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Nathaniel Wesninski knocks another ball down the court, far away from Andrew Minyard.
It’s the seventh such save during the first quarter. Already, the Catamounts are losing by three points; a pathetic display of athleticism, Kevin thinks, but it’d be less obvious were they not facing the best backliner and best goalkeeper in the NCAA.
Nathaniel and Andrew are two parts of a whole. They’re a well-oiled machine, lubricated by subtle glances and shouted Japanese phrases. It goes without saying that they alone will completely shut out the Catamounts until Kevin, Jean, and Riko are called into the game to finish it off. Until then, they dance back and forth, telegraphing strikers and feinting dealers across the entire court.
Kevin can’t look away.
Underneath the grate of his helmet, Nathaniel’s burning blue eyes scan his surroundings constantly, reminiscent of a wild animal. Andrew’s expression is cast in stone. If Kevin didn’t know better, he’d think Andrew is bored. But, of course, Kevin does know better. No matter what Andrew claims, Kevin knows he’s the most passionate goalkeeper alive. He has to be.
Nathaniel misses a block. Perfectly on cue, Andrew picks up his slack and slams it across the court, bouncing off the ceiling where a Raven striker can scoop it up.
“Sloppy,” Riko says beside Kevin on the bench.
“He’s not superhuman,” says Kevin.
“A toddler could have blocked that ball.”
Nathaniel recovers quickly, though. His next block ends up becoming a pass to their striker, who immediately slams it into the net, fast enough to have the Catamounts’ heads spinning in confusion. Even on the replay screen, the cameraman misses the shot.
“You are too critical,” Kevin finally tells Riko, who clenches his teeth in response.
“You aren’t critical enough.” Riko stands. He steps closer to the plexiglass. The first quarter is dwindling down. “Your asinine affection for those two is going to be the death of you. They won’t last five years. Mark my words.”
Kevin wants to roll his eyes, but can’t bring himself to do it. “They’ll last if you let them.”
“I don’t let anyone do anything.”
And doesn’t Kevin know it.
At the half, when the Ravens trot off the court for the break, they’re up by eleven. ESPN is running in the locker room, and the commentator’s talk of a comeback has dwindled into nonexistence. It’s a comfortable gap. A boring gap, if he’s honest. There’s no competition, no fierce anger or clawing for a victory.
Riko waits for the Master to turn his head the other direction before he follows Nathaniel and Andrew into the bathroom. Alone. Kevin, with a sick pit in his stomach, is helpless to trail behind like a dog off its leash.
Nathaniel and Andrew are overly friendly with each other. They’re more than just partners. It’s an open secret, but they never slip—they never show their affection where others can see it. Riko, though, knows he can corner them until they don’t have anywhere to hide.
Kevin enters just in time to see Riko slamming Andrew into the bathroom tile.
An accusing tone dies quickly in Kevin’s throat, strangled by the look in Riko’s beady eyes. Andrew, of course, outwardly appears entirely unaffected. His blank stare is focused over Riko’s shoulder.
“Answer me when I ask you a question, mutt,” Riko hisses at him.
Andrew doesn’t even make eye contact. His mouth stays shut. He pays the price for this when Riko’s fist connects with his jaw.
Kevin is struck cold by the realization that nothing would stop Riko’s temper from destroying Andrew’s capability to play. The future flashes before him—what would the Master do to all of them if they lost their next game because Andrew couldn’t step onto the court?
“Enough,” Kevin snaps, though he doesn’t step forward and he doesn’t shout.
Riko still pauses. For a brief second, Andrew’s hazel eyes slide towards his direction. Curious, almost.
“Have you decided to grow a spine?” Nathaniel drawls from the corner of the bathroom. His arms are folded across his chest, casual and carefree, as though his partner doesn’t have a new bruise blooming across his chin.
Kevin bristles. He ignores that and looks to Riko again. “You break him, we lose. What are you going to tell the Master when his star goalkeeper needs jaw surgery?”
“To schedule the surgery as soon as possible,” Riko says lowly, “so I can break it again.”
