Hello! I'm back with another update and I have to admit, I'm kinda nervous about this one. I'm trying something a little different with this chapter and I hope it doesn't fall flat, but it's been a fun challenge and y'all have been so accommodating to my ~artistic whims thus far, which is the only reason I'm brave enough to give it a try. Eeeep. I thank you in advance for putting up with me. :)
A/N: Nothing too graphic here save for a few violent references. Some little meta stuff in here relating to previous chapters and the show itself for those who can spot it. Quora has been indispensable when it comes to research about police life (aka procrastination), but I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. For those who are interested, timeline-wise this fits in right around the beginning of Gridiron Soldier. Title and quotes from can't stop now by Keane.
Thank you again. I remain in constant shock that people read this, let alone like it, and I'm so grateful for everyone who's stayed tuned to this "highkey problematic drama" (thanks Lin!).
(The following are excerpts from a feature article by Jimmy MacArthur titled What's Eating Olivia Benson? It was originally slated to run in the New York Ledger on April 1st, 2014, but was never published for a myriad of reasons, some of which will be readily apparent.)
In the late spring of 2013, New York City was temporarily gripped by the story of a missing NYPD detective who appeared to have been abducted from her home under violent circumstances. The sole suspect was a drifter named William Lewis, a man who only days earlier had been on trial for the brutal physical and sexual assault of an elderly Manhattan woman. It was a trial tainted by allegations of police misconduct, including the improper handling of DNA evidence, leading the judge to declare a mistrial. Lewis posted bail and disappeared into the humid May night, while across town Detective Olivia Benson left her precinct and headed home. By the time Detective Benson was reported missing, neither had been seen in over 60 hours.
From there a furious search commenced, centered around Long Island despite sightings pouring in from as far away as Anchorage, Alaska. The constant media attention garnered hundreds of tips, nearly a half dozen false citizens' arrests, and conspiracy theories involving everything from Al Queda to the Illuminati to the Malaysian airliner that disappeared over the Indian Ocean earlier that year. Ultimately the information the police had been working off of panned out when the two were found along the Long Island coast after nearly two days of nonstop searching. The public rejoiced in the news that Benson's injuries were non-life threatening- many having feared the worst after an elderly man and a Suffolk County officer had been found murdered during the course of the investigation.
But after that, as it so often does in this era of the 24 news cycle, the press and the people moved on to the latest story. The local news opened two days later with a brief note that Benson had been released from the hospital, immediately followed by an in-depth feature on one man's struggle to get his exotic donkey-zebra hybrid back from NYC Animal Control. And yet, as summer gave way to fall, rumors began to circulate. By the time the case went to trial in the first week of 2014, the whole city was talking once again. Had the entire abduction been staged? Was Benson held hostage as she claimed, nearly killing her captor in self defense as she struggled to escape, or were the injuries suffered by both parties acquired in some sort of vicious lover's quarrel? Everyone had an opinion. Debates erupted almost hourly on social media as a hungry public dissected every tiny morsel of new information about the trial- and oh, what a trial it was. With the defendant making the last minute decision to represent himself, the questioning took on an ugly and at times very personal tone. Accusations of police brutality, perjury, infidelity, and evidence tampering were only the beginning of Lewis' calculated strategy to paint Benson as, quote, "a lonely woman who [...] wanted to experience the thrill of being sexually involved with the kind of man she's been chasing her entire life." Meanwhile, the prosecution relied on the shock value of gruesome photographic evidence to bolster Benson's own testimony of the horrors she allegedly suffered at the defendant's hand.
Ultimately, it wasn't about the sensational details or the legal maneuvering or the expert witnesses. It was a tale of two people, both with wildly differing versions of events, both out to convince a dozen strangers that they were the one telling the truth. And perhaps unsurprisingly, the verdict was mixed. Lewis was acquitted of the charges of attempted rape, attempted murder, and multiple counts of sexual assault; he was found guilty of kidnapping and assault on an officer and is currently awaiting sentencing on these and other related charges.
Once again, the jury's decision was hotly debated both online and off. But then the public turned their attention toward other topics, such as the politics of snow removal and the rights of citizens to keep wild animals as family pets, and that was the end of the story.
Unless, of course, you were the one living it.
What's Eating Olivia Benson?
I arrived at Manhattan SVU midday on a Tuesday, unsure as to what I would encounter. After decades in this business, I'm used to a certain sort of welcome, but I had been warned not to expect the usual deference from this group and that warning proved prescient.
My first indication of the challenge ahead of me came just minutes after my arrival. I had been handed a cup of stale coffee by some low-level uniformed officer and instructed to wait, when a middle-aged man with a poorly tailored suit and a disgruntled expression came barreling onto the squad room floor.
