The Foxhole Court

He set his standards impossibly high and tried for them with everything he had, and he didn't understand why others wouldn't do the same

"Morning, sunshine," Matt said with exaggerated cheer.
"Fuck you," Kevin said.
Dan yawned into her hand. "Glad to see you're still a morning person."
"Fuck you too."

He was something solid to lean against, something violent and fierce and unmoving. Neil couldn't remember what it felt like to have someone hold him up. It was terrifying and liberating all at once.

Neil Josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. He didn't want the nicotine; he wanted the acrid smoke that reminded him of his mother. If he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of gasoline and fire. It was at once revolting and comforting, and it sent a sick shudder down his spine. The jolt went all the way to his fingertips, dislodging a clump of ash. It fell to the bleachers between his shoes and was whisked away by the wind.

He's like this because you let him get away with it," Neil said. "You're putting all of us at risk."
"That was my fault." Nicky opened the door and waited for Neil to precede him out. "I said something I shouldn't have, and I got what I deserved."

"He's no use to us if you break him."
"You'd rather I let him go? Put a band-aid on him and he'll be good as new."

Neil should be used to this by now. He'd spent the last eight years on the run, spinning lie after lie to leave a twisted trail behind him. Twenty-two names stood between him and the truth, and he knew what would happen if anyone finally connected the dots.

Why Hernandez let him get away with it and didn't notify the authorities, Neil didn't know. He thought it best not to ask

"I don't swing either way,"

Jeez, Coach, what kind of people do you think we are?" Nicky asked.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"