hand for fear of worsening the injury. In the end, all she could do was wipe the blood off his face and wrap his hand in a few layers of stark white gauze. A delicate sterile layer to protect from infection. So different from the bright red blood and dark sinew. Kevin stared into the middle distance in the direction of his hand.

“He has multiple compound fractures, deep lacerations, and I can’t begin to guess the nerve damage,” Abby swallowed, “David - it’s bad. He needs to go to a hospital, he needs a specialized orthopedic surgeon. I have a friend at Mayo. I can give him a call?”

Bad was Abby’s equivalent of seriously fucked up. David weighed his options. If Kevin were one of his players, he would already be halfway to the hospital. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.

“Make the call.”

David went back to Kevin. He wouldn’t look at David. David looked at him.

Kevin’s Raven’s uniform was black, stylized with an embroidered raven. The jersey undoubtedly hid blood stains and was glaringly noticeable to Kevin’s rabid fans. David was going to have to cut it off him. He couldn’t risk lifting it over his head. Too many questions if he walked out of the hotel looking like he just left practice when he should be in West Virginia, not Virginia. Hell, David should be in South Carolina. The Foxes were in Virginia for the Southern District seasonal banquet. Kevin and the Ravens were knee deep in their six week pre-season training. Kevin was still dressed in his jersey and cleats.

Something was seriously wrong here. Everything about Kevin screamed ‘kid on the run’ desperate for some kind of safe haven. Someone in need of David’s protection. Someone who would be at home with the Foxes.

He needed the story from Kevin before he could arrange damage control.

“Okay Kevin,” David waited for some indication Kevin was listening. The blink was enough.

“I’m going to be straight with you. If you want to use your hand for eating and wiping your ass nevertheless Exy, you need to go to the hospital, right now. Abby is making some calls. They’re going to fix your hand.”

David glanced at Kevin’s twisted fingers, bent at unnatural angles and turning purple from lack of blood flow.

“I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now, but you need to keep it together until we can get the bones reset properly. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“Why,” Kevin croaked in the word, “why.”

“Why what?”

“Why try. They can’t fix me. It’s over. I’m done.”

David had heard those words a million times before in a million different ways from too many kids. It always made him angry but coming out of Kevin’s mouth, it made him furious. And heartbroken. Kevin was so damn talented. His career could not end at seventeen. David would not allow it.

David seized Kevin shoulders. Letting the silence stretch until Kevin cracked and looked at him. Coach held the broken boy’s gaze and and willed him to believe what he said next.

“Now, you listen to me, Kevin Day. You are the top striker in NCAA Class I Exy; the most talented and dedicated player in the game bar none. Only the fans love you more than the coaches. Every single player on an Exy court and every kid watching a game - hell half the adults sitting on their 401ks - want to be you when they grow up. You’re going to come to South Carolina, and we’re going to get your hand fixed.”

You’re going to play again snagged against his Wymack’s lips. He stopped there. He wasn’t the kind of person to make promises he couldn’t keep.

Kevin stared at David with huge, bottomless eyes -

And then he started talking. He told David what happened in excruciating detail.

He talked about Riko - the stares that turned into glares and the simmering temper expressed in an increasingly violent manner until it ultimately exploded in a savage display of cruelty. Kevin told him about the Master and the ruthless he coached the team. The canings he considered discipline. Kevin told him about the comments in the news and social media that started it all: Maybe Kevin was better than Riko. Maybe number 2 was really number 1. Kevin described the Northern District banquet, held the night before. Kids talking about stats and fan appeal and talent. Riko’s unusual silence and unexplained tension. He told David about Tetsuji calling him to the gym. The commands. Change out. Set up at half court. Score. A shootout against the goalie. Hours later, Kevin was a few points in the lead.

Kevin these things with an air of disbelief, as if beating Riko in a fair competition was more impossible than the truth Kevin was working up to revealing.