"What the hell are- does Liv know you're coming?" asks Detective Fin Tutuola, Benson's second in command, as he scrutinizes this seemingly unwelcome guest. When he's told that no, 'Liv' was supposed to meet him elsewhere, but he decided he'd swing by, Tutuola shakes his head. "Good luck, my man. I wouldn't wanna be you." Tutuola takes another suspicious glance at the other man. "Your eye's lookin' better."
"Yeah, no thanks to you, huh?" comes the reply.
A moment later Benson herself comes flying out of her office, so distracted by this visitor that she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. "Three years and you show up *today*, of all the days- Fin, we're going to lunch- c'mon, we gotta get out of here before someone notices you."
As she marches the mystery man toward the elevator, I ask Tutuola about him and he just shrugs.
"Never seen that guy in my life."
"You're hungry today," Elliot remarks after the waitress takes your orders- as if he's not already on your shitlist at the moment.
"Yeah I am...because after that stunt you pulled, you're paying. Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking? You were gonna give him the staredown? Challenge him to a duel?"
"I don't trust that guy. I just needed to see for myself what was going on. He's a con man, Liv, he's gonna twist whatever he sees until he can make a good story out of it."
"Elliot, I told you I have everything under control." Like your therapist, Elliot seems skeptical of how this will all play out, and you're struggling not to take their lack of faith in you personally. "But if you come barging in- that's not part of my plan. Don't you think he might be curious about who this visitor is? Now I'm going to have to come up with an explanation...please. Just let me handle this."
"Say it was a business meeting. Simple enough."
You frown and take a sip of your tea. "After almost three years...that's what gets you to show up at the precinct? Intimidating a stranger? If I knew that, I would've called him a long time ago."
He shrugs and mumbles something and you realize you're still on unsteady ground, that maybe it's not to the point yet where you can joke about it, but you also know that something has fundamentally shifted in order for him to be willing to set foot in there at all. Something even bigger than wanting to challenge a reporter to pistols at dawn.
"How did it feel?" you ask cautiously. "I mean, being back."
"Wasn't what I expected. I guess it was something I'd been thinking about for a long time, and after you told me how much it'd changed- it was at the point where I couldn't figure out why I was avoiding it anymore, know what I mean? Time to do it and move on. And now that I'd already seen Fin and I knew he wasn't gonna try to kick my ass again-"
"When did you see Fin?"
"Eh, around," he says with another shrug, and you know that's all you're getting out of him on that subject. You make a mental note to ask Nick later. "Besides...maybe I just needed to see you in that office for myself."
"Oh? And was that what you expected?"
"Nah. Better."
You smile down at your plate as the waitress arrives, wanting to reach for his hand but opting for discretion given that you weren't too far from the precinct and couldn't be sure who was watching. Instead you slip off your shoe and rub his leg just above the ankle with your socked foot. "I'm proud of you, y'know. But if you show up again while he's here, I will hurt you."
"How long is he sticking around?"
"As long as he wants, according to Hank." Despite your determination that this will be nothing short of an unqualified success, you know it's going to be tiring keeping your game face on throughout the work week- and beyond. "He's supposed to come over to the apartment sometime. Maybe Saturday? I bought this new rug for the living room, and it better be delivered by then because-"
Elliot sets his fork down as his eyebrows shoot up somewhere into his forehead. "Now you're having him over to your...Liv, don't you think that's a little excessive? Is dumbass going to be there?"
"Yeah, of course. It's his place too and- you know him. I think he interviews well. I'm more worried about...I'm going to rearrange the furniture so there's room for the rug I'm getting, and I might change up some of the stuff on the walls. Brian's old cleaning lady said she'd come in the day before so I'll be sure everything's spotless."
"Brian had a cleaning lady? Since when?"
"It's a long story. Anyway- in his email, Jimmy told me he wants to see my life outside of work. I figured that's the best way to do it," you say. Brian hadn't been overwhelmingly excited by the idea at first ('this sounds like another dinner party') but, as you pointed out, he ended up enjoying himself at your party. Well- at least, the one that he actually attended. So you got him to cave, and at first he was reluctant, but this morning you caught him holding several shirts up to the mirror like he was comparing options. When he saw you watching, he asked if you thought he should get a haircut. Guess you weren't the only one looking to make an impression.
"Just like Better fuckin' Homes and Gardens, huh? How sweet. I better get a copy of this article when it's all finished. I'll frame it and put it on the wall next to the kids' pictures."
"Fine, be an asshole," you sniff. "Because I was about to say that Brian has some department training thing that afternoon into the evening, so you could come over and I could prove to you that I really can cook. But now I'm rescinding the invitation. Sorry."
He laughs, nudging your ankle with his foot. "As much as I want to see this, Kathy and I are gonna be in Boston this weekend."
