Page 199 of Scrimmage

“I called in a few favors. No need to thank me.”

“Yeah, well, your boss is a dick.”

“So you two got on then?”

“Something like that. Where is everyone else?”

“Back at home anxiously awaiting news. Jeremy thought it would be for the best not to cause a scene.” Sinclair slides into the bed next to me, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Yinny,” his voice cracks. He looks like the scared little boy I used to know so well.

“I always miss you, Knoxy.”

When Sinclair was born, I named him Knox. He changed his name to Sinclair when he was thirteen. Everyone is aware it’s not his real name, but everyone knows better than to bring it up. Knoxy is reserved just for me, like Yinny is just for him. He sniffles and uses his shirt to wipe his eyes. It doesn’t look like he’s slept in weeks.

“I’ve never been so scared.” He clutches me in his arms, and tears start to stream down his face. “I wanted to call someone, but the only person I could think of was you.”

“I answered?” I grin. “So why am I lying in a hospital feeling like I’m dying and not dead like I accepted a millenia ago?”

“Some wanker named Cole came into your house and shot you. He was…He was Damien’s little brother.”

It comes back to me in a rush. “He didn’t want to shoot me. He wanted to kill Penny,” I clarify.

“Well, points on blowing his brains out,” Sinclair sniffles.

“We shouldn’t be so crass about it,” I giggle, and it fucking hurts.

“I think we’ve seen plenty. Crass is being kind.”

Penny returns quietly, resuming her spot in the bed next to me. The three of us are squeezed together. It’s painful, but I don’t want them to go.

I sigh, wincing. “So Jeremy knows?”

Sinclair laughs. “Yeah. Did his whole sweeping the nation routine. Grilled the handballer so hard I thought he would break. Multiple times. But he didn’t.”

“He grilled Alexi?”

“And Koda. It looked brutal,” Penny comments.

“So Koda knows?”

She nods. Fucking great. Just announce I’m a liar just like he said I am. He gets to have the last laugh.

“Ugh. What kind of name is Ko-duh, anyways?” Sinclair mutters.

“Doesn’t matter. We aren’t together.”

Sinclair gives me a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The bloke was here before we were.”

I’m not sure what to make of that, but I don’t have time to analyze it.

“I spoke to Memphis,” Sinclair says solemnly.

“Why would you do that?”

He picks at the fibers on the blanket that someone put on top of me. “I wanted him to hurt.”

“Did he?”

“Surprisingly, yes. Wasn’t as cathartic as I had hoped for.”

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