“He was so calm. I thought he’d be angry but he didn’t react. Riko grabbed me in the locker room with half the Ravens starting line. He pressed my hand flat against one of the benches. He had a hammer.”

Kevin didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. David recognized the look creeping over his face. The sweat breaking across his brow. David lunged for the trashcan and got it under Kevin’s head just as he started heaving.

The shock of the injury. The wear of the pain. The horror of the betrayal, slowly sinking in. David gave Kevin’s back a few firm rubs. He wasn’t good at comfort.

“Why,” Kevin’s voice was weak and rough, “why are you helping me.”

“Because you showed up at my door and asked for my help,” David said honestly, “and your mom was a good friend to me,” Wymack threw in for some reason, “taught me everything I know about the game.”

“Me too.”

Kevin leaned over the basket again. David was fervently thankful that the garbage cans were hard plastic and not that modern chic mesh things. He would write a nicely worded letter.

David wanted to ask Kevin why he chose David’s door of all the doors in the hotel -
Chose David to reach out to despite all the coaches and athletic resources available to him.

Kevin held out his uninjured hand. In his grip, an envelop, stained by dark splotches of half-dry blood.

David looked to Kevin for a clue but the kid was staunchly looking away.

It was a letter, addressed to Tetsuji Moriyama. In Kayleigh’s handwriting.

David opened the letter and couldn’t read a goddamn word of it. The thing was written in Japanese.

“Kevin, I can’t read Japanese.”

Kevin looked up, a surprised expression on his face, like he forgot the note wasn’t written in English. And it was a note. Only a handful of lines in the center of the page.

“Turn it over.” Kevin’s voice was small. Shaking and uncertain. Questioning. What, David couldn’t begin to guess.

On the other side, the letter was translated into English in Kevin’s slanted, left-hand grip.

David risked another glance at Kevin’s hand. His right hand had retreated back to grip his left wrist after handing off the note like his mangled hand would fall off completely if he let go of it for a second. David was left-handed. The best left-handed backliner to ever play the game, according to Kayleigh. But that was years ago --

David let the errant thought go, and read the letter.

Tetsuji -

I write to you as a courtesy, nothing more. You are a trustworthy friend and someone other than me needs to know the truth, just in case.
I’m pregnant. Swallow your judgement, I will not tolerate a word from you.
The father is David Wymack, you will remember him from the Exy pilot program at USC.
I did not tell him. In fact, I told him that he was not the father of my child.
For his career and for my future.
I don’t regret it. Maybe I will, someday.
I land in Japan on the 1st.

Kayleigh Day

David stared at the letter. Flipped it over. David analyzed the Japanese, written in Kayleigh’s loopy right-handed script. David was transfixed at the way the shapes were curved and grouped in vertical columns, his eyes tracing over the order like he could read the words. Like he could connect the letters that Kayleigh wrote to the idea Kevin planted in his brain. He turned the letter over and read through the English again.

The English seemed as unintelligible as the Japanese.

“I found it in the Masters office last year. I took it.” Kevin sounded guilty, like he expected David to punish him for swiping something from his abusive coach’s office that the bastard had no right to keep in the firstplace.

last year

“Kevin.”

“I know you didn’t know. That she didn’t tell you. She didn’t tell me either. I asked once.”

“Kevin.”

“Riko’s going to kill me - I couldn’t stay there, I’m sorry -“

“Kevin.”

“I shouldn’t have put this on you - I didn’t think - I don’t expect anything, I just needed -“

“Your Dad.” David interrupted. The words come from deep within and he had no power against them. No will to fight them. A thing a terrible beauty born from the ashes of agonizing pain left behind when Kayleigh said the baby isn’t yours, and it’s time to say goodbye.

