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When Simon ducked under Gabriel’s guard to steal the ball and make a basket, Gabriel started to wonder if the kid shouldn’t just be playing he should be starting.
One of the gym doors slammed somewhere across the court, but Gabriel ignored it.
Until Ryan Stacey stepped onto the court and intercepted a pass.
His face was still bruised from Friday night, and the split lip hadn’t healed, making his smirk look a little crazy. “Looks like the retard has a girlfriend.”
“Looks like you didn’t get the message last Friday.” Gabriel could feel the anger coiling in his chest, ready to be let loose on this jerk.
But hands caught his arms, holding him back.
Ryan had brought friends.
At least four guys, but Gabriel couldn’t see who else was behind him. Probably the same losers who’d been beating on Simon last week. Gabriel tried to fight them, but there were too many and with the lights off, he couldn’t pull any power from the electricity in the room.
Gabriel felt sure Ryan was going to take the chance to hit him but the guy was going after Simon, who was backing away.
’t want you to hate me.
She thought about the recent arson attacks in the area. Was he telling her he was responsible?
Had he started the fire in the barn?
They’d lain together in the grass for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more. If he’d put this lighter to a bale of hay or something, how long would it have taken the place to go up like that?
Surely faster than fifteen minutes, right?
And when would he have done it? Though she hadn’t had her eyes on him every second they’d been together that morning, she couldn’t see how he would have been able to climb into the hayloft and start a fire without her even noticing.
Beyond that, why would he have done it?
She kept running his words through her brain, as if they were a math problem, and all she had to do was find the right equation to solve for X.
The night I drove you home was the first night The first night that what?
Her mother yanked back the curtain, making the hangers rattle in the steel track. Though she was wearing a white tennis skirt and a pink trimmed sweater, her eyes were perfectly lined, her mascara unsmudged. Even her lipstick looked freshly applied.
Layne wondered how much time she’d spent getting ready to come see her daughter in the hospital.
She wondered if she’d actually been playing tennis.
“Baby? You okay?”
“I’m great,” said Layne flatly. Baby. As if her mother gave a damn. She’d spent more time on the other side of the curtain than she had in here.
“I’m going to flag down the doctor,” her mother said, her lips pursed. “Don’t they know what I do for this hospital? I’m going to give these people a piece of my ”
“No,” said Layne evenly. “There are sick people here. I can wait.”
Her mom opened her mouth to protest, but then her cell phone started ringing, and she stuck a manicured hand into a designer bag to fetch it.
Layne sighed. She was ready to go home and get a shower.
Her clothes smelled like horses and fire, the sweetness of alfalfa hay mixed with soot and ashes. She hadn’t even unzipped her jacket, knowing the turtleneck underneath was soaked with sweat.
And she needed time alone.
She needed time to think.
