He exited his contract eight months ago, but he still got paid for his first three years. He gets nothing for the extra year he put in because he broke the second contract. He ended up putting the money down on a home, which was way more responsible of him than any of us expected. He also dropped out of high school and got his GED instead. Deacon’s parents died when he was a baby, and my father found him in foster care. An angry fourteen-year-old boy who he thought would make a perfect closer. Deacon was good, too—almost as good as me. His charisma draws people in, even if it’s only a façade. Aaron drops me off, still quieter than usual. I know he’s feeling guilty about turning me in for the T-shirt, but I’m too tired to convince him I’m not mad about it. I get out, saying I’ll call him tomorrow, and then watch as he drives away. A headache has started, and I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and then climb the front porch of Deacon’s house. I knock, my backpack weighing me down.
