Archive of Our Own ^beta

March 10th

It was just after two am. Andrew leaned against the metal railing on the second floor of some shitty motel just outside Binghamton, cigarette dangling from loose fingers. The rest of the team were crammed into two rooms behind him and though they’d been there a couple hours, he doubted any of them were sleeping. He hadn’t bothered trying himself.  

Wymack and Abby’s phone calls proved fruitless so the coach had driven the bus to the nearest hospital, hoping Neil might miraculously turn up. Andrew had never believed in miracles.  

After getting Matt, Allison and Renee checked out by overworked ER physicians they finally left, but no one wanted to head to South Carolina just yet. At 2:27am one of the doors behind him opened and  Wymack  slipped out. He exchanged a look with Andrew and jammed a finger on his phone to take a call.  Wymack  didn’t bother wandering out of earshot – he knew Andrew would question him about the call anyways.   

“This is  Wymack . Yes. I am.  No,  I don’t know a Nathaniel  Wesninski ....”  

Andrew’s eyes flared and he stood up straighter, half turning towards the older man. Wymack held up a hand as if to silence him even though he hadn’t spoken, playing along with the caller.   

“I called about my missing player, Neil Josten. Uh huh. Yea. Look do you have him or not? What do you mean you can’t confirm  anyth ....yes. Fine. Where?”  

Andrew took a final, desperate drag from his cigarette and tossed it from the balcony so his fingers were free to white knuckle the chipping paint. Wymack checked his watch.   

“It will take about three hours. Yes, I’ll bring them.”  

He hung up the phone.   

“Who found him?” Andrew asked immediately.   

“The FBI. I think. Bastards wouldn’t give me a clear fuckin’ answer. They want us in Baltimore as soon as possible for questioning.”  

“Is he alive?”  

Wymack  stiffened. “I don’t know.”  

Andrew nodded once and turned away, bringing his other hand up to grip the cool metal. He let out a deep breath, traces of smoke left his lungs in wisps and disappeared on the wind.   

Wymack  shoved his phone back in his pocket and scraped a hand through his short, black hair. “I’ll wake the team.”  

Before he entered the room, the coach paused with his hand on the knob, “Minyard....don’t get your hopes up.”  

Andrew didn’t respond. Hope was for fools.   

The Foxes had been crammed around the dull surface of the wooden conference table for nearly two hours. Andrew wasn’t sure why they were still there. Not a single Fox had given up any information about Neil other than his name and his relationship to them as a teammate. And they wouldn’t, no matter how long they were kept there.  Andrew had been silent entirely.

The door opened once again and the agents, Stetson and Miles, quickly closed it behind them, drowning out the sound of the bustling field office. It was just after eight  am  but all of the employees already seemed to be fully caffeinated and starting their day. All but the haggard looking agents who entered the conference room.  

Stetson dropped into the only available seat at the head of the table while Miles stood behind him, arms crossed and surly. The Foxes matched his expression and mannerisms, tired of being jerked around. They’d been there for hours and the FBI still wouldn’t give up any information about Neil.   

“Alright look...” said Stetson, dropping a file on the table in front of him. “I’m going to level with you. It won’t be long before the media gets wind of this anyways so there’s no point hiding it.”  

Many of the Foxes dropped their arms, leaning forward with obvious anticipation. Andrew remained still in his seat between Renee and  Wymack .   

“We don’t know why he ended up there, but Nathaniel was found at his father’s residence last night. There was a raid after a neighbor reported gunshots and his father didn’t survive. Nathaniel was taken to the hospital with catastrophic injuries. He was declared dead at four am.”  

Shock. Outrage. Grief. The Foxes clutched each other, cried out, openly cried.  Wymack  tugged Abby into his side as she sobbed. Andrew sat, stock still, his eyes still locked on the agent. His face betrayed nothing but Andrew had met plenty of good liars in his lifetime.   

“Show us the body,” he said bluntly.   

Stetson blinked at him and the rest of the Foxes went silent.   

“Andrew...” Wymack said quietly.   

“He is lying to us,” said Andrew. “Show us the body or tell us where you’ve stashed him.”  

“I’m not lying son,” Stetson said placidly.   

Andrew glared at him and leaned across the table, clasping his hands in a clear challenge. The rest of the Foxes looked between their teammate and the agents, hope flickering on some, worry on others.  

Stetson held his gaze for a few moments and then opened the folder on the table, pulling out a photo the size of a sheet of paper. He pushed it down the table and Andrew caught it with his fingertips.   

In the photo was Neil, head and shoulders, lying in a hospital bed. His cheeks were burned and cut, his eyes both closed and blackened and nose bruised. His lips were chapped and he was several shades paler than his normally tanned skin looked. There was still blood slicking back his hair. Andrew’s fingers idly traced the scars along his collarbones that he usually hid from the world and only he had seen. He had obviously been hurt but this photo had been taken on a bed, not a metal slab somewhere. Across from him Matt stood to lean over the table, clamping a hand over his mouth as he looked down at the photo. The others stood slowly, leaning over to look. No one tried to take the photo from Andrew.   

“Show us the body,” he said again.   

Stetson bristled, obviously not appreciating being given orders from some short twenty-something with a bad attitude. “It was taken to our main office in DC for an autopsy. Afterwards he will be cremated and his remains sent to his uncle and only living relative, per his uncles request.”  

“No....” said Dan, standing up fully. Her hands balled into fists on top of the table. “No. He belongs with us. He’s our family. We want to bury him.”  

Stetson leaned back in his chair and looked very much like he wanted to roll his eyes. Somehow,  he refrained and tried to keep his tone somber. “I’m sorry. It’s out of my hands.”  

Andrew pushed the photo away with contempt and stared down at the table, tapping his finger idly, as if focusing on the sound might drown out everything else.   

The agent stood and gestured to Miles. The other man disappeared for a few moments and returned with a clear bag, tightly sealed in his hands. He set it on the table.   

“He didn’t have much on him when he was found. We’ve already photo-logged them and analyzed them for evidence so you can take them if you want,” said Miles, pushing the package to the center of the table.  

Allison reached across and snatched it, glaring at the two suited men. She ripped the seal and pulled out a soiled change of clothes that were already beginning to smell, soaked with sweat and blood. Neil’s PSU hoodie was more red than orange and white and had a  jagged cut  down the middle where medical staff must have cut into it. The rest of his clothes were in no better shape. Allison sorted through them reverently even though they were disgusting and folded them atop each other. She pulled out his shoes and something jingled at the bottom of the bag. A set of blood-stained keys. She reached for  them  but Andrew stood and leaned on the table, palms clammy and pressing into the wood veneer. She looked between him and the bag and then pushed it farther down the table until it was within reach. Andrew retrieved the keys.   

Neil’s stadium keys had been found with his bag on an orange lanyard. But these were the keys he always kept on his person. Keys to his dorm, keys to the Maserati, keys to the house in Columbia. Keys Andrew caught the fool tracing over in his hands until he’d learned every line and ridge by memory. Until he could trace them across his notebooks instead of paying attention in class or doing his homework. Keys to the places Neil called home.  

He pressed a blunt nail to the flat part of the Maserati key and chipped off some of the dried blood before gripping them so tight his own palm was likely to bleed. When he looked up his expression was blank, but reality seemed to be setting in for the others.   

