Wymack didn't say anything about the scars. He didn't say anything about how many bandages Neil had wrapped around his chest and abdomen or how many bruises showed around the gauze. He just checked Neil over with a clinical eye and poked at every line of stitches for weaknesses. Neil stood silent and still and let him work. He'd ripped threads loose on his side, down near his waist, but that gash was almost healed anyway. Wymack pushed at Neil's skin to see if it would bleed and came back with clean fingers.

Wymack peeled off blood-crusted bandages and dropped them on the coffee table. He surveyed the damage, then left. Neil heard a drawer snick open and closed, and the faucet cut on for a couple seconds. Wymack came back with a wet wash cloth and a small first aid kit. Neil tried to take the cloth from him, but he couldn't close his fingers tight enough to hold onto it. Wymack pushed his hand out of the way and scrubbed dried blood from Neil's skin. It hurt, but Neil gritted his teeth and stayed silent.

It made him think of long nights on the road, of catching his breath in safe houses all around the world. For a moment Neil remembered how his mother's fingers felt on his skin. He remembered the bite of needles moving in and out as she threaded his broken body back together. The new heat crawling up his throat to prick at his eyes was grief. Neil blinked it away as hard as he could.

"One day we're going to talk about this," Wymack said in a low voice.

"After finals," Neil said without looking at him. "After we beat the Ravens. Then I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I'll even tell you the truth."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Wymack carried the dirty bandages and washcloth out of the room. Neil sank onto the couch and looked at Wymack's bottle of scotch. Wymack's empty glass sat off to one side. It took no work to fill it and less to knock it back. The heat was familiar, as was the harsh aftertaste.

"I thought you didn't drink," Wymack said from the doorway.

"I don't," Neil said, "unless I have to. We used alcohol as anesthetics because we couldn't risk going to the hospital." The words burned his lips more than the whisky did. Neil put the glass down and let his fingers linger on the rim. He didn't let go until he was sure his hand wasn't trembling, and then he traced the ugliest of his scars with his index finger. "Too many questions. Too much lost time. It was safer to drink away the pain."

He clenched his hand and lowered it to his lap. "Is that enough, Coach? It's a truth on credit to hold you until spring."

"Yes," Wymack said. "It's enough for now."