Kevin glanced up at David with an undisguised, devastating hope. David's teenager still held on to his own wrist in a vice grip. Exposing every piece of his vulnerability in a single, terrifying act of bravery that shook them both to the core. David's eyes scanned over Kevin's face, seeing the boy in a whole new light, under the glaring truth of David's newfound paternity. Kevin had a year to settle into the knowledge and a whole life to wonder; David felt entitled to take a few seconds to process this life-changing news. He believed it immediately but his mind was racing to catch up to his heart, which had taken a quick plunge off a cliff into a new world. Kayleigh was no liar, except when it suited her, apparently, but Kayleigh's letter wasn't what convinced him, it merely opened his eyes so he could finally see what was always there if David had been willing to look close enough before this moment; before Kevin and Kayleigh gave him permission. He hadn't wanted to look on his own, to see Kayleigh's eyes in a young man's face because imagining the identity of Kevin's father - the man Kayleigh loved more than David - was too painful for him to bear. In that moment, David hated himself for his blindness. For his selfish desire to hide from the truth to spare himself a little bit of pain; such a weak and intangible perspective in the reality of Kevin's face. David could see himself in Kevin's nose, his hair, his brows, and his tawny skin. David saw his mother in Kevin's widow's peak and dimpled cheeks. David saw his father in Kevin's pallid, sweaty countenance and stubbornly squared shoulders, though Kevin's were stooped in a defeat Vincent Wymack was never willing to admit.

David remembers the few times he reached out to his old man for attention. Affection. Love. Sometimes he got a full night of screaming. Other times, he got the ever-living shit beaten out of him. And someone beat the shit out of his kid. Worse than that. David was gonna take Tetsuji Moriyama down on the court if it was the last thing he did. David was going to expend every legal measure to get Riko Moriyama put behind bars, even if he had to bankrupt himself. At that moment, David decided the Ravens were going to lose. Maybe not next season, but soon.

Pinned to the wall with paralyzing helplessness and a well of guilt mixing with a warm, bright, indescribable emotion racing through - his chest so full it hurt.

David remembered what he wanted from his dad, those times when he was brave enough to reach out and risk rejection and the hurt that came hand in hand.

Acceptance. A smile. Maybe a hug if he was trying to push his luck.

David moved like the tin man, but soon he was sitting on the bed next to Kevin and he was reaching his arms out slowly. Kevin tensed, but he doesn’t move away. Careful of his hand, David wrapped his arms around his son. Like instinct, his hand ended up over Kevin’s. Carefully, David laid his palm over Kevin’s hand, gripping Kevin’s hand around Kevin’s wrist - to hold the horror of reality away from the rest of his body for him. So Kevin could relax for a second without worrying about letting go. It was awkward, sitting next to someone on the edge of a hotel bed and hugging them from the side. Kevin relaxed minutely. His shaking, desperate grip went limp, trusting Wymack’s strength to keep the pressure on his wrist, to keep his destroyed hand hovering in limbo. David’s face ended up by the side of Kevin’s head. David breathed deeply, trying to compose himself. He couldn't resist the deep sigh that shook as it left him and he deflated into Kevin's side like a punctured balloon.

David had no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. But doing nothing when someone is in pain is always the wrong choice. David tightened his arms around his son. Slowly, David leaned into Kevin until his face was pressed into Kevin's temple, his forehead coming to rest against the crown of Kevin's head like it was the most natural thing in the world./p>

Kevin Day. David's first son and only child.

Kevin’s trembling eased for less than a second before he started shaking in a different wracking way, under the thrall of a different emotion. Kevin hunched forward, curling in on himself. He folded his body around their hands, and cried. Hard, jagged sobs that shook the bed and the foundations of David’s soul. David already loved Kevin, not because he was the kids biological father - it was Kayleigh. He loved Kayleigh so he loved Kayleigh’s son, simple as that. But now, knowing that he and Kayleigh made Kevin together, made him love her twice as much. And Kevin -- what he felt for his son was something beyond love, a depth of feeling he thought he was incapable of -- that his parents broke in him. He vowed to never have children because he knew his very genes were polluted with generations of Wymack failures and addictions. David should have guessed that Kayleigh's DNA would be strong enough to overwrite David's faulty genetic code.