Part of Andrew still believed it was all a lie. That they’d stashed Neil in prison or witness protection or some hole in the wall hideout. But why would they? His father was dead. They didn’t need him and there wasn’t anyone left chasing him. And even with the lies Andrew knew that Neil would never have gone along with it. He could feel the emotion bubbling in his gut and quickly stamped it out, jamming the keys into his pocket. He pushed the chair back so roughly it screeched along the tile and nearly fell over. Nicky stood, tears streaking his cheeks and reached out for Andrew, but he stopped halfway.   

“Can we at least have his  uncles number?” Renee asked diplomatically. “To give our condolences.”  

“I’m sorry, it’s against protocol to give out the contact information of family members but we can ask him to get in contact with you,” said Miles, his voice a little more sympathetic than Stetsons.  

“This is bullshit,” said Matt. “Coach...can’t we do anything?”  

Wymack  still had a hand in Abby’s hair and his own eyes were rimmed red even though no tears were visible. “I can talk to a lawyer when we get back but it will probably be too late by the time we get any traction.”  

Nicky hitched another sob and Renee stood to wrap her arms around him. Dan snagged  Matt’s  hand and looked up at him with sad, furious eyes. Allison’s hands were twitching like she might like to take on the whole goddamned FBI by herself. Kevin was hunched forward, his head in his hands. Only Aarons apathy matched Andrews.   

Wymack  stood, pulling Abby with him and Andrew turned on his heel and pushed out the door.   

“Sh. ..should  we go after him?” Nicky hiccuped.   

“No. ..give  him some space,” suggested  Wymack .   

Outside Andrew paced next to the building. The bus was around the corner since there hadn’t been room for it in the small lot around the field office. Hands balled at his sides, wishing he’d swiped  Wymacks cigarettes back. He paused facing the building, screwed up his face and flung his fist forward. It crashed through the plexiglass of one of the letters marking the number of the building and when he pulled it out blood ran freely down his knuckles, soaking into his armbands. Andrew watched the red pour, trying to somehow find comfort in it. Years earlier, watching himself bleed had always been calming. A way of taking back control from the chaos that surround him. But now it was just a dull ache, the pain of it underwhelmed by the black hole eating at him from the inside out, threatening to swallow him whole.  

“You could have destroyed your hand with a stunt like that,”  the ghost in his head whispered.   

Andrew stared down at his bloody appendage for a few more moments before squeezing his eyes shut, only for the image in his mind to warp into blue eyes and an infuriating smirk.   

“Fuck you....Neil.”  

June 

Nathaniel Wesninski  cut his eyes to the large bay window for the fifth time in the last three minutes. His leg bounced on the railing across the bottom of the bar stool and his scarred fingers tapped away on the laminate. He tried to focus on the magazine in front of  him  but he’d already read it three times and could probably recite it from memory by now. The cable was out, again, and his handler (prison guard) said it would be another day before someone could get out to fix it.   

Leaning back in his chair, the former striker narrowed his eyes in the direction of the man who had become the bane of his existence. He was likely in his late twenties and probably wasn’t an awful person, but ever since Nathaniel had been stuck with him all he could think about was slitting the guys throat and making a run for it. He taunted Stoler at every opportunity, it’s not like there was anything else to do, and wondered how much they were paying him to babysit the son of a dead mobster. He hoped it was good because Neil had been nothing but a pain in his ass for months.   

Months. Three months, eleven days, nine hours since he’d woken up in a hospital in Baltimore. Since he’d been stolen away into  ‘witness protection’ . Nathaniel scoffed internally at the label. He was a prisoner. The only reason they hadn’t kept him in an actual prison was because they knew he’d be gutted before he could testify against his father post mortem.  

Initially he’d refused to talk. He still hadn’t given them much. They promised he could return to his old life once his  fathers  men were  caught  and the trial was  over  but he knew that could take years. If he survived that long. He doubted Jesse Stoler and his government issued 9mm could stop Romero or Jackson if they came looking. Internally he’d hoped his uncle would come for him, or hell even the  Moriyamas . He knew the latter meant a death sentence but at this point anything was better than climbing the walls in the shithole of a house they’d stowed him in. It was in the middle of nowhere so he couldn’t even scream to attract the  neighbors  attention and blow his own cover. He’d tried sneaking out a dozen times but whenever Stoler took a break they’d send someone else to glue to his side. More than once he’d been handcuffed to the radiator for hours at a time until he agreed to behave.   

He couldn’t even run. The treadmill they’d brought in the month before (in exchange for a modicum of information) only offered so much relief.  ‘You know the more you talk the quicker we might be able to catch your  fathers  men and they might be inclined to set a trial date.’  What a load of shit. He didn’t know where Romero or Jackson or the half a dozen other lackey’s whose names he knew were.   

Nathaniel pushed the magazine off to the side and it fell to the floor. Stoler leaned to the side from his place on the couch and raised a brow before going back to playing on his phone. Nathaniel wanted to steal it and beat the man to death with the device. Other than the television (when it worked) and the occasional periodical, he hadn’t been allowed any contact with the outside world. The few letters he’d written had been confiscated before he was able to sneak down the half a mile long driveway and slip in the mailbox, not that he had any postage so the mailman probably would have just left them there anyways.  

July

By the time his fourth month in exile rolled around, Nathaniel was going crazy. He marched up to Stoler and slapped the phone out of his hand. It was the second one he’d broken in a month.   

“ Goddamnit ....” Stoler sighed, reaching down to pick up the phone and brush off the shattered glass. “Can you at least take a swing at me or something? My phone didn’t do anything to you.”  

“I want out.”  

“We’ve talked about this.”  

“You’ve talked, and I’m done listening. I’ll tell you whatever you want, but you have to let me out of here.”  

His heel bounced and his eyes darted like a junkie in withdrawal. His injuries left him scarred but had fully healed weeks ago and he needed air before he did something stupid – like kill a federal agent and chop his body into little pieces just to pass the time.   

“You’ll talk? Anything we ask?”  

“Yes fine. But in e xchange , I get out of here.”  

“You know they won’t let you go back to school, not until after the trial. But I can talk to Browning, see if we can get you outside for a few hours a day at least.”  

Nathaniel's eye twitched. He wasn’t in any condition to barter. “Fine. Get him here, now.”  

Four hours later, Nathaniel had spilled all his secrets. He’d left out the fact that he still had some of his  mothers  money and his knowledge of the Moriyama’s role in everything. He'd also kept his  mothers  contacts to himself, feigning ignorance. But they seemed convinced. Browning was still an  asshole  but he seemed satisfied enough to grant Nathaniel three hours of time out of the house and half an hour of supervised internet access per day. He also told him they were closing in on Romero and Jackson and that his  fathers  trial had been set for September. His heart leapt and he scolded himself for it. Hope had never done him any good and he had no reason to believe they wouldn’t just keep pushing back the date. He was sure the Moriyamas would be interested in postponing it as long as possible and knew the chances of making sense of his  fathers  body count would be better if they caught up to Romero and Jackson. Neil was sure they wouldn’t talk but the FBI didn’t know that.  

