Chapter 9: Overnight

The hospital let Jesse go at noon on Saturday, with a printed sheet of rules and a bottle of water.

Two campus police officers had already taken his statement and a copy of the video from Hank's phone.

They had said "we'll be in touch" in the careful voice of people who knew whose father paid for the new library wing.

Nate drove him to the brick house off Dunmore Street.

"My place is closer than the dorm," Nate said. "And Hank's with the officers. Is that okay?"

"Yes," Jesse said. "Please."

Nate's apartment smelled like clean laundry and burnt toast.

He put Jesse on the bed in the small back bedroom, with three pillows and a glass of juice.

Then he stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do with his hands.

"You can sit," Jesse said.

"I'll take the chair."

"Nate. The bed is big."

Nate looked at him for a long second.

Then he took off his shoes and lay down on top of the blanket, a careful foot away.

The room was quiet.

Jesse's head still felt full of wet cotton.

"I'm sorry," Nate said to the ceiling.

"For what?"

"All of it. I knew Pierce was off."

"I only told you to stay home. I should have gone to the coach, and to Cal."

"I kept it quiet because I didn't want a fight."

"You couldn't have known he'd do this."

"I could have guessed."

"Hey." Jesse rolled onto his side. "You came. You hit him. You carried me down the stairs. That's not nothing."

"I wanted to kill him."

"I know. I could tell."

Nate laughed once, rough.

Jesse reached across the foot of blanket and took his hand.

Nate's knuckles were purple and scraped.

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