“Enough,” Kevin says again.
Riko finally turns to stare. There’s a calmness on his features that sends ice to Kevin’s stomach. The air in the room goes cold and stale, despite the humidity lingering from the showers. Kevin refuses to look away. Riko rolls his shoulders and pulls away from Andrew, only to slam his palm into Andrew’s nose. Something cracks and there’s blood, blood, blood.
“Oops,” Riko says, before he shrugs and leaves the bathroom.
Andrew is cupping his nose as red drips onto the tile. The moment Riko is gone, Nathaniel is on Andrew in an instant. He slips his arm around Andrew’s shoulders and carries his weight, using two fingers to tilt Andrew’s chin and inspect the damage. Kevin stands there, watching the display, wondering how it’s possible for two Ravens to care so much about another person.
Nathaniel turns to glare. “Move.”
“You need to see the nurse—”
Nathaniel barks a sharp laugh and steps forward anyway. “You don’t know shit about what he needs.”
Kevin scowls. “I was helping.”
“By treating Andrew like a trading card?” Nathaniel places his warm palm in the middle of Kevin’s chest before pushing. His hand lingers just long enough for Kevin’s heart to beat against it. “Move.”
Kevin steps out of the way and Nathaniel shoves past him with Andrew on his arm.
–
Unlike most nights when Kevin is suffocated by his presence, Riko is called to the Master’s office.
It’s approaching midnight. Ravens are required to be in bed and asleep with lights out by nine, so Kevin is already breaking the rules by flicking on his desk lamp. The warm glow isn’t quite bright enough to ward away the oppressive darkness of the room, but it fills Kevin with a sense of rebellion regardless.
He thinks about Nathaniel and Andrew.
Kevin knows they never went to the nurse. Andrew’s nose could be broken—hell, he might have lost some teeth, which he’d need to get replaced. A Raven can’t be seen with any obvious injuries that weren’t earned during a hard-won game. Properly tending to wounds is critical.
And something about the way he interacts with Nathaniel is addicting.
Before he can think twice about it, he’s on his feet. He’s only snuck out of the dorm room a handful of times, and all three were accompanied by Riko. This is the first time he’s stepped into the black hallway entirely on his own.
He knows Andrew and Nathaniel’s room is just a few doors down. Kevin’s bare feet are quiet on the rough carpet and his pajama pants pool loosely around his ankles. He doesn’t knock before opening the door, because the risk of being heard is too great, and Ravens are normally always prepared for unannounced entries.
Andrew is perched on one of the beds while Nathaniel sits in front of him, backwards on one of the desk chairs. There are bloody tissues scattered across the floor and a ziploc bag with half-melted ice in Nathaniel’s hand. Both of their attention snaps to Kevin the moment he enters.
Nathaniel motions for him to close the door.
“I had to say that to him,” Kevin says quietly.
“Hm.”
“Talking about Andrew like that.” Kevin’s voice goes thready near the end and he clears his throat. “Riko only understands things in terms of Exy.”
Andrew hums. His tone is nasally. “I’m not a charity case.”
“Stay still and shut up,” Nathaniel mumbles.
Kevin watches Nathaniel’s piercing gaze melt into something soft. He hands the makeshift icepack to Andrew while he reaches for more tissues. At this point, the blood trickling from Andrew’s nose is dried and stubborn.
Nathaniel doesn’t need to tend to Andrew’s wounds like this—Andrew is perfectly capable of doing it himself—but Kevin is still drawn to the way he cares so deeply. It’s obvious in his movements; the way his touches are light and careful, the way his voice pitches low and private, the way he doesn’t shy away from droplets of blood underneath his fingernails.
The closest Kevin has ever come to such a connection had been Jean, which had been squashed as quickly as it developed. Riko will not share Kevin. That much is clear.
“You’re good together,” Kevin dares to say.
Nathaniel pauses, his hands freezing in midair. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, thinks for a moment, and then says, “We’re partners.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Of course it is.” Nathaniel sends him a significant look with a raised brow. “Are you planning on telling your owner?”