The first time they’d let Nathaniel out of the house he’d gone for a run - albeit alongside an unmarked sedan or next to an annoyed Stoler who wheezed and cursed Neil for his cardio ability. They wouldn’t let him go into town or interact with anyone, but provided he wear a ball-cap and the unassuming clothes they provided, he was allowed to  at least run along the country road. He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was. The street signs were all generic names and none of them indicated the city or state. He assumed it was still somewhere in Maryland or maybe Pennsylvania since the drive had been less than an hour. He’d tried finding them on the computer but Stoler had clicked the tab away the second he opened it, reminding him of the parameters of their deal: web surfing only, no contact, no trying to figure out where he was. He found a few articles about the Foxes online – some information he already knew from the news. Most lamented the fact that they’d been bumped from the season even though they had done so well.  Nathaniel's  insides twisted every time it was mentioned. A few articles were about his death, or Nathaniel  Wesninski’s  death. The FBI tried to cover up the whole  ordeal  but the media was relentless. It didn’t take long for them to put the similarities together and someone to get a hold of Nathaniel's childhood photos that bore a striking resemblance to Neil Josten. Though he was grateful that when he did read anything regarding himself, the Foxes had always firmly offered ‘no comment’. One article even recounted  details  of  Wymack  bodily throwing a reporter who had snuck on campus onto the sidewalk.   

On July 11 th  he stumbled across an article about Kengo  Moriyamas  death, months prior. On the 12 th  he found an article that said Jean Moreau had transferred from Edgar Allen and now played with the Trojans. Nathaniel searched for more detailed information, suspecting the were connected but couldn’t find anything. Stoler hadn’t been any help, claiming not to know much about the ‘heirs of  Exy .’  

On July 16 th  a new article popped up on his google search – a detailed listing of the Palmetto State Foxes new roster for the upcoming  Exy season. Six new freshman recruits. Two strikers, two dealers, a backliner , and a goalkeeper. Their summer training had already  begun and Nathaniel spent every second of his half hour of computer time researching their stats. It helped pass the time for a few days but ultimately it only made him angry and lonely. He missed the Foxes. More than he ever imagined he would. He knew it would likely end like this. Hell, being alive was the better scenario. And he’d tried not to get close, not to let anyone in knowing it might hurt to let go. He was still holding on because the mere thought of it was more painful than any of his injuries he had sustained in the past. He hoped one day they would accept him back. It was unlikely. He’d done nothing but lie and put them in danger. He’d broken promise after promise. And Andrew....god. Andrew. Nathaniel had tried not to think about it because every time hazel eyes or blond hair shimmered through his mind’s eye the emotion was so overwhelming he wanted to hit something or scream. Andrew would never forgive him for this. Of that he was sure. But he still felt he owed him an explanation. The truth he’d wanted to tell him all along.   

Nathaniel slammed the laptop shut a few minutes short of his thirty minutes and met Stoler’s confused gaze with a scowl.   

“I’m going to bed,” he said bitterly, hopping off the stool and heading towards his room.   

“Now? It’s like eight o’clock, I was  gonna  make a pizza. Got ingredients and everything.”  

“You’re not my fucking wife Stoler.”  

“Jesus fine, you cranky asshole. Maybe you do need a nap,” chided the agent.   

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and slammed the door to his room, glaring at the not so subtle bars on the windows. The walls were mostly  bare  but his eyes found the calendar tacked above the headboard of the bed. He swiped a marker from the bedside table and marked off another day, flipping the pages up and taken a mental headcount. Still nearly two months to the trial.   

Without bothering to change, Nathaniel dropped onto the squeaky mattress and brought a hand up to rub at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. He wondered what the Foxes were up to. If they’d finished practice for today and were hanging out in one of the upperclassman's dorms. Wondered if Andrew still went up to the roof to smoke. If Kevin found a new recruit  with potential and took them to night practices to whip them into shape. He wondered if they had moved on. Part of him hoped they did, but the other part dreaded it. He wondered if Neil Josten had just been a stranger passing through, a memory not worth remembering once enough time had passed.   

With a sigh, Nathaniel flipped onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just sleep until the nightmare was over.   

When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of foxes running free on a polished court, bathed in bright artificial lighting amidst the muffled cheers of thousands of fans.   

His mood persisted through the end of the month and when he dropped onto the couch one Wednesday evening,  Mallavich , one of the nighttime handlers, scooted to the other end out of reach, determined not to be the target of Nathaniel's second hand rage. He’d spent the latter part of an hour making the sure the weights he was lifting clattered noisily to the floor and slammed the door after his shower equally loudly to demonstrate his ongoing irritation.   

Mallavich was watching the news and Nathaniel didn’t bother to attempt to change it, instead staring sourly at the screen. It was after prime-time and all the national news passed, but an alert bounced across the bottom of the screen in a red headline. ‘King of  Exy  dies in automobile accident’. Nathaniel leaned forward so  far  his ass nearly slid off the cushion.  Mallavich  seemed to notice his interest and as soon as he tried to speak Nathaniel held out a hand in warning to silence him. He listened intently as the reporter detailed how Riko Moriyama had left the Edgar Allen campus late the night before, intoxicated, to go joyriding and his car had ended up wrapped around a tree, his remains barely able to identify. Nathaniel sucked in a breath and held it, unable to process the range of emotions washing over him, one after another: Elation, satisfaction, anger, annoyance, fear. What did this mean for the Foxes? For Kevin? Had it really been an accident? Riko didn’t seem like the type to lose control and do something as stupid as drive drunk. Had Kengo’s death unhinged him so thoroughly? Perhaps.   

“Someone you know?” asked Mallavich, now that the report had moved on to something less interesting.   

Nathaniel let out of the breath he was holding and leaned back on the couch without looking to the other man. “Just another asshole.”  

August

“No fucking way.”  

“Yes...fucking way?” said Stoler.   

“You’re lying.”  

“I am not.”  

Nathaniel's fingers twitched at his side, wanting a cigarette just to take the edge off the words. They weren’t bad words, on the contrary. They seemed too good to be true. First Riko had gone up in a pile of flames and now this? Was it Christmas or something?    

“A witness statement. On camera. No court. No more waiting.”  

“That’s what they said," Stoler shrugged. "Since there’s no defendant there’s no need for cross-examination. Plus, Browning says the suits want to cut you loose since keeping you is expensive. But it means you’d be on your own unless you agree to regular non-protective witness protection. We still haven’t caught Jackson or Romero. We caught their trail but there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t get to you. I think that’s the other reason they want to get rid of you...so we have the statement before they find you. Sorry man.”  

“No....” he said, stepping forward, eyes wide with...something. “That’s good...I. ..I  don’t care if it means I can get out of here.”  

Nathaniel paced a few times, digging his nails into his palms.   

“Wait...” he stopped pacing, looking hard at the taller man. “This means I still get my  deal  right? Immunity from the fraud charges and they’ll file the paperwork for my new identity. I’ll get to be Neil, right?”  

Stoler nodded a few times, glancing off to the side. “Yea. I mean, I think so. He didn’t  explicitly  mention it but this counts as you testifying so I don’t see why he’d go back on any of it.”  

Externally, Nathaniel was collected and docile. Internally, he was screaming. At the possibility of freedom. Of seeing his teammates. Of  Andrew .   

“I’ll do it,” he said, not needing to even think about it. “When?”  

“Tomorrow. We’ll take you to the field office at eight am, after we’re done you’re free to go.”  