"Oh. Yeah, of course, I get it," you say, trying to appear unmoved.
"It's not like- we're going to visit Maureen's in-laws. They're having a big party for the kids, a pre-baby thing, and a bunch of their extended family's coming."
You find yourself a bit flustered by this 'it's not like...' Like what? He doesn't have to justify it to you, whatever it is he does with his wife. He doesn't owe you an explanation even if you felt your stomach drop just by hearing her name. "That's great, El, I'm...I'm happy you two are getting along."
"Yeah. We sure...so can I take you up on that sometime next week?"
"Um, I don't know what Brian's schedule looks like. He'll probably be home every evening."
"We'll figure something else out," he says. "Just don't forget you owe me now."
"I owe you? Because I seem to remember you promised you'd take me to the beach and I'm still waiting."
"You wanna go? It's 20 fucking degrees, that's the thing that's holding me back but if you don't mind..."
"No, I was just reminding you in case you'd forgotten." On the afternoons when he would come visit while you were out of work last summer, he had mentioned several times that you should get out of the city for the day, but that idea didn't seem as fun when you took into consideration how you weren't supposed to expose your still-healing skin to excess sunlight. So the plan got temporarily shelved, and then you went back to work and fall came and you just never got around to it. But you still remembered.
"Forgotten? No way." You lift up your wrist to check your watch (the one Brian got you), and Elliot makes a face when he notices. "Jesus that thing's ugly."
"Jealous?" you ask with a coy smile.
"Yes. Yes I am. But I guess we can't all be so lucky to have dumbass buy us jewelry, huh?"
"Don't worry, I'll remind him when your birthday's coming up," you promise. "But I've gotta get going pretty soon- I want to make it back before Rollins so that Jimmy doesn't get her alone."
"C'mon, it's freezing out there. Walk to my car with me and I'll give you a ride back."
You're pretty sure that he's parked in the opposite direction of the station and that you'd be spending less time in the cold if you just went directly there- but once again, you're not ready to say goodbye just yet. "Okay, but you better keep me warm."
Some of you may be asking, why would someone be given a promotion in the midst of so much personal turmoil? When I questioned Benson about it, she explained that she had taken the sergeants' exam and earned a high score, putting her in line to move up with the retirement of her captain. Others I talked to, however, told a different story.
"Most folks in supervisory roles have been on that track since the day they walked into the academy," another detective in a different unit explained to me. "They've got connections, or they like playing politics. They'll spend the minimum required time out on the street and then the rest of their career, they're climbing that ladder."
"The other group you find riding a desk, they're the undesirables. They haven't done anything to merit being fired, or they still have some sort of pull, but for whatever reason they're damaged goods. The department doesn't want them spending a lotta time with the public, especially while armed. So assuming they're eligible, they become supervisors. And believe me, everyone knows which of those two groups someone belongs to."
When you arrive back at the precinct and step off of the elevator, you notice two things. First, that Jimmy Mac is nowhere to be seen. But Amanda is right there at her desk, chatting with an attractive man about her same age, and from her body language you can tell that he's not a stranger. Jesus Christ. Is she insane, bringing a new boyfriend here? And where's Nick? He's going to lose his shit. It's not like you don't already spend enough time refereeing between them, and now she's going to go and purposely taunt him?
"Amanda," you bark, and she turns around with that usual look in her eyes; the one where you know she's up to something and she's just waiting for you to call her out on it. "Who's your guest?"
You don't know if you feel better or worse when she introduces him as a 'friend' from home (you add the quotation marks around 'friend' in your own mind, because with her you can never tell). And like all her friends and relatives, he has a problem that she's already taken it upon herself to solve. Might as well rename the precinct the Amanda Rollins Center For Lost Causes.
"We're not here to wait on everyone you've ever met who has a sad story," you say after you pull her into your office. "If you put yourself out there for people to take advantage of you, they will. And it'll keep happening as long as you allow it to."
"Yeah, thanks for the advice. So'm I supposed to tell him we can't help?"
"Well, now that he's already here- go. Find his nephew, whatever. I'll call if I need you."
She nods wordlessly before she leaves, and you bite down on the inside of your lip because you recognize the set of her mouth and the slump in her shoulders. You may have never seen it yourself, but you know it just the same because you've lived it; the continuous defeat that comes from never ever quite meeting someone else's expectations.
You're ashamed that your first instinct is to accuse her of being ungrateful to you when you put up with so much of her shit. Fortunately, Fin is right there to pile on some more shame. "I know it ain't my business but- you ever think sometimes you're too harsh on her?"
"You're right, Fin, it's not your business."
"All I'm saying is, she looks up to you. Remember all the times Cragen chewed your ass out? He might've been pissed, but he always gave you a way to set it right. Amanda, though- she just can't win with you."
