Chapter Text
Neil bounced an exy ball against the floor and off the wall, before he caught the ricochet in the net of his racket. The dull thump made Kevin Day twitch on reflex, and Neil found entertainment in the sight.
Bounce. Thump.
An unconscious spasm that started in his left arm and traveled down to his wrist still secured in a brace.
Bounce. Thump.
The jump of his right knee, like an aborted step forward.
Bounce. Thump.
A slight jerk of his head, that almost, but not quite, tore his gaze away from the tape he was rewatching.
Bounce.
“Will you stop that?”
Thump.
Neil felt a smile split his face in two, razor sharp and manic, as his recent dose coated the world in a haze of hilarity.
“Stop what?” he asked and sent the ball flying with another snap of his wrist.
Bounce.
Kevin’s right hand shot out and plucked the ball from the air, as he finally looked up from Andrew Doe’s audition tape, missing the impossible save that had brought them all the way out to the California bay area.
“Acting like a child.” Kevin answered with a disappointed scowl that never fully left his face.
Neil shrugged in a way he knew irritated him. Exaggerated innocence bled out of his every movement.
“Coach said I couldn’t run drills on the court. I need to practice somehow.”
“Coach Wymack was right,” Kevin scoffed, and spun the desk chair around fully to face him. Green eyes flashed with irritation, his face pulled into a haughty expression, while a single raised eyebrow disappeared into his dark hair.
“It’s not a real court. Practicing on it would be a waste of time.”
Neil tutted, spinning his racket in his palm around in a dizzying circle that made Kevin scowl. “Your Raven is showing. We’ve talked about your elitism."
Kevin opened his mouth for a useless retort, only for the bang of the locker room door to prevent his tirade.
Neil looked towards the source of the interruption curiously as Andrew Doe stalked towards them, five feet of coordinated rage, his brown eyes locked on Kevin with a single-minded focus.
Neil smoothly put himself in front of Kevin and was unsurprised by the blunt look of dismissal and the way Andrew didn’t so much as slow down. Neil only had three inches on the man, and the build of a backliner, not a goalkeeper, he hardly looked like a threat.
His smile stretched his face painfully at the thrill of being underestimated, and he spun the exy racket once more, gathering momentum, before he lunged forward and swept Doe’s feet out from under him.
Andrew crashed to the ground with a thump far more satisfying than an exy ball. Neil choked on the bile coated laugh that threatened to bubble out.
“That sloppy footwork won’t get you anywhere on the court,” Neil said, feigning disappointment, despite the smile that strained at his cheeks.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Andrew said it coolly, his previous rage buried under careless indifference and a smoker’s rasp, but his dark eyes held an intense loathing that told a different story. He pushed blond hair out of his face, and Neil caught a glimpse of a pair of armbands. Black fabric stretching from wrist to elbow, concealing the unmistakable outline of knives.
Interesting.
The locker room door slammed open again to reveal Coach Wymack, out of breath despite the wife-beater he was wearing, and the comparatively cooler March temperature, and Neil cursed his fractured attention. Wymack clutched his knee and leaned against the stairwell, even as his eyes sought out the wayward recruit Neil had advised him against.
He clucked his tongue at Wymack’s lack of a contingency plan.
“I told you he wouldn’t take it well.”
Wymack’s gaze snapped to Neil, his face a curious, concave mirror of Kevin’s, before his eyes caught on the racket, and then Andrew who was still on the ground.
“Did you hit him?” Wymack’s winded expression gave way to exasperation.
“It was just a love tap, Coach.”
“Jesus, Andrew.” Officer Higgins was a minute behind Wymack and twice as winded. Even in plainclothes, everything about the man was regulation. The concern on his face would almost seem genuine if he weren’t a pig.
Neil didn’t buy the honorable cop act, but he stepped back, and gave Higgins room to offer Andrew a hand as he pushed past Wymack.
“You okay, Kid?”
Andrew refused Higgins’ hand and waved aside his question, as he hauled himself up and slanted a glare at Wymack.
“You let Kevin Day sign my brother.”
It was phrased like a question and said like an accusation. The hostile posturing no cover for the possessive way his voice curled around the word ‘brother’.
“Neil signed your brother,” Wymack corrected as he limped over, nodding in his direction. “Kevin’s signing you.”
Andrew turned his glare on Neil, and Neil spun the racket, his chronic smile all teeth. He almost wanted the man to try something, so he could hit him again. Everything about him screamed threat.
“Why?”
Neil leaned forward conspiratorially, and cupped a hand over his mouth, a poor man’s parody of a stage whisper.
“We needed a backliner.”
“No, why would your coach let a crazy like you call the shots?”
More laughter bubbled out of Neil’s throat as he crested the artificial high, Andrew’s attempt at hurting him almost pitiable.
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest and feigned hurt.
Andrew continued undeterred. “You’re a Raven reject with a criminal record no one has ever seen on the court. What weight could your word possibly carry?”
“Now you listen here,” Wymack started. “I didn’t fly out here to listen to you insult my team—”
“I’m touched, Coach,” Neil interrupted, his eyes glued to Andrew. “Really. But he’s got a point. Afterall, what use could we possibly have for unstable criminals on our team?”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed as the insult landed, and Neil gestured at the space between them. “Birds of a felon flock together. We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t fucked up enough to fit our line.”