“Back to South Carolina.”  

“Back to wherever. You won’t be our problem anymore,” he said, not unkindly. “Nathaniel....you realize this means you won’t have our protection. It’s unlikely they’ll come for you, but you need to understand the situation.”  

“I’ll be fine.”  

Stoler sighed heavily. “ Famous  last words.”  

Nathaniel smirked. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad.   

The room was eerily silent now that the agents were gone, along with all the recording equipment they’d managed to squeeze in the small room. Nathaniel shuddered a little, feeling raw and exposed, having just unloaded his secrets on record for the world to see. The video might never reach the light of day, if it did it could be months, but he’d showered twice that morning and still felt dirty.   

Nathaniel ran a sweaty hand through his hair and tugged. It was longer than it had been in years. Usually he kept it shorter – easier to dye. He let it grow out a little (at Allison’s insistence) but now it was touching his ears and falling in his face. One of the nurses that came by the week prior offered to trim it for  him  but he still didn’t trust a stranger with a blade anywhere near his head. The best he could do was smooth it back, away from his eyes.   

The door opened and Browning entered alone with a white envelope. He tore the seal and sat down at the small table across from Nathaniel, dumping the items on the table.   

“You’ve already signed the paperwork so you’re free to go,” he said, pushing each item towards the younger man. “Pre-paid phone. Loaded with 100 minutes. The card there will let you buy more if you want. Temporary ID. This means Neil Abram Josten is a real, contributing member of society. No more fake identities or running. We call, you pick up. Our number is programmed into the phone. You should receive a new social and birth certificate in thirty to sixty days, call us in a few days to let us know what address to send them to. After that you can apply for a license at the DMV.”  

Neil held the ID up to his face and fought to keep his fingers from shaking.   

“Last but not least...for your cooperation with the bureau,” said Browning, pushing an envelope towards him.   

Neil reluctantly put down the ID and picked up the envelope, sifting through it. “You held me captive for almost five months and my time is only worth five hundred bucks?”  

“Yep. Government pay. Sucks, doesn’t it?”  

Neil frowned. Whatever. He had money back in his safe at Palmetto. At least, he hoped he did. Matt seemed sentimental enough not to throw it out so soon.  

“So that’s it? We’re done?”  

“For now. Try and stay out of trouble, will you?”  

“Sure,” he lied.   

Browning rolled his eyes. “Get out of here you pain in the ass.”  

Neil didn’t have to be told twice. He quickly pocked the handful of items and practically ran through the door when Browning opened it. On the way out Stoler sidled up to him, following him to the door.   

“So, you’re a free man again?”  

“Whatever that means,” Neil commented.   

“You know ....I’m  weirdly  gonna  miss watching you. It was kind of like babysitting an alien...” he joked.   

Neil huffed a laugh, “Fuck you.”  

They reached the front doors and pushed through them side by side. Stoler reached out and took hold of his shoulder. “For real though...is there anything I can  do?  Do you need a ride or anything?”  

Neil paused, looking at him curiously. They weren’t friends, far from it. But Stoler....Jesse...did have a sort of genuine aura to him. “Um...yea? If you don’t mind...I could use a ride to the airport.”  

Jesse smiled. “No problem.”  

Tuesday, August 13th 

He’d have to wait an hour but managed to talk Jesse into buying him a cheap ticket to get him to Upstate Regional Airport in Palmetto. Neil passed the time in the airport browsing through the shops, keeping his head down. He was wearing a ballcap again (fucking baseball), and the scars made people stare but he wasn’t as recognizable without the number tattooed on his cheek. He was itching to call his teammates but having shot out of the field office like the building was on fire, didn’t think to ask them to give him any phone numbers. Andrew had programmed everything into his old one and he couldn’t remember the actual numbers. But it was better this way...all of this had happened so quickly he had no time to think about what he would say when he finally saw his team again.  

Pushing down his thoughts, and checking the time again, Neil browsed another shop. He bought a new wallet and small backpack, stole a pack of cigarettes and lighter since he wasn’t ready to show his new ID yet (it would be a disaster if the world found out he was alive before his team did). He tossed the phone the FBI had given him and spend a hundred dollars on another prepaid phone that was a similar model. He also bought a few bottles of water and snacks so he could stress eat fruit gummies on the plane.  

The flight itself was short, barely over an hour. By the time he’d disembarked it was only three twenty-seven. If the Foxes stuck to the same schedule as the year  prior  they would have an afternoon practice from three to six and would be at the stadium. It was easy to get a  cab  but Neil was still irritated at the sixty dollars he had to shell out for a ride to the stadium.   

When he arrived, he froze on the spot, feet resisting the last few steps through the open gates. It was just as beautiful as the first time he’d seen it, bright and blinding even though it blocked out the sun. It took a solid five minutes for him to move again and when he reached the doors, he veered left towards the public entrance since he didn’t have his keys anymore. Neil climbed the steps two at a time, stepping onto the landing past the concession stands and gift shops and down onto a row of stadium seating. Below, the Foxes were running a scrimmage, six on six. He could see two figures decked out in gear near the benches on the inner court along with Wymacks taller figure. They weren’t wearing numbered jerseys for practice and half the team were wearing white vests. But it wasn’t impossible for him to make some of them out. Matt towered over the rest of them on the court, bulky but fast. Aaron’s smaller form weaved around him nimbly. Kevin was easy to find, his posture and expert footwork familiar. Neil didn’t recognize the other strikers, one of which he assumed was a dealer playing a dual role for the sake of the scrimmage – he couldn’t tell who it was since they were all shit, in his opinion. Maybe he was bias. At one end of the court was a tall goalkeeper, too tall to be Renee or Andrew. But on the other end. Andrew.  

The blond stood in the goal, racquet at the ready. A ball sailed towards him, a shot from Kevin, and he batted it away with ease. The team cheered, even several on the other side of the scrimmage. Neil’s heart clenched as he watched Kevin approach and clap a hand over Andrew’s helmet. Andrew batted him away  half-heartedly  and Kevin jogged back to middle court.   

‘He’s okay’,  Neil thought.  ‘They’re all okay.’   

A sinking feeling settled somewhere, deep inside. He tried to ignore it, to revel in his impending reunion. Take pride in how well they seemed to be doing. But something was stopping him.   

A smaller voice said,  ‘No thanks to you.’  

Somehow, they’d pulled through it. The Foxes met defeat the year before but they’d gotten back up, brushed themselves off and pulled it together. And this year, especially with Jean and Riko no longer playing for the Ravens, they had a real shot at being champions. The longer he watched them practice the more the feeling rose in his gut, harder to tamp down. He thought what he’d done would have left them fractured and broken, but here they were. Practicing together. Stronger than ever. The freshman needed work but they had potential, they would get there. Even Andrew was playing with more effort than Neil had ever seen him put into a practice. There was always the possibility someone had bribed him, but Neil didn’t think so. Something was different. Maybe his death...maybe all of it...something good had come from it. The team looked strong and Neil didn’t want to take that from them. Even with his father dead and his new identity...there was still the matter of his fathers men and the Moriyamas. Chaos would always follow Neil, no matter what he did. His Foxes didn’t deserve that. They had all been through enough. He’d put them through enough. They were better off now, without him. A part of him always knew they would be.  