Relationships between Ravens are strictly forbidden. Sex is one thing, because sex can mean anything, from aggression to hatred to power. This, though? This gentle, careful attention displayed through soft touches and softer words? Riko would beat Nathaniel and Andrew black and blue if he knew.
“No,” Kevin says.
“Good.”
But Kevin can’t leave it at that. “You aren’t like you are on the court.”
Nathaniel freezes. His hands fall into his lap and he stares at them. Andrew stares into space, a million miles away from all of this, when Nathaniel says, “That’s what I have to be to stay alive.”
“You don’t excuse me like that,” Kevin shoots back.
“Because you’re Kevin Day. You’re somebody. When you graduate, you’ll sign to a professional team and live the rest of your life in your own apartment. Maybe you’ll even get a girlfriend. The only person who can speak up against Riko is you, and you don’t do anything about it.”
Kevin opens his mouth. Closes it. Words don’t come to mind. He wants to defend himself and mention his own torture, but he knows it’s not on the same level as other Ravens. It never will be the same, because Riko would never hurt Kevin beyond repair. He doesn’t need to. He’ll hurt someone like Jean first.
Riko uses people against each other to get what he really wants. It’s such an expected behavior that Kevin barely acknowledges it; he just avoids connections at all costs. And maybe that’s why his heart is pounding while he stands completely still in Nathaniel and Andrew’s room.
“Why are you here, Day?” Andrew finally asks.
“To apologize, I think.”
“Apologize by growing a spine.” Andrew leans away from Nathaniel’s touch to tenderly brush his bruised nose. “Show us why we should believe any apology you make and we’ll consider doing so.”
Kevin ignores that and the way it strikes sickening fear into his gut. He looks to Nathaniel and says, “Careful with the ice. It can make swelling worse.”
Then, he turns and leaves. He closes the door as quietly as he can, and practically tiptoes back to his dorm, heart racing in his chest. By the grace of all things holy, Riko has yet to return. It gives Kevin the perfect amount of time to get into bed and pretend he’d been sleeping for as long as Riko had given him reprieve.
–
The next day, practice is grueling, but no more than usual.
Kevin repeats drill after drill like he’s on autopilot. The actions and movements of exy come as naturally as breathing. He barely registers Andrew’s bruised nose or the return of Nathaniel’s blank expression. As usual, the Ravens don’t talk during practice. The only noise on the court comes from rebounding balls, the squeaks of their shoes, and the occasional command from Riko.
He’s brought out of his reverie by Riko sneering, “Kevin, would you come here for a minute?”
Kevin blinks. Unthinkingly, his gaze flicks to Nathaniel and Andrew standing off to the side. Nathaniel is slowly lowering his racquet, apprehensive, probably wondering if this will be the moment Kevin decides to truly stand up for himself. Maybe Kevin will use actions instead of half-hearted lies to get Riko to turn away.
But this doesn’t happen.
Riko gestures for Kevin to stand in the center of the court, where the Ravens logo is painted and proud. Kevin places his racquet on the hardwood by his feet and stands tall. Riko’s humiliation rituals are common, especially when a Raven drastically fails a drill, but they’re almost never directed at Kevin. In fact, being the center of attention like this during practice makes Kevin’s head spin.
“You all know how kind Kevin can be,” Riko says slowly, clearly mockingly, though no one comments. Of course no one comments. “His generosity knows no bounds. I found out just yesterday how much he’s willing to risk as long as it means comforting others.”
Kevin’s brows furrow. He was toeing the line yesterday in the locker room, but it wasn’t more extreme than anything he’s said before. It certainly wasn’t worth public shaming.
“Would you all believe that Kevin snuck out last night?”
Kevin’s mouth goes dry. His pulse thickens. Blood pools in his feet. Someone whistles.
“I won’t have that type of disobedience on my court. If one pawn falls out of step, the rest will follow. I’m going to show Kevin exactly what happens when I’m not respected. You will all do well to remember this.”
