Slowly, he raises his head and looks at me. “No. Not even a little bit.” He turns and leaves my room and goes into the guest room. A second later, I hear the door slam.

I wait a moment before following. “Hey.” I knock on the door softly. “Can I come in?”

“Go away,” he says, his voice muffled behind the door.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it might come as a bit of a shock, but… but why are you so mad?” I ask.

The door swings wide open. “Why am I so mad? Are you kidding me?”

I open my mouth to respond, but he doesn’t stop to let me speak.

“All it would have taken was for your father to have told the truth and maybe… maybe everything would have been different!” he yells. The door closes in my face again.

I knock again. “What do you mean, everything?”

“I mean everything!” his voice yells behind the door. It swings open one more time. “Everything, Julian. Think about it.” I watch him from the doorway as he paces in front of the window. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that most of the shitty decisions my father made came after he stopped playing football. I’m thinking that I don’t remember many good things about him, but most of the good things we did share revolved around playing football, or listening to him tell me stories about Guardsmen football. I’m thinking that if he had never stopped playing football, things may have looked very different for Eric Vance.” Elijah’s voice shakes with anger. “For me. For Frankie. For my mom. Even for Coley.”

That earlier niggling guilt intensifies, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“And now, here you are telling me that the only reason he stopped playing football is because he took the fall for someone else? Because he was being a good friend? Sorry, you just tilted my world, Julian. In more ways than one. You’re going to have to forgive me if it takes me a minute to process all of this,” he says, walking toward me until I back up into the hallway. He slams the door again, and I hear the lock click into place.

I stare at the door, my nose just inches from it, and finally lean my forehead against the wood.

“’lijah,” I say. “Please let me in.”

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he answers.

Out in the living room, the front door opens.

“I’m home, boys!” Birdie calls. I hear the crinkling of several plastic bags, and her keys jingle as she takes them out of the lock.

I leave Elijah in his room, behind the locked door, and try to fix my face as I walk into the living room.