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, staring, until his heels started to throb. Neil looked to each one of them, blue eyes bouncing from one to the other. His heart settled, cold but resolved. And for the first time, he thought he was doing the right thing. Letting them go. Protecting the people who had protected him. Who had given him a home, even if it had only been temporary.   

“Thank you....” he said quietly,  dislodging  the stone from his throat. His eyes falling on Andrew. “You were amazing.”  

They were the words...the goodbye he’d given Andrew all those months ago, and he’d meant every word of them. He still wanted to explain, to give them the truth, but more than that he wanted them to be happy, to live. To find peace.  

Neil shifted the backpack, giving the court one last look before turning away.  

This was always how it was going to end.  After all, running had been the only thing he really knew how to do.   

Neil checked his phone once he was back outside. It was quarter to six, their practice would be ending soon. But he still had time. He could make it to the tower in less than ten minutes if he ran and it wouldn’t take long to get into the dorms and grab his binder. Time to make it out before they returned for the night.   

A few minutes before six Neil pulled a pair of  bobby  pins he’d swiped from the airport from his pocket and picked the lock to the door baring the nameplate ‘Boyd, Ramirez, Nichols, Manning’. The room was different this time, more cluttered, but Neil didn’t have time to waste and crossed into the bedroom, throwing open the closet door. He needed his one-track mind to keep him from going back on his decision, even though he knew it was for the best. After a full minute of sifting through the clothes and shoes he realized his safe wasn’t there. Fuck. Maybe he had thrown it out. For a moment panic attempted to settle in, but then he closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes and sighed,  ‘Andrew...’  

Neil left the room, making sure to lock it behind him. He found the placard labeled ‘Minyard, Minyard, Day,  Hemmick ’ and let himself in. Their room was more familiar, basically the same as it had been in the prior year. He was careful not to move anything and stepped over one of the beanbag chairs to get to the bedroom. The closet was less chaotic than Matt’s. Andrew was oddly a neat freak and tended to organize things and it was too early in the year for Nicky to have wreaked havoc on their belongings yet. Sure enough, at the back of the closet was his old safe. He quickly turned the dial and opened it, relief spreading through his taut limbs at the sight of the beat-up binder. He opened it and thumbed through the pages quickly. Someone had gone through it. Likely Andrew. Things were out of order in the plastic sleeves. It wasn’t surprising that Andrew had found a way to break into the safe, but Neil was curious why he’d bothered keeping the whole thing and not just pocketed the cash. The cash which still seemed to be there. Neil pulled out the money and shoved it into his wallet. Since his new phone had a camera he opted to take photos of various papers that would lead him to the rest of his contacts and money, along with the jumble of numbers and letters that would give him his uncles contact information. A box of half-used contacts was at the back of the safe and he pulled out a pair, leaving the others. He’d have time to figure out a disguise  later  but this would work for now.  

His hand hovered momentarily, debating just taking the whole folder. But it would take longer for Andrew to realize anything was wrong if he just took what was inside. Even then he might just suspect someone had managed to break in. If he only took the money the odds on it being a stranger that took it was much greater.   

Just as he was about to close the  safe  he noticed something glinted, shiny in the back corner. He had to lean down to reach to the back and pull his old phone – the flip phone Andrew had bought for him. It was chipped and scratched and dead and it took what little strength he had left to leave it behind. He knew if he had it the temptation to use it would be too great.   

Finally, he shoved the folder and phone back inside and closed the safe, spinning the dial. Neil backed out of the closet. On impulse he reached in and snatched a lightweight black hoodie from the top of the hamper; one of Andrews. The goalkeeper had five that were nearly identical so Neil doubted he would miss it.   

It was six eleven when Neil made it out of Fox tower, somehow without being seen. He cut through the heavily wooded area behind the tower towards the main road and pulled the hoodie on. The sun was still high  overhead  but it was cloudy out and the fabric was lightweight and breathable. Tucking his head into the collar as he walked, Neil inhaled the scent. It smelled faintly of cheap body spray and cigarettes. And it smelled like Andrew. He wanted to lose himself in his senses but kept plowing ahead. Whenever he spotted someone ahead of him on the sidewalk he crossed the street, careful not to get near anyone. He needed a plan, and that wasn’t something that would come to him instantly. Priority one had to be getting off the grid somewhere. Somewhere he could think.   

Digging the phone from his pocket, Neil dialed a number he hadn’t tried to call in years. It rang three times before going to an automated voicemail. “It’s me. I’m alive. Call me back.”  

The phone closed with a snap and Nathaniel cut his eyes to the end of the street. He was approaching the downtown area and though he needed supplies, it wouldn’t be wise to stop somewhere he might be recognized. The Foxes didn’t frequent the area too  much  but it was close enough to the start of the school year that students had begun arriving.   

When he reached an alley just before main street  opened up  to a host of brightly color shops, Neil turned sharply down the narrow street. Old cars lined a wrought iron fence and he eyed each one of them with keen intuition. After checking for cameras, he began pulling on the handles of cars he passed, only older models that didn’t seem to have alarms. After the fifth car he hit the jackpot. An old silver corolla was  unlocked  and no one was around to watch him slip into the  drivers  seat. He made quick work of the panel under the dash and hot-wired the car with practiced ease. He wouldn’t go far with it, not wanting to attract attention, but it would get him out of the area. Taking a cab again was too risky.   

Once on the interstate, Neil pulled out his phone again. He pressed the number five speed dial, having written all the numbers in and programming them in before he trashed the old phone.

“This is Stoler.”  

“It’s Neil.”  

“Hey man...everything okay?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.   

“It’s fine. Look....I need you to tell browning not to contact my school. I’ve decided ....I’m  not going back. I.....I think I want to do witness protection, or at leave the country if they’ll let me. I can’t be Neil anymore,” he said, trying not to sound pained.  

There was a long pause before Stoler sighed heavily. “You chickened  out  didn’t you?  Man  you  gotta  just rip the bandage off...it’s gonna be hard but I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.”  

“I didn’t fucking ask you,” he said snidely. “Just...tell him. I’ll call when I get settled somewhere and we can figure out what to do next. Try to keep me off the map as long as you can. They’ll be pissed if they figure  out  I’m alive but it’s better this way.”  

“For who,” asked Stoler, just as annoyed. “You or them?”  

“I’m hanging up now. Do it.”  

Neil tossed the phone to into the passenger seat and barely managed to keep his anger from showing in his driving, taking a right turn a little too hard so that the tires squealed. Who the fuck did he think he was? Just because he’d spent every waking moment with Neil the last five months didn’t mean he knew  him. Knew his team. He didn’t know anything.   

Unsure of where to go, he drove aimlessly south for half an hour. When signs indicated a small town up ahead, Neil took the exit. He parked and went inside a thankfully empty W almart , where only a few cars littered the parking lot. He bought hair dye, a few essentials and a couple changes of clothes. The older woman at the  check out eyed him suspiciously but didn’t seem to recognize him. Neil stared at the cigarettes behind her and wished he could buy a pack, but showing his ID was still too risky. When he got back on the road his phone rang, an unknown number. For a moment his heart clenched, thinking about the last time he’d gotten such a call and ended up on the sharp end of a knife in his fathers basement.  

“Hello?” he answered, tentatively.   