“Riko,” Kevin croaks, “what are you doing?”
Riko just smiles, mean and sharp. “Stand still for me?”
Then he brings his racquet up behind his shoulder and swings, full-force, into Kevin’s side.
Kevin feels one of his ribs crack. Pain shoots through his nerves and tunnels his vision until he can’t even see the rest of his teammates. He hears a distant scream echo off the plexiglass walls and belatedly realizes it came from him. Without conscious effort, he falls to his knees; every rapid heartbeat reverberates through his shattered bone and brings with it a fresh wave of agony.
Instinctually, he looks up to find the threat. His eyes catch on Nathaniel and Andrew, who are watching with blank expressions. Half of him roars with anger that they aren’t moving to help, and the other half is drowning in dread, praying they won’t move a muscle.
Riko brings the racquet down again, this time on Kevin’s shoulder, and it dislocates. He cries out, spittle dribbling onto the hardwood. His thoughts race between finding a way to survive and what if I can’t play?
He’d rather Riko kill him now.
But Riko steps back. Kevin is gasping for breath, clutching his broken rib, trembling on his hands and knees. He’s seen worse, really. He’s watched Riko beat Jean within an inch of his life. The abuse Kevin has witnessed goes so far above and beyond two smacks with a racquet, but this hurts.
Nathaniel and Andrew continue to stare. Though, now, Andrew’s hand is clenched into a fist.
Distantly, in his pain-addled thoughts, he wonders if the two of them are just a figment. Maybe he dreamt them up. Maybe he just wants there to be two people who are untouched by Riko at their cores, because maybe that would mean there’s hope for Kevin, too.
“Let that be a lesson for all of you,” Riko says. “Do not embarrass me.”
–
Hours later, there’s a knock at his dorm door.
Riko is out. Family business. Kevin was supposed to attend, but he can barely move; no matter how much lenience the Moriyama family gives to Riko, damaging invested goods is still unforgivable. They can’t see what Riko did to Kevin during practice. Riko will be going with the excuse that Kevin has some sort of illness. The flu, a cold, pneumonia—Kevin hopes he can’t keep his story straight.
Still, he’s not so injured that he can’t stand. He rolls to his feet and bites down on his tongue to stop himself from grunting in pain. Kevin hobbles to the door, and he’s not sure what to expect, but it isn’t Nathaniel and Andrew.
“Oh,” he says dumbly.
“Your shoulder is still dislocated,” Nathaniel says as he pushes Kevin’s good shoulder, until the three of them are shuffling into the dorm and closing the door.
He’s right. Riko didn’t set it back and Kevin can’t do it by himself. He was planning to wait for Riko to return, but Andrew steps up behind him to do the job. Andrew’s palm is warm and firm on his shoulder blade, and his other fist poises against his joint.
He doesn’t count down, which Kevin appreciates—he just pushes until the bone pops back into place. The pain is sharp and lancing, but short-lived, and fizzles out almost immediately. Tentatively, Kevin breathes a sigh of relief. He’s quiet with it. Almost like he’s trying to make sure Riko doesn’t hear it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“Hello to you too,” Nathaniel snarks back. “We figured you could use some fresh air.”
Kevin levels him with a flat look. “I’m not sure if you remember, but Riko caught me sneaking out last time and he kicked my ass. Why would I risk it again?”
Andrew steps into his field of vision and holds up a box of cigarettes. “Because you want a smoke.”
“Fuck that,” Kevin breathes.
“Don’t be such a D.A.R.E. advocate, Day.”
“You’ll turn your lungs into fucking popcorn,” Kevin scolds with biting heat.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “Worry about yourself. And come with us.”
And Kevin is too fucking tired to disagree. He aches everywhere and exhaustion threatens to pull him under. Normally, he’d be Riko’s beaten dog and run back to his crate with his tail between his legs. But maybe he’s too tired for that, too.
