Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Yeah, him,” Legend said, “and that’s coming soon, Rainey. I can promise you that.” He wound his fingers through my hair, soothing me though I didn’t want him to. “I’ll have Roan post double the security around Homer Green on Wednesday. What do you say?”
Unbidden, my head moved up and down. “I’ve seen what punishment is. I’d rather take my chances with a gift.”
I spent most of the morning in a fog. I walked in and out of class with blank note pages and wah wah wah where the memory of the lecture should be.
I didn’t take proper note of where I was till I looked up and saw the football field.
Craig Brown.
If there was anything important I had to do that day, this was it.
They practiced on Monday mornings. Dozens of padded-up guys running across the field to practicing cheerleaders and the onlookers who hung around for a taste of the glory.
The field was empty that morning. I headed to the locker room, crossing my fingers that they were gearing up and practice wasn’t canceled.
Voices and slammed lockers reached my ears. I found a spot on the wall as guys trickled out, loaded down with gym bags and gear. They weren’t in uniform. Didn’t look like there was practice that day but—
There he is.
Craig Brown came out laughing, slapping his friend on the back. “—be epic, man. Can’t wait. BU!”
“BU,” the team shouted.
Looking at him grown up and out of pictures, the gawky young teenager became a handsome, confident man. His coarse teddy-bear-brown hair shaved close to the scalp and an easy grin hung on his lips. I decided then that if Blake Jensen was an alias, it wasn’t his.
The Letter Man was dead inside. I had no doubt that when I finally laid eyes on him, the emptiness would shine through too strongly for a fake smile or forced laugh to hide. I would know that man when I saw him.
“Excuse me, Craig.”
He slowed down.
“Over here,” I called. “Do you have a minute?”
“Uhh. Just one.” He peeled away from his friends, loping over to me. “Do I know you?”
“No. I’m Rainey,” I said. “We haven’t met. I just had a quick question for you. Was Scott Cavendish your mentor at the youth center?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m trying to track down one of his—”
“Craig.” His friends stopped at the entrance. “What are you doing? We have to go.”
“We have an away game,” he explained, taking a step back. “Bus is waiting.”
“Real quick. Did you know someone named Blake Jensen? Another one of Cavendish’s mentees?”
He brightened. “Yeah, I know Blake. Wasn’t with the center though. Just hung around after school and got tight with Scott. We all did. He was a great guy.”
Not so much of the great.
“Yo, Craig! Want to walk to New York?”
“I’m coming.” He faced me, walking backward. “That it?”
“Last thing.” I scrambled to get the photo out of my pack. “Blake. Is he in this photo? Point him out.”
“Blake’s not—”
“Craig,” the coach boomed. “On the bus. Now.”
“I really got to go. That’s Blake.” He jabbed a face in the pic and took off running after his teammates.
I spun it around, scrutinizing them.
Blake Jensen did exist, but he was one of the floaters the coordinator spoke about. Not signed up, but still joined in and got close to Scott Cavendish.
Is he the one I’m looking for? Blond hair, pointed nose, and pimply cheeks. Dye can change the hair and acne cream was doing wonders these days. The other features would’ve grown with him into a pleasantly attractive young college student who liked to smoke outside farmhouses and snatch women out of crowds.
I didn’t recognize that face, or know what to do with Roan’s word there wasn’t a Blake Jensen enrolled as a student or working at the university. That fact wouldn’t trip me up yet. The Letter Man was smart. Concealing his identity on campus clearly wasn’t hard by how easily he blended in with the mob.
Fishing out my phone, I called Cairo.
“You don’t need to meet up with the other mentees,” I said by way of hello. “Craig Brown backed up that there was a Blake and he was tight with Cavendish.”
“Know what he looks like?”
“He’s in the photo.”
“Then bring that ass back here. I need a midmorning fuck to get through the rest of the day.”
I rolled my eyes though my feet were already moving. “Something happen?”
“Yes. I’ve been invited to dinner tonight.”
CAIRO KEPT THE DETAILS to himself as he chased me through the house, tackled me on the stairs, and fucked me raw where I fell. He didn’t have much to say when he returned that night either.
I sat at his desk, working on my midterm paper for Professor Valdez.
Cairo came in and picked up my backpack for me.
“Bring the laptop,” he said. “You’ll wait in the car until I come get you.”