“Nathaniel? Dear god...you’re alive. I fucking knew it. The  FBI  right? Slimy bastards...I knew they’d hidden you away.”  

“Yea. Sorry I wanted to contact you sooner but I couldn’t.”  

“Of course. Are you alright? Where are you?”  

Neil glanced at a sign stating ‘Columbia, 12 Miles’ and kept driving. “Nowhere for long. Listen...I need to tell you something.”  

He explained the video confession he’d given the FBI, in detail. Making sure to acknowledge he’d left out the part about the  Hatfords  and the  Moriyamas . His uncle seemed to soak in every word and let him speak without  interruption .   

“That’s good...that’s very good. I’m trying to negotiate a cease-fire with  them  but the little lord is not as amendable to a truce as Lord Moriyama might have been. But I’ll be sure to pass along your message. They don’t like surprises and knowing you didn’t speak of their involvement with your father may help. In the meantime, is there anything I can help with? Do you want to come  stay  here for a while until things settle.”  

“No. ..I’m ...I don’t know. I need to go off the grid again. I might let them put me in witness protection. Or I might run. I don’t know. But it’s better for everyone that way. I’ll be in touch.”  

“Alright. Watch your back, nephew. And if you change your mind say the word, I can have you on a private plane in 24 hours.”  

Neil nodded, even though his uncle couldn’t see him. “Thanks.”  

He passed another sign for Columbia and wondered what would happen to him. He promised the FBI he wouldn’t use anymore fake identities but what choice did he have? Witness protection would just be another cage and thanks to his bad attitude he was too recognizable as Neil Josten. They could whisk him off to a new city, a new name, a new identity. All legally. Or he could go to England and hide under his uncles protection and hope to be kept away from the family business. Or he could run. None of the options sounded remotely appealing.  

By the time he passed the five-mile sign for Columbia his head hurt, throbbing with indecision. What kind of fucking mess had he gotten himself into? Had five months of forced solitude made him go insane? No. ..he  was just tired. He’d already been up more than thirty-six hours, having not been able to sleep the night before. He just needed rest. This would all make sense after some sleep.   

Unconsciously Neil took the exit for Columbia, the one that they took to go to the  cousins  house. They’d all been at practice so the house would be empty. Neil pulled off the road on the middle of the exit ramp and gathered his meager belongings, now shoved into the backpack. He waited until the coast was clear before sliding from the car. It was best to leave it intact somewhere. The cops would find it, return it to the owner and not bother to look for how it ended up on a freeway off ramp.    

The sun was finally setting, dropping behind a cloudy horizon as Neil crossed into the  familiar neighborhood. His feet hurt even though the walk had been less than three miles. He was just out of practice. Despite the pins and needles in his heels, his feet shuffled along down the quiet suburban street. He slowed to wait for a few kids to head back inside and picked up the pace again once the house came into view. It stood dormant at the end of the street, identical to the one beside it but so different. Neil idly traced the shape of a key on his palm when he approached and stood on the porch for a moment, taking in the white door. There was a small scratch along the veneer on one side from where Kevin had drunkenly fallen into it one night after at a trip to Edens. He smiled at the memory. A car door slammed somewhere down the street, jarring Neil from his thoughts. He turned to the swing at the end of the porch and lifted the faded cushion, fingers skimming along the bottom for the small tear he knew was there. Dipping a digit inside, he fished out the key. The shape was the same as the one Andrew had given him, but this one was a bright gold, and still shiny, barely used. It was there because Nicky often lost his own keys. Neil used it to unlock the door and replaced it in its hiding spot.  

The air smelled cleaner than usual but still familiar. The cousins had probably been there recently since it seemed  fairly tidy . Andrew liked to clean when he was stressed and for a moment Neil felt another pang of regret for what he’d done. After wandering the house, careful not to disturb anything too much, Neil finally pushed the door open to Andrew’s room. He’d never actually seen it  before and it was both what he expected and still a novelty to see. The walls were white and the short carpet the color of bone. The bed linens were a dark blue and neatly made. There was a small black desk pushed against one wall with a sparse few pens and headphones sitting on top. Against the wall next to the bed was a small end table and beside it a bookcase filled with all sorts of novels. Running a hand along the cracked spines, he muttered a few of the titles aloud, recognizing some. Most were unfamiliar. They looked well-worn and he wondered if Andrew had read all of them. Exhaustion had taken hold and he pulled one of the books from the shelf – The Catcher in the Rye. It looked like it had taken the most abuse over the years.  

Neil took a few steps back until his knees hit the mattress. He sat, flipped open the book, and began to read.   

Wednesday , August 14th

At some point he must have fallen asleep. It was the only explanation for his panic and surprise as he was dragged from the warmth of Andrew’s bed to the floor, the hard edge of a knife pressing against his throat. His instinct to run or fight back was quashed when his vision cleared and he stared into familiar hazel eyes.  

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you right here?”  

Because you don’t want to? Because you’re not a monster? Because it will be hard to clean blood out of the carpet?  

For all his retorts the only words he could manage were “I don’t have one...”  

Neil let his hands drop back to the carpet from where he instinctively  grabbed around Andrew’s wrists. He balled his fists and closed his eyes. For a fraction of a moment Neil wished he would do it. Just get it over with. Take away his worry and his anxiety and his fear in one quick pull of the blade across his artery. For a moment, he sucked in his breath and held it, at ease that it would be the last one he ever took.  

The weight from his body disappeared and the knife glinted silver one last time before disappearing as well. When Neil opened his  eyes  Andrew was across the room, shoving up the window with a loud bang and pulling a lighter from his pocket. Neil pushed himself up and scooted across the carpet to sit with his back to the bed, watching Andrew as he lit a cigarette. Eight minutes passed. Andrew tossed the butt of the first cigarette out the window and lit another. Neil longed to smell more of the smoke than the faint wisps reaching him from across the room but didn’t dare move.   

“We are not getting any youger,” said Andrew, sitting on his desk with his eyes cast outwards to the night sky. "Explain."

For five minutes Neil opened his mouth, closed it. Waiting for Andrew to leave, waiting for him to come back with a knife and decide he wasn’t worth listening to. But Andrew waited patiently and when Neil couldn’t find the words to say what he  wanted,  he just recounted his story from the beginning. Who he really was, how he’d ended up  here. He told Andrew what happened after the game and how he’d woken up in the hospital, cuffed to a bed in FBI custody. He told him about the months being sequestered away in a house that felt like a prison. Wanting to call - to tell them the truth.  

And then he told him how he’d come back – how he planned to run again because it was the safest thing to do for everyone. Once he finished his throat felt scratched raw. Andrew tossed his third cigarette and turned to face Neil, his legs dangling off the edge of the desk. His face was blank and Neil got the impression he wasn’t surprised even if he wouldn’t have shown it if he had been.  

“You knew?” guessed Neil.  “Did the FBI tell you?”  

“Some of it,” Andrew answered quietly. “The rest I’d already choked out of Kevin before we got to Baltimore. Why did you decide to run again after they let you go?”  

“I told you...it’s just...safer that way...” muttered Neil, head dropping to the side to avoid Andrew’s heavy stare.   