Hearing Kevin’s pain so clearly --

It hurt. It hurt so bad David waited to die.

Soon, Kevin shrunk in on himself, as the star athlete was brought low, leaning so far forward his weight tipped and he slipped off the bed. David eased his kid’s descent to rock bottom, knowing it was the only thing he could do for his son at this moment. Kevin ended up on his knees, pressing his forehead into the thin hotel carpet like he could knock himself out. His hands were ruins under the London bridge of his body.

David held on, adjusting and moving to stay with his kid - his kid - as Kevin broke down, unable to process the worst day of his life.

It’ll be okay. The words came to David lips like a sprinter to finish line but he couldn’t bring himself to say them.

Sometimes you didn’t need to say anything to be supportive. David would show his faith. He would prove his belief that Kevin was going to get back on the court, as good as before. Kevin hardly scraped the surface of his potential. The insurmountable obstacles were the most necessary to overcome.

He was going to pack his kid in the car and push Kevin over every obstacle between him and healing, body and mind.

Eventually, Kevin lapsed into silent stillness. He didn’t move from the floor.

Abby appeared by the door with the matching rolling suitcases they picked up at a Sears closeout sale. Her eyes bulged with understanding and swam with staggering sympathy, brimming with unshed tears. With that look, David knew that she heard every word. Abby stepped forward, holding her arms out and offering to switch places with him. David shook his head. He worked at slowly easing Kevin back to lean against the side of the bed.

“Kevin, you good for a minute? I need to make some calls.”

Kevin nodded hollowly, his eyes glazed over and staring at the wall.

Wymack walked wooden to the kitchenette and refilled his travel mug with black coffee. Abby followed him. It wouldn’t be his first all nighter taking care of a damaged player. Abby handed her phone over. Wymack called his lawyer and called him again for emphasis, leaving a message with Abby’s number. He needed to draw up some paperwork for his new assistant coach.

“We need to take him to the nearest hospital.” Abby said, “they can air-lift him to Mayo from there.”

David didn’t remember if he thanked her. He could only see Kevin’s beaten down shape. His shoulders hunched so deep, sinking in on himself. He looked as if he hadn’t moved since David sat him back down against the bed. David paced back to the bed and stood at Kevin’s outstretched feet with crossed arms.

“Alright Kevin, we need to take you to the hospital.”

“No!” That word triggered Kevin something fierce, pulling his glazed, empty stare at the middle distance, looking at David with eyes that burned as much a plead.

“I can’t go to the hospital.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t go to the hospital! They’ll kill me for leaving - they’ll find me - they’ll make me go back!”

For every new scenario Kevin listed, he grew increasingly upset, the anxiety - and the shock - shaking his entire body nearly apart, his chest heaving.

“No one can force you to play for Edgar Allen. Athletes walk away from contracts all the time.”

“You don’t understand,” Kevin cried, “you don’t know the Moriyama, you can’t imagine what they’re capable of.”

Kevin was hyperventilating, gasping for breath.

David wasn’t far behind him.

“Kevin, we can protect you --

“You don’t understand! If I get spotted in public, they’ll find me. If I access my bank account, they’ll find me. If I use my cell phone, they’ll find me.”

For all the overdoses, mental breakdowns, and attempted murders David has fielded in his day, he was at a loss.

Kevin was actually turning purple from lack of air.

David knelt, ducking his head to meet Kevin’s lowered gaze.

“Breathe.” David met Kayleigh’s penetrating green stare in a young man’s face, “breathe.”

David took slow, exaggerated breaths, trying to get Kevin to match his pace before the kid passed out.

“Breathe.”

Kevin’s wide, frantic stare was locked on David, wild with desperation. An edge of panic and dismay that spoke of fear, a deep dread instilled over time of promised threats delivered in full. A fear that refused to look at his hand but gazed into the middle distance in fear of what was coming for him down the line. Because he reached out for help outside of Edgar Allen. Because the Exy program at Edgar Allen was much worse than it appeared..

