"Here you go, Neil," Nicky said, and Neil forced his gaze up to the open doorway. Nicky gestured for him to precede them. "Home sweet home, if anything involving Coach can be called sweet."

Neil had known since April he'd be crashing on Coach Wymack's couch for a couple weeks. He'd known, in the days following Wymack's visit, that it would be uncomfortable. He still wasn't prepared for the way his stomach roiled inside him now. He'd been on his own since his mother died, and the last man he'd lived with was his father. How was he supposed to let Wymack lock the door every night with both of them under the same roof? He couldn't possibly sleep here; every time Wymack breathed Neil would wake up and wonder who was after him. Maybe he should back out and check into a hotel, but how was he supposed to explain that to Wymack? Would he have to explain? Wymack thought Neil's parents were abusive, so maybe he'd understand Neil's reticence.

He hadn't expected to lock up like this, and he'd hesitated too long. He saw the look Nicky sent Aaron, curious and confused, and knew he'd made a mistake. Still, it wasn't until Andrew stepped up alongside him to see what the holdup was that Neil could move again. Andrew was smiling, but his pale stare was intense. Neil met his eyes for only a moment and knew it was worse to stay out here with them than it was to cross that threshold. He'd figure it out, but not here and not now, not with Andrew and Kevin as witnesses.

Neil stepped over the threshold and started down the hall. The first doorway opened up into the living room Neil would be sleeping in. The couch Wymack had referenced was cleared off and even had a sticky note tacked to it saying that the blankets were in the coffee table drawer. It was the only clean surface in the room. Everything else was covered in paperwork and empty coffee mugs. Overflowing ashtrays were in unhealthy abundance as well.

Neil was halfway across the room to look out the window when Nicky spoke up behind him.

"What was that all about?"

Neil's blood turned to slush. It wasn't the words that got him but the language Nicky used. German was Neil's second language thanks to three years spent living in Austria, Germany, and Switzerland. He remembered more of Europe than he wanted to; most of their time there had been a cold mess. He knew the tang of blood in his mouth was just his imagination, but it was sharp enough to choke him. He could feel his heartbeat on every inch of his skin, going so fast it set him trembling head to toe.

How did they know he spoke German?

Neil had half a mind to run for it, but then Aaron answered, and Neil realized with a sick rush Nicky wasn't talking to him. No, they were talking about him, not intending for him to understand. Neil forced himself to move, finishing his trip to the window. He pushed the curtains back and put his hands to the glass, needing something to steady him while his heart tried to ease back to a normal rhythm.