Silence passed between them again and Neil finally sighed. He told Andrew about how he watched their practice. How everyone seemed to be doing so well. And the truth – that there was still a possibility of one of his  fathers  men showing up to hurt them. And that he didn’t know how the  Moriyamas  would react to his testimony even though he kept their names out of it. By the time he finished talking he realized he was all but begging Andrew to offer a counterpoint, to give him a reason to stay. To tell him that none of that mattered as long as he came back.   

But Andrew said nothing. After a few more minutes Neil chanced a glance up at the blond who stood abruptly, crossing the room to the door. He paused with his hand on the door when Neil called out.  

“Andrew wait....” Neil pushed himself up with great effort, his body heavy with exhaustion and guilt. “I. ..I’m  sor...”  

“Don’t.”  

The word was little more than a growl and even in the dark Neil could see his finger tighten around the door.   

Neil swallowed heavily and Andrew’s head turned a little, though he didn’t look back.   

“You wanted to be let go,” Andrew said, his voice back to his usual bored apathy. “I let you go.”  

The edges of Neil’s eyes stung against his best effort to hold himself together. “I know but...”  

“Nicky wants to come to Columbia this weekend. If you are leaving, then leave the house how you found it. And don’t get mud on my bed.”  

His chin tipped down to look at the shoes he was still wearing, had been wearing when Andrew found him curled up on the bed. When he looked back up, Andrew was gone.   

Unable to carry his weight anymore Neil’s knees crumpled beneath him and he kneeled on the carpeted floor. He wasn’t crying, not really. Because he couldn’t get any air in his lungs to make the effort.   

Thursday, August 15th

For two days Neil walked around in a trance. He felt like he was underwater, suffocating and trapped but somehow still alive. He watched TV, ignored calls from his uncle and the FBI. He read two of the books on Andrew’s shelf not comprehending or retaining any of the text.  

By Thursday evening he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in nearly two days, just sipped from his water bottle he kept refilling  at the bathroom sink. In the kitchen, Neil pulled opened cabinets and drawers. There were a few healthy  snacks but he knew they were likely Kevin’s and so passed over them for a hot pocket and a bag of pretzels. After eating he finally felt like he had a little strength back and his mind cleared. He would leave the next day so he’d need to gather all the strength he could. He still wasn’t sure if he was running or going back to the FBI. Andrew knew about him now, but Neil highly doubted he would tell anyone. He wasn’t cruel.  

Neil dropped his backpack onto the couch and started to sort through his few belongings when something new caught his eye.   

Despite his state of mind when he’d arrived in Columbia, he still cataloged everything in the house pretty well, having made sure to put things back where he found them. The couch was pushed against the window at the front of the house and had two identical end tables on either side. The one closest to the door now had his old phone lying on it, plugged into the wall and fully charged. Neil’s hand hovered over the device with reverence before picking it up and unplugging it from the charger. He opened it.  

There were ....hundreds  of messages.  All unread, some months or weeks old, but some were recent. Confused, he started to go through them in no particular order, though he avoided Andrew’s name because he didn’t know if he was ready to look. He clicked on Matt’s name and opened the string of texts.   

Neil had never used social media before but had been subjected to Nicky and Allison showing him things on their pages. Even Dan had showed him the  facebook  page she made for the foxes when she’d uploaded a team photograph. He was aware that sometimes people left messages for deceased friends on their pages; and this seemed to be what the Foxes had done on his phone. Andrew had apparently kept paying the bill and the Foxes kept messaging him. Sometimes a lament to how much they missed him, sometime just an interesting fact about something that happened that day. Most of Kevins were complaints about the new freshman. One of Dan’s messages said she really could use him as  vice captain since Matt was too much of a pushover. He even had one text from Aaron, dated from May 18 th , saying everything was terrible and he made them lose the championships and now they were all falling  apart and it was all his fault. Well, that was predictably dramatic and not unexpected coming from Aaron. When he scrolled back  he only had one other – the text from Christmas where he told Neil not to tell Andrew about Katelyn. He found himself smiling as he went through them. Even  Wymack  had left a few.  

Scrolling down to Andrew’s name, having saved his for last, he paused before opening it. The pop-up had read 206 messages though he  definitely hadn’t  read that many. Which meant it was a glitch or Andrew had messaged him over a hundred and fifty times. He and Andrew had only shared a few texts before he was taken but they were the most significant. Before he could click on Andrews name a new text popped up. It was a number and for a moment it sent panic rising. But then he squinted down at the tiny text and realized a percent sign followed and the message itself was from Andrew. He clicked on the name and scrolled. Each message was just a percentage – the most recent being 257% and the first being 100% dated  March 10 th , the day after Neil had disappeared from Binghamton. He’d been gone 157 days and Andrew had sent a text every single day. Even if he didn’t read into the meaning behind Andrew’s ridiculous percentages, it meant Andrew had thought about him every single day he was gone, just like Neil had. Neil held the phone to his chest and finally felt a tear roll down his cheek. He wiped it away, first in surprise and then in anger. Neil tossed the phone to the edge of the couch and snatched the cigarettes from the table, stalking outside and slamming the screen door behind him for good measure.    

Friday, August 16th

Neil didn’t touch the phone again that night, or the next day. He left it laying on the couch where it had fallen. But even then his fingers itched to hold it. His eyes longed to read over the messages. His heart yearned for proof that he had been real. That he had mattered to someone – been missed even. But every time he though  about it anger and fear curled in his gut. Because how dare they make this any harder on him than it already was. He just wanted to protect them. Wanted to make the right decision and that was infinitely harder since Andrew’s visit and the messages he’d obviously left for Neil to find on purpose.   

The former Fox spend the day stomping around the house, trying to figure out what to do. Twice he threw his bag over his shoulder and made to leave the house only to toss it aside and close the door again.   

It was getting late. Andrew said they would be there on the weekend and assumed that meant they would make their Friday night trip to Eden’s and arrive at the house sometime after 2am. It was already eight o’clock. Neil threw himself on the couch, leaning back against the armrest. His stomach growled but he felt to nauseous to eat. Squinting at the dying sunlight through a crack in the curtain, Neil covered his face with the back of his hand and slipped out of consciousness.   

When he woke again it was 1:15am. Shit. Neil gathered his things, phone clamped in his hand and moved to open the door. His hand stilled. He couldn’t do it. Was  it  strength or weakness? He had no idea. All he knew was that he didn’t want to run anymore. He wanted to stay. He was selfish and stupid and a disaster but he wanted to stay.   

Dropping his bag again Neil stared at the closed door. At 1:45 he started pacing across the living room. At 1:57 he flicked his contacts into the small garbage can under the end table. And at 2:09 he heard muffled voices outside, familiar laughter and the sound heavy boots and keys jingling. His body tensed, bracing himself for the impending reactions of his former teammates. The door pushed open and his heart stopped, breath gathering in his lungs and sticking.   

Andrew took two steps inside and froze, hand still on the  door knob . Neil was sure Andrew knew he was there before he even saw him. It was dark and he hadn’t bothered to turn on the  light  but Andrew didn’t look surprised.   

A few seconds later a very inebriated Nicky stumbled forward, careful to catch himself on the door frame instead of touching Andrew.   

“ N’drew ? What’s the  hold up  I  have to  piss like a racehorse...” he laughed, crowding Andrew even more but  still not  touching him.   

Aaron appeared under his  cousins arm. “Holy shit.”  