Misconduct. Mistreatment. Abuse

David’s career depended on his ability to recognize traumatized kids. David swallowed deeply and kept breathing slow, even breaths, hoping Kevin would catch on.

“They’re yakuza, and they’re coming after me.”

Abby’s vocalized gasp was a strangled, agonized sound David never heard before and never wanted to hear again. David’s breath was stolen from his body silently. Yakuza. The Japanese mob. David didn’t remember where he learned the word but he knew it - Abby knew it. David wanted to deny it, to argue with Kevin that he misunderstood or misheard -- and then David thought about Castle Evermore and the way the East Tower was permanently occupied by business associates to the Evermore eventhough all the Exy personelle and staff are set up in the West tower. If David were in the mob, business associates would be the ideal cover reference. Tetsuji was Riko’s uncle, given into his care because Kengo only wanted his oldest son, Ichiro, around to inherit the family business. Professional Exy was a multi-milllion dollar industry. Big money attracted those with ill intent and the desire to abuse power. Somehow, the Moriyama being part of the mob wasn’t all that surprising. It was incredible horrifying and added a new dimension of danger to Kevin’s situation.

Kevin was shaking like his bones were vibrating under his skin. His face was going red, a dangerous step back towards purple - the veins in his neck bulging taunt.

“Breathe, Kevin.” Kevin flinched but obeyed, his gasps tightening at the edges, a wetness in his voice to match the wetness on his cheeks. “It’s going be okay, Kevin.”

Those green, green eyes desperately wanted to believe him. David felt guilty breaking that stare, like he was cutting Kevin off at the knees or sending him adrift at sea, alone.

Kevin was drowning and David could not help Kevin if he was drowning too.

“Abby, take him down to the bus,” David said gruffly, leaving Kevin with a pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll get the team. We’re going home.”

No one cared about the after-banquet awards anyway.

“David,“ Abby began, likely asking him to be reasonable and wait for the morning so as not to disturb the kids or draw attention to them. David had zero time for being reasonable. He needed to get Kevin out of Virginia right now. David needed the home-field advantage on this one, at a minimum.

“Please?”

Abby nodded, like he knew she would. She was one of the good ones. He forgot to ask her to get the bags together, but she already had it done.

David didn’t change out of his t-shirt and sleep pants. He shoved his feet into his dress shoes he left by the bed and started down the hall, pounding on doors as he went. He was causing a racket, but the Foxes wouldn’t respond to much else. David had the duplicate of each room’s keycard in case of emergency. He made a point not to violate the privacy of his players, even on the road, but every rule has an exception.

He let himself into the problematic rooms that wouldn’t react to his pounding. Luke and Seth were out cold. He could see Allison’s blonde hair peeking out from under Seth's pillow. David hit the lights and lit up the hotel room like it was the Fourth of July. Luke spasmed like David hit him with a bucket of cold water. His best striker and a graduating senior, hit the floor hard enough to shake the lamps - and wake Seth.

“What the fuck,” Seth groaned. A lock of Allison’s hair was stuck to his mouth.

“Get your sorry asses up, boys! Pack your shit, we’re leaving. If you get up in the next five minutes, I’ll even buy you ungrateful pricks breakfast.”

“Coach, its two o’clock in the morning!”

“Did I ask you for the time, Luke?”

Luke shook his head fast enough to fling his braids.

“Get your shit and get going,” David growled, “Abby’s waiting on the bus,” David declined to mention their unexpected houseguest. He had no information to give them and no great desire to field their questions.

“That means you, Allison! Get the fuck up, all of you,” here was a strict no fraternization policy during away games and seasonal banquets. A marathon-worthy offense. Lucky for Allison and Seth, David had more important things to worry about - at the moment - He was not a man who easily forgot.

The rest of the rooms got the same treatment. Pretty soon, David had a staggering line of college kids following on his heels like a pack of pissed off ducklings. The bus was on and idling when they ambled into the parking lot like a herd of zombies. Abby flew down the bus stairs, hands full with coffee she materialized out of nowhere. Each Fox got a sunny smile and a piping-hot cup. It was hard to be pissy in the face of Abby’s sunny generosity.