Kevin has no earthly idea how Andrew manages to get the three of them to the roof of the building. The stadium is gigantic and towering; Kevin has never been higher than his occasional visit to the Moriyama’s personal booths. But Andrew and Nathaniel work together like an oiled machine, watching around corners and minding the security cameras to stick to their blind spots. Kevin does as he’s told (and doesn’t he always?) to successfully make it to the maintenance staircase.
The handle is scraped raw; it’s obvious Andrew and Nathaniel have been here many times before. And if that didn’t show enough evidence, the scattered cigarette butts littering the concrete roof finish the job.
Andrew allows the door to click shut before sauntering to the edge of the stadium’s roof, staring down at the ground below. He digs into his pocket again for his pack of cigarettes. Nathaniel wanders closer to him and takes a stick, but never actually smokes it—he just holds it to his nose and inhales.
Kevin, against all his better judgment, steps within reaching distance.
“Something tells me you’re sick of this nonsense,” Andrew says, gesturing behind him at the vast roof of the stadium. “Am I wrong?”
“I think everyone is sick of it,” Kevin says.
Andrew hums. “Too true. But you’re in a very fascinating position. You can escape. And I think you’ve known that for quite a while.”
Kevin is frozen. Surely, Andrew can’t know about Wymack. Even Riko is in the dark, and Kevin keeps his mother’s letter in their dorm at all times. He brings his lips between his teeth and stays silent. Nathaniel scoffs at his inaction.
“It’s embarrassing, you know,” Nathaniel sneers. “How willing you are to roll over and show your stomach to them.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kevin says stiffly.
“Don’t I? The way I see it, you’re here because of the Moriyamas and some fucked up sense of loyalty to your mother.”
“You’re here because of their loyalty to your father,” Kevin reminds him. “We’re not so different.”
“Different in that I was bought,” Nathaniel says. “You were a charitable gift. Big difference, in fact.”
Kevin turns to Andrew and snaps, “What about you, then? Are you better than me too?”
“I’m not better than anyone.” Andrew says it with such ease; Kevin knows he’s not talking about his skills as a goalkeeper. “Even people like me have things to protect. That’s why you’re here, Day.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Andrew flicks his cigarette butt off the side of the building and lights another. A chain smoker, is he? “You won’t make it out of here alive if you’re on your own. And since you don’t intend to engage with your intelligence to escape, I’m offering you the same deal I gave Nathaniel here. I will keep you safe within the Nest if you pull your strings and get us on the same professional team after graduation.”
Kevin’s eyebrow raises of its own accord. “You think I have control over something like that?”
“I know you do. I know you can peddle it to Riko under the guise of his adorable little idea of a perfect team. We can’t very well build synchronicity if we’re on separate teams, and we certainly can’t do it if we’re dead.”
“And why do you want to be on the same team so badly if you don’t care about Court?”
“Because I won’t leave Neil,” he says like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to admit. Nathaniel’s expression doesn’t budge. “As much as I loathe to admit it, I can’t stay by his side on my own. I need outside help.”
“Neil,” Kevin repeats.
Nathaniel’s eyes are stone cold. “You know my father, Kevin. And you know I won’t be like him.”
“It won’t be easy,” Kevin says, “especially if you intend to continue sneaking out.”
“We intend to get away from Riko or die trying,” Nathaniel returns. “Can you say the same?”
Kevin thinks. He wants to argue that Andrew can’t possibly keep Nathaniel safe, but he’s already been proven wrong; he’s seen Andrew bloody and broken in defense of Nathaniel. He knows exactly how to draw Riko’s attention towards himself and away from Nathaniel. Perhaps he could do the same for Kevin.
“I can’t promise you won’t be tossed around a bit,” Andrew says, “but I can promise you’ll leave the Nest alive.”
Andrew is in Kevin’s space before Kevin can take his next breath. Slowly, Andrew turns his second cigarette butt between his fingers, like he expects it to transform into something else. Then, he reaches forward to drop the butt into the pocket of Kevin’s sweatpants. “Deal or no deal, Day?”
“I will think about it,” Kevin says.