Behind them all, Kevin swayed in place, tilting his head and forcing his attention forward to see what had the others stopping. His eyes narrowed like he was seeing things that weren’t  real, and  was probably drunk enough to convince himself they weren’t.  

“Hi.” Neil offered weakly, standing with his shoulders squared but hands hanging loosely at his side.   

Nicky squinted in the dark and clutched Aaron’s shoulder so tight Neil could see the smaller man wince. “What the fuck?!” he shrieked, loud enough to wake the neighbors.   

Andrew was still frozen, staring at him with calculating eyes and Neil had a hard time looking away to take in the shocked expressions the others were wearing.   

“Neil?” croaked Kevin, finally finding his voice. “You....you’re dead.”  

“Apparently not,” said Aaron, mouth still hanging open.   

A moment later he shoved Nicky and Kevin into the house around Andrew since they clearly weren’t budging.   

The backliner closed the door and Nicky and Kevin crowded around him, finally getting the courage to pass Andrew and make their way towards Neil.  Nicky reached out to touch him, tears in his eyes, but Andrew’s voice broke the frantic silence.  

“Neil, go upstairs. Everyone else go to bed.”  

“You’re not the boss of...” Aaron’s words were abruptly cut off at the glare Andrew shot him  so he grumbled and rolled his eyes, marching towards the stairs.   

Neil took pity on Nicky and reached out to squeeze his bicep. The taller man caught his wrist and squeezed, smiling through his tears. “Neil...”  

“Now, Nicky.”  

Nicky made a pained noise and lumbered back towards the kitchen where his room was located towards the back of the house. Andrew gave a short nod towards the stairs. Neil grabbed his bag and turned silently, giving Kevin a grim smile as he turned to head up the stairs. Kevin was left standing in the living room, shock still frozen on his dull, inebriated features. Neil wondered if he even would wake up the next morning thinking it had all been a dream.  

Upstairs, Andrew waved Neil towards the bathroom and he took it to mean he should get cleaned up. He’d already showered so instead Neil just washed his face and brushed his teeth. When he  emerged there were a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt on Andrew’s bed. The blond moved around the room silently and then disappeared into the bathroom. Neil took the opportunity to change and then sat in the chair at Andrew’s desk. When Andrew returned his hair was wet and he locked the door behind him, turning out the light.  

The hems of Andrew’s pants dragged the floor as he walked over to stand in front of Neil, prodding at one of Neil’s sock covered toes with his own.   

“You changed your mind.”   

It isn’t really a question but Neil decided to answer anyways.   

“I’m not sure I did.....”  

The weight of the last few days, months, years hit him like a ton of bricks in that moment. He wanted so badly to be someone he wasn’t. Neil had tried not to feel sorry for himself but right now he hated his life. He just wanted...he wanted....  

Panicked breathing filled the small room and Neil thought for a  second  he might  actually suffocate . But then a warm hand found  it’s  way to the back of his neck and pushed his head down. Neil slid from the chair, landing on his knees on the carpet, and Andrew followed him down. They stayed that way until Neil could  breathe  again, until the air felt lighter and his body was too drained to cause any more problems.   

“I. ..I  don’t know what to do....” he admittedly quietly, finally finding his voice. “Can....can I really be Neil?”  

Andrew’s hand  tightened  around his neck and pulled him up so their eyes met. “I once told Neil to stay. Leave Nathaniel buried in Baltimore with his father.”  

Saturday, August 17th

If light hadn’t been peeking through the curtains when Neil cracked his eyes  open  he wouldn’t have  guessed  he slept. He felt sore all over and his head throbbed painfully. As he adjusted to the gray light of  dawn  he realized he was in Andrew’s bed. He had a vague memory of being pulled under the  covers  but it was all hazy.   

What wasn’t hazy was Andrew’s stare. He was facing Neil with his back pressed against the  wall but his eyes were fully open and clear, flecks of gold visible around green. Either he had woken up a while ago or hadn’t slept. Neil assumed the latter.  

He stared back and Andrew’s gaze didn’t waver. Though he decided to stay, at least he thought he did, he still needed to know if what was  between  he and Andrew before he left was still there. If it was real or not.   

Neil shifted closer until their faces were only inches apart, their hands nearly touching on the mattress between them. “Hey...:”  

Fingers brushed Neil’s temple as Andrew reached forward, calloused pads pressing lightly against the scar on his cheek. The white lines on the other cheek were faded but the burn scar was still waxy and pink, though it didn’t hurt anymore at least.   

“I hate you,” breathed Andrew, his fingers sliding until they slipped around Neil’s throat, closing around it loosely.  

Relief flooded Neil’s veins at the familiar tone and inflection of the words.  

“I know,” he said, smiling sadly. “258%, right?”  

Hazel eyes cut to narrow slits for a split second before opening again, dropping to Neil’s lips. When they found his eyes again Neil stared back with his own question in his eyes but Andrew was still the first to ask.   

“Yes or no?”  

Neil leaned forward in the same breath he said “Yes,” and Andrew’s fingers bunched in his collar, pulling him into a kiss.   

Later that morning Neil steeled himself to face the others. He kept himself together through Nickys hysterics, Kevin’s panic attack and Aaron’s suspicious glares, giving them the summation of his disappearance. He didn’t want to tell the story too many times and was grateful they didn’t push too hard. Instead they were eager to get him back to Palmetto State, back home.   

At two thirty in the afternoon, Nicky shoved Neil into the front seat of the Maserati with a sincere “Let’s get you home, kid.”  

That evening Kevin called the upperclassman to the stadium along with  Wymack  and Abby. He intentionally left the freshman out of the loop and for that Neil was eternally grateful.   

He endured more hysterics, declarations of shock and furious swearing - out of relief or anger he sometimes couldn’t tell. Probably both. But mostly he endured tears, hugs, his family folding them into their arms as if they were reluctant to ever let him go again.  

After he recounted his story a second time, giving them every little detail just as he’d done with Andrew,  Wymack  declared it too late to continue and said they could pick it up later. Because there would  definitely be  time to sort everything out.   

Neil agreed to stay with Abby for the time being but Andrew waved everyone away, telling them he would drop Neil off and his family and Kevin got a ride back with Matt. After they were gone, Andrew wandered into the changing rooms and Neil followed without question. He led Neil to his old locker.  

It was open, but not empty. The metal was draped with orange in the form of streamers, fake flower leis and his old jersey. Photos were tacked to the inside door with tape and magnets. Most of them were candid shots he didn’t realize had been taken but the photo that was front and center was the one of he and Andrew at the airport. Neil ran his fingers over the glossy surface.   

He was about to turn around when something caught his eye. He reached in towards the hook at the back, pulling his old set of court keys from the depths. They were still in his palm when he turned.   

Andrew was staring again, hands in his own pockets as he observed the striker. When his right hand emerged, he had another set of keys in them. Neil stowed the first set in his own pocket and took the new set when offered. The keys that were in his bag when it was ripped from him during the riot. Neil ran the tip of his index finger down the teeth of the Maserati key and looked up. Andrew expression was stoic but curious.   

“Why did you keep them?” asked Neil.   

Andrew’s head listed to the side slightly, as though he were contemplating the Andrew. But when he spoke there was no hesitation.  

“Because I knew you would need them when you came home.”