David got the feeling he needed to appreciate Abby a little more. The team nurse found her way to David’s side, sheezed his bicep, and went back to the bus - walking all the way down the aisle to the back row. It was a good idea to put Kevin in the back, less likely to be noticed and he might be able to sleep for a few hours on the backbench.

The Foxes filed onto the bus, most of them cussing David out along the way.

Dan paused by his side, tugging a sweater over her head to fight off the pre-dawn chill. Matt and Renee trailed behind her like they were tugged on strings. Matt was sleepwalking. Renee’s level stare was sharp and clear, her usual, as if she never fell asleep in the first place.

“Coach?”

“We’re going back to Palmetto.”

David left it at that. He climbed into the bus, the driver’s seat, and turned them south.

The Foxes noticed the unfamiliar person on the bus, but only remarked on Kevin long enough to bitch about how he took the back bench. Even those mumbles were silence with one of Abby’s disapproving frowns. Abby stayed perched on the bench by Kevin’s feet, hovering over him like she could conceal him from the Foxe’s view - and everyone else’s reach.

It took over five hours and a stateline for the Foxes to realize exactly who was on their bus. Longer than David was expecting.He relished every moment of their quiet ignorance about to die a slow and painful death.

“Holy shit, that’s Kevin Day, no word of a lie.”

“Bullshit. Kevin Day is way taller.”

“That’s Kevin motherfucking Day. I kid you not.”

“You’re full of shit,”

David knew what was coming next and watched from the rearview mirror with dread.

“Hey!”

Malcolm pitched his voice, trying to get Kevin’s attention.

“Hey dude, are you Kevin Day?”

No response.

Seth, now interested, got up on his knees and looked over the back of his seat.

“Son of a bitch, Malcolm’s right, that’s Kevin Day.”

It was pandemonium after that. David didn’t bother trying to distinguish the voices.

“Kevin Day! Hello?”

“You don’t seriously think Kevin Day would stoop so low as the Foxes bus? Raven shit is all top of the line.”

“Yeah, not a chance in hell that hobo is Kevin Day.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s Kevin Day, leave him alone.”

“Are you Kevin Day?”

David snapped.

“If I hear the name Kevin Day one more fucking time, I’m signing every single one of you up for the next five marathons.”

David regretted it as soon as he said it. Might as well have tossed gasoline on an open flame with his dick hanging out. The Foxes looked positively gleeful.

Kevin must have finally lost his patience, because all of a sudden he was upright on the backbench and bitching David’s team out with more finesse and specificity than even David had considered. Every comment was cutting and personally targeted, like Kevin watched every game the Foxes ever played and was just waiting to unleash his constructive criticism at the most opportune moment. The kid was a prodigy of personal insults as much as Exy.

“Holy shit, it’s actually Kevin Day,” they all looked dazed. His players were fucking idiots if that was all they got out of Kevin’s tirade.

“Please,” Abby burst out, emotional enough to get the Foxes to stand at attention. Abby was the congenial sort. Took a lot to get her riled. “Just leave him be, and help me out, please.”

The Foxes loved Abby, so they only looked a little put out by the idea of work.

“I need some alcohol.”

For once, no one spoke up.

“Don’t even act like none of you have a handle somewhere,” David glared at them from the mirror, “hand it over, and I won’t write you up.”

Malcolm coughed up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, Seth whisper-shouting at him to put it down the whole way to Abby’s hand.

Abby handed it to Kevin, who sat up in his seat and chugged half of what was left in the handle like it was water in the Sahara.

“That’s definitely Kevin Day.”

“And he’s a fucking alcoholic,” Seth spat.

The words hit David where it hurt.

David was having a shitty fucking morning.

And he had shitty genes.

Everything good in Kevin came from Kayleigh.

Everything that held him back came from David.