Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 87395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
"A long time ago."
"Don't like doctors?"
"Doctors don't like me. Is it necessary?"
"You're not playing until I sign off on you, so yes," Abby said, unlocking the medical room door and pushing it open. She flicked on the light on her way inside, seemingly oblivious to the way Neil hadn't moved. It took her a couple minutes before she came looking for him. "Sometime today, preferably. I've got a lot of you to get through."
Neil eased off the chair, grabbed his bag, and went into her office. He left his duffel on the ground at his feet and sat on the bed. The first part of Abby's test was easy like she'd said it would be. He weighed in and let her run through a series of tests from reflexes to blood pressure. She took two vials of blood from his left arm, labeled them, and locked them in a drawer. Then she motioned at him and said, "Shirt off."
Neil stared at her. "Why?"
"I can't check track marks through cotton, Neil."
"I don't do drugs."
"Good on you," Abby said. "Keep it that way. Now take it off."
Neil looked past her at the closed door and said nothing. Abby looked at him and said nothing either. After five minutes of this, she was the first to give in. "I want to make this as painless as possible, but I can't help you if you can't help me. Tell me why you won't take off your shirt."
Neil looked for a delicate way to say it. The best he managed was, "I'm not okay."
She put a finger to his chin and turned his face back toward her. "Neil, I work for the Foxes. None of you are okay. Chances are I've seen a lot worse than whatever it is you're trying to hide from me."
Neil's smile was humorless. "I hope not."
"Trust me," Abby said. "I'm not going to judge you. I'm here to help, remember? I'm your nurse now. That door is closed, and it comes with a lock. What happens in here stays in here."
"You won't tell Coach?"
"This isn't his business," Abby said, gesturing between them with her free hand. "I only report to him if I think it'll affect your performance on the court or if you're breaking the law and I need an intervention."
Neil stared at her, wondering if he could believe her and knowing he didn't have a choice. His skin was already crawling in anticipation of her reaction. "You can't ask me about them," he said at last. "I won't talk to you about it. Okay?"
"Okay," Abby agreed easily. "But know that when you want to, I'm here, and so is Betsy."
Neil wasn't going to tell that psychiatrist a thing, but he nodded. Abby dropped her hand, and Neil pulled his shirt over his head before he could lose his nerve.
Abby thought she was ready. Neil knew she wouldn't be, and he was right. Her mouth parted on a silent breath and her expression went blank. She wasn't fast enough to hide her flinch, and Neil saw her shoulders go rigid with tension. He stared at her face as she stared at him, watching her gaze sweep over the brutal marks of a hideous childhood.
It started at the base of his throat, a looping scar curving down over his collarbone. A pucker with jagged edges was a finger-width away, courtesy of a bullet that hit him right on the edge of his Kevlar vest. A shapeless patch of pale skin from his left shoulder to his navel marked where he'd jumped out of a moving car and torn himself raw on the asphalt. Faded scars crisscrossed here and there from his life on the run, either from stupid accidents, desperate escapes, or conflicts with local lowlifes. Along his abdomen were larger overlapping lines from confrontations with his father's people while on the run. His father wasn't called the Butcher for nothing; his weapon of choice was a cleaver. All of his men were wellversed in knife-fighting, and more than one of them had tried to stick Neil like a pig.
And there on his right shoulder was the perfect outline of half a hot iron. Neil didn't remember what he'd said or done to irritate his father so much. Likely it was after another one of the local police's visits. The police and feds had nothing concrete to pin on his father, but they came around as often as they could in hopes of finding something. Neil's job was to stay quiet and still until they left again. Neil guessed he'd twitched a little too much, because as soon as they were gone his father ripped the iron from his mother's hands and smacked Neil with it. Neil still remembered how his skin looked as it peeled off with the metal.
Neil twisted his hands in his shirt and lifted his arms, baring his forearms to her. "Do I have track marks?"
"Neil," Abby said softly.
"Do I or don't I?"
Abby's mouth thinned to a hard line as she forcibly redirected her attention back to his physical. The second she gave him the okay to put his shirt on again, Neil yanked it over his head. Abby filled out the rest of her forms in silence.
"We're done," Abby said. "Neil —"
"No." Neil grabbed his duffel and escaped her office as quickly as he could.
He half-expected her to follow him, but Abby stayed in her office and left him alone. Neil flipped through his catalogue, trying to work off his agitation. He wanted a cigarette so bad his fingers ached. He wanted something that would make him feel a little less alone. He shoved his catalogue aside again and checked himself, making sure everything was covered under his shirt. All of his shirts were at least a size too big, since baggy clothes hid his scars better, but Neil still felt raw and exposed.
Neil shoved the catalogue into his bag, hooked the strap over his shoulder, and went down the hall with every intention of waiting the rest of the afternoon in the inner court. He made it as far as the foyer when a door opened behind him. Neil hesitated at the exit and looked back as someone stepped into the lounge at the other end of the hall.