“Better than nothing,” Nathaniel laments. He looks to Andrew. “Maybe we’ll get that apartment after all.”
Kevin knows there’s a dream between the two of them that he might never understand. There’s an unbearable longing in his gut—something that is more intense than his fear. He wants. He wants what Nathaniel and Andrew are building, what they’re going to build. Kevin swallows hard against the knives in his throat and watches wordlessly as Nathaniel’s cigarette shivers to nothing.
–
The whisper of Andrew’s deal sticks around like glue. It’s tacky; it leaves residue behind, like peeling a sticker off a brand new exy racquet and watching the trail of paper cling to the surface.
And, for the most part, Kevin distracts himself. The banquet for the eastern division of NCAA exy arrives faster than he can blink, and it’s easy to fall into the chaos and movement of the event. He wears his suit and ties his tie like a good little soldier, ignoring the way Nathaniel stares at him. But Kevin never agreed to the deal, and so he doesn’t owe Nathaniel anything.
The consequences still follow him, all the way back to his hotel room.
He gets caught by a coach from Virginia who wants to discuss the results of their most recent game, so Kevin waves Riko back to the room as a signal to not wait up. By the time Kevin actually catches up, it’s been twenty minutes; he hopes, as he opens the door, that Riko won’t be angry.
It turns out he is angry, but not about the twenty minutes.
Kevin barely closes the door behind him before Riko is on him. He’s being violently pulled into the room and shoved to the bed, where Riko straddles him and punches his jaw. Kevin sees flashes of white with each hit; blood dribbles down his nose. He’s too shocked for the pain, at first, but then it overwhelms him. His scream gets clogged in his throat.
Riko is grinning. It’s feral. Kevin squints at him, coughing blood, when he finally sees what set Riko off. He’s holding a cigarette butt in his hand. Kevin’s entire body goes cold.
“I can’t keep you where I want you,” Riko says airily. He drags the ashes along Kevin’s cheek, smearing the blood and mixing it with char. “Don’t you understand, Kev? No matter what you do, you’re stuck with me.”
“Riko,” Kevin says, but it’s all he can manage.
“Ah, ah.” Riko glances around the bed, searching for something. His eyes seem to light up red in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp when he finds his prize. He yanks the room phone off the nightstand and holds Kevin’s wrist on the wood in its place.
There’s a sizable gap of space between Kevin’s wrist and where his forearm rests on the mattress. So much is happening that he can’t keep track. He might have fought back a little harder had he known Riko intended to slam the phone down on his wrist.
Kevin wails in pain, but Riko shoves some kind of cloth between his teeth. He hits Kevin’s wrist again. And again. Kevin can feel each bone as it breaks. His mind is a whirlwind, but one phrase repeats itself until it’s all he knows how to think: my left hand, my left, my fucking left hand.
He can’t play his way out of the Nest if he can’t play at all.
Pain soars through his body when Riko finally stops. He cradles his wrist to his chest. Kevin can barely look at the damage, because it is pure destruction. His wrist is tattered, in pieces, dripping blood along the stark white sheets. Forget holding a racquet. He’ll be lucky if he can hold a fucking pencil.
Riko says something that sounds underwater before he strolls to the bathroom. The door slams, and the shower runs, and Kevin is not doing this anymore.
He stumbles out of the hotel room. He only knows which room is Nathaniel’s and Andrew’s because he made sure to look before the Master put away his books. Blindly, he charts his way there, weak. Maybe suffering from too much blood loss. It’s hard to tell.
He knocks on the door with his good hand and bites back a sob.
The door opens. Nathaniel stands there; his expression is initially a blank slate, but he sees Kevin’s destroyed wrist, and it twists into something like shock. He yanks Kevin through the door and calls for Andrew before it shuts.
Andrew is there, then, inspecting the damage.
“Riko,” Kevin blurts. “He—”
“Shut up,” Andrew says.
“You can’t protect me,” Kevin says through gritted teeth.