“And my brother?”
If Neil didn’t know any better, he’d say there was almost something protective in that question. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.” He mimed locking his lips.
Wymack looked back and forth between Neil and Andrew with a bemused expression. “You done?”
“For now.”
Wymack rolled his eyes. “As I was saying before you pulled your little vanishing act, you sign on the dotted line and you’re mine for five years. Full ride to Palmetto State, room and board included, and additional housing over the summer if necessary. We can fly you out to South Carolina the day you graduate since this was your parole officer’s idea.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow looking unimpressed. “The catch?”
“You’d have to sign a confidentiality clause. Kevin and Neil’s move south generated some bad press and Edgar Allan’s silence on the matter didn’t help. Campus security has its hands full enough dealing with the hazing without having to protect you from rabid fans.”
Neil couldn’t stop a bark of laughter at Wymack’s understatement. Hazing. His old Exy team had all but gone to war to get Kevin Day, star striker, and national champion back, and that was with the career-ending injury.
Andrew crossed his arms, gaze shrewd enough to pick up on what Wymack wasn’t saying. “Serious liability for a washout and a rookie.”
Wymack snorted. “I assure you, with your history, you’ll be just as unpopular once we release your name to the press.”
“You could try recruiting actual athletes for once.”
“I could,” Wymack acknowledged. “None of them would have your skill. I’d say you’re damn near the best goalkeeper in the country.”
Andrew’s expression didn’t change, but Neil could see the fervor in his eyes, a passion he was trying hard to conceal. “That explains me. Why them?”
“My team is a place for second chances. Third. Forth. Whatever. I help people who need it. If I just so happened to get an Olympian and an ex-raven backliner out of it, well…” Wymack shrugged. “This is still Class I exy.”
“College exy and halfway houses: a match made in heaven.” Andrew drawled. “From what I hear, you’re a season away from being knocked into Class II, so your strategy must not be working”
Neil had said something similar, but Andrew’s tone evoked something contrary in him. He bit his tongue to keep quiet as Wymack huffed a concession.
“Touché, but I’m not here for a lecture on my career choices. I’m here for your signature.”
“What makes you think I want to sign with you?”
Neil blew out an impatient sigh and ignored the glare Kevin sent his way with an ease borne of years of practice.
“This is a waste of time.”
Wymack shot him an annoyed look and Neil shrugged. Andrew wouldn’t sign for himself, that much was clear, and Neil wasn’t interested in whatever sob story Wymack wanted to draw motive from. Andrew had responded to one thing so far, and one thing only.
“We’ve got Aaron, do we really need the matched set?”
Andrew went still, so motionless that Neil didn’t think he was breathing. Rage glittered in his eyes like shards of glass; almost sharp enough to make you forget it was broken.
“Keep my brother’s name out of your mouth.”
Neil felt his smile widen, the edges jackknifing up at the way Andrew punctuated every word with a threat.
Game, set, match.
“Why?” he asked. “From what I hear I’ve met your twin more times than you have. Perhaps you should keep my teammate’s name out of your mouth.”
“Neil,” Wymack warned, but it was too late. Andrew had already lunged towards him.
Neil dodged his first blow with ease. Andrew was faster than he looked, but Neil was faster still, his prescribed mania making the world around him slow. He spun his racket, dodging another punch, and put all his strength behind it, the wood connecting with Andrew’s midsection in a sickening crack.
Andrew collapsed onto all fours retching, while Wymack swore. Neil dropped the racket and put up his hands as Higgins immediately restrained him.
“Self-defense,” he wheezed around laughter as acid climbed his throat. Higgins wrestled his wrists into the familiar bite of steel cuffs, and he felt seasick.
Wymack held up hands in a pacifying manner and stepped towards them. “Phil, wait. Andrew swung first.”
“It was provoked,” Higgins argued.
“Then let’s call it even.”
Higgins didn’t respond but he released Neil with a warning glare and bent down to help Andrew to his feet.
“He break anything, son?”
“The racket.” Andrew shrugged him off once he was standing, his hand pressed against his ribs, and Higgins turned back to face Wymack.
“That’s the second time your player has assaulted Andrew. You promised me this would be a good fit for him, David.”
“I also told you what my line-up looked like.” Wymack crossed his arms. “My players aren’t going to take a hit lying down. Now if you could just take those handcuffs off Neil, we can continue our conversation.”
Neil held out his hands helpfully as he let every ounce of his fury bleed into the smile he couldn’t quell.
Higgins was smart enough to stay silent as he unlocked the cuffs, and Neil rubbed his wrists feeling the raised outlines of old scars; trophies from when he’d been similarly restrained for days on end.
“That was fun,” he said, his mania mixing with adrenaline in an unpleasant way. “We should do this again. Next time I’ll invite my parole officer—”
“Neil,” Wymack cut him off. “Go wait in the car.”
Neil turned to face Andrew, giving him a farewell salute, his smile as unwavering as ever. “I’d say it was a pleasure meeting you, but…” he let his sentence trail off and shrugged as his smile fell into something decidedly unfriendly. “I’ll tell Aaron you said hi.”
Higgins threw an arm in front of Andrew as he started forward with a snarl, and Neil cackled, turning his back on the man.
“See you in May,” he tossed over his shoulder as he let himself out of the locker room.