“I said I would get you out of here alive,” Andrew reminds him. He glances up to meet Kevin’s gaze; his eyes are golden with a ring of emerald around the center. Riko’s eyes are the opposite: beady and black, endless and empty. “I didn’t say when.”
Nathaniel murmurs, “Wymack is here.”
For a blistering moment, Kevin thinks Nathaniel knows, and he is so dizzy he thinks he might be sick. But that’s not what Nathaniel means when he references Wymack. He’s talking about the Palmetto State Foxes and their habit of sheltering people they shouldn’t. He’s talking about an open door.
He doesn’t know why he says, “I can’t leave you in the Nest.”
“You will,” Nathaniel says. “Because if you can’t play, they will do worse than kill you.”
“Make the deal, Day,” Andrew says as he drops Kevin’s hand, uncaring if it hurts.
“What if I can’t do it?”
Andrew shakes his head. He hooks a finger into the collar of Kevin’s dress shirt, and Kevin’s blood is sticky on his throat. “If you cannot do something so simple, you will not be able to make it. I will keep Neil safe. I will keep you out of the Nest. You will get us on a team together.”
Kevin bites his lip. It’s bruised and split from Riko’s punches. For a split second, Nathaniel’s gaze snaps to it.
“Wash the blood,” he hears himself say. “Do not let him know I came to you. Do not get found out.”
“I keep my word,” Andrew promises. “Do I have yours?”
“Yes.” Kevin swallows hard. “Deal.”
Nathaniel’s shoulders deflate with relief. Kevin studies him for a moment, spoiling himself. Nathaniel, in the shadows of the room’s entry way, looks more like Neil than ever. Kevin remembers his father as sharp and unforgiving. Neil is soft and hopeful. The idea of him being hammered into the straight line that is Nathaniel makes Kevin sick all over again.
He’ll do what it takes, Kevin decides. If anyone deserves life, it’s the two men who are pushing him out of the Nest, even when they aren’t sure if he’s able to fly.
“Go, now.” Andrew opens the door for him. “Wymack is on the fifth floor, six doors down to the right.”
“How do you know that?” Kevin asks breathlessly.
Andrew quirks a lip at him. “I will tell you in three years.”
“See you on the court,” Neil murmurs.
And Kevin leaves.
Riko is surely done with his shower by now. Kevin doesn’t have much time. He doesn’t wait for the elevator; he takes the stairs down, two at a time, until he’s stumbling onto the fifth floor landing and yanking the door open with his good hand.
He’s never met his father. He’s only seen Wymack from a distance, since Edgar Allan and Palmetto aren’t in the same division. He can only imagine what he’s like from what his mother described in her letter. Kevin has always considered him to be a dangerous fool, but maybe a dangerous fool is just what he needs.
Wymack answers the door in a wifebeater and athletic shorts. He looks exhausted, but not like he was sleeping. The confusion in his brow melts away when he sees Kevin’s blood. By now, it’s slowed to a sluggish seeping.
“I need your help,” Kevin says through numb lips. “I heard you’re good with strays.”
“Kevin fucking Day,” Wymack greets.
Kevin tries to offer his winning smile, but he knows it falls flat with his grimace of pain. “Invite me in?”
He tries to find his own features in Wymack’s face, but struggles. They have the same flat nose, the same shade of skin, but this could be excused away as similarities rather than genetics. Kevin’s green eyes came from his mother, as well as his proclivity for trusting the wrong people. He hopes, this time, that he’ll benefit from that last trait.
Wymack stands back and holds the door. Kevin steps through the threshold. It’s freezing in this room, like Wymack has cranked the AC down as low as it will possibly go, and Kevin shivers violently. From the cold or the pain, he isn’t sure. Maybe he’s going into shock.
“You’re a long way from home, kid,” Wymack says. He moves to the bathroom sink and wets a rag. “Am I keeping you?”
Can he really ask this? Can he truly put Wymack in this much danger, knowing he would be standing between Kevin and the Moriyamas? Kevin shakes the thought from his mind. What father wouldn’t face death for his son?
“I hope,” Kevin says.