"I'll keep that in mind. Do you know where Nick is?"
Fin points to one of the interrogation rooms. "He and someone from Homicide are taking another swing at Cory Franklin."
"Better not be a literal swing," you mumble to yourself as you brush past Fin in the doorway. No sooner do you get by him than you almost run straight into Jimmy Mac.
"Finally, the boss lady!" he says in a booming voice. "Just who I've been waiting for. Can we-"
This was not the introduction you had in mind- but you hadn't been intending on having him watch you chase Elliot out of the building, either. You give him a smile that you hope conveys what a poised, competent leader you are. "Jimmy. I'm needed in interrogation right now, but I'm sure Detective Tutuola would be happy to let you shadow him until we can catch up later."
You walk away, ignoring the protests of both men. The mood is no more cheerful inside the interrogation room, where Nick is looming over a surly kid in his late teens while the homicide sergeant sits back with his arms crossed. Even from where you're standing next to the door, the smell of stale cigarettes is so strong that you almost expect to see a cloud of smoke hovering just below the ceiling, and a chill runs from the top of your skull to the base of your spine. Stop. Relax.
"Carry on," you say to Nick when he looks over at you, perfectly content to let him do the talking. Cory was a witness and possible accomplice in the rape and murder of his best friend's girlfriend. He'd been in for questioning several times, and every time he seemed to know even less than before. Today he was claiming he barely knew the victim, that they 'maybe hung out once. A long time ago.'
"Now that's funny, because we have you on tape saying that you were with Andrea and Jeff the night of the murder. So which is it? You're not doing yourself any favors if you keep changing your story."
"Look, dude, I told you. I met that bitch once," he says, rolling his eyes. "What the hell else do you want me to say?"
You can only see Nick from behind, but you know for certain that his knuckles are ghost white as he grips the table. Yours are just as white as your hands remain balled into fists behind your back. Breathe. "What else? How about you tell me why we found traces of Andrea's blood on your jeans?"
Cory comes up with an excuse about how okay, maybe they did hang out a few weeks ago at his house, and maybe she fell and skinned her knee and ruined her pants so he let her borrow a pair of his jeans.
"And she was 4'11" and 100 pounds. So I'm sure they fit her, right? And you must have seen her at least one more time after that so she could give them back to you- so who was the one who bleached them? You or her?"
When Cory looks bewildered, the other sergeant laughs. "Guess you didn't know you can't use any old bleach to get rid of blood stains, huh? We can still pick it up with the UV light. Try Oxyclean next time."
You close your eyes but your vision still swims, reds and blues mixing together into a flame so real that you can feel the heat on your face. I can't. I've gotta make it stop.
"Okay. Enough!" you announce, using both hands to push against the wall and propel yourself toward the others, not noticing their surprise at your outburst. "My turn."
I was spending some time with Detective Tutuola on my first day at the precinct, listening to him discuss the sharp decline in the number of newspapers purchased by the NYPD in recent years, and I was about to share with him my reflections on where the industry is headed when we heard loud voices coming from the interrogation room. First a female voice which I recognized as Benson's, then several male voices. The door flies open and out storms Detective Amaro, followed by Sergeant Benson, and a few moments later another sergeant emerges with a young man in tow.
He instructs a nearby officer to take the suspect 'back to the tombs' and then scans the room. I'm about to tell him that if he's looking for Benson and Amaro, they've disappeared behind closed doors, but then we hear the sound of two people shouting inside her office and my explanation of their whereabouts is no longer needed.
"I don't know what the hell was going on there," says the man, who later introduces himself as Sergeant Walter Price from the homicide division. "She- Benson- was observing and then outta nowhere she goes off on the kid. Yelling that he thinks he's so smart, that he can get away with everything, but she's the one in charge here and...I mean, shit. We've all lost it on a suspect and this little son of a bitch is a grade A asshole, but she was just on a rant if you get what I mean. My grammy, she would've said that woman's got the devil in her."
Price continues on after I assure him that this is off the record. "So then Amaro, he's trying to calm her down, get her to back off, but now this kid's pissed. And he says 'hey, I know you, you're that bitch who-' Well, I probably shouldn't repeat it. My grammy would roll over in her grave if she heard me sayin' something like that about a lady. But you get what I'm telling you, yeah? Then next thing I know, Amaro's practically snapped that little shit's neck! Took me *and* Benson to separate him. Not that...I get why he did it, I'd do the same if someone was running their mouth off to my partner after...well. They're obviously close, and I'm sure he feels guilty about what happened to her. That's gotta mess you up. So I'm gonna pretend like I didn't see anything but- shit, they need some adult supervision around this place. Someone like my grammy to come in and make them toe the line."
He then went on to try and pitch me a story about his grammy, how she raised 12 children on her own as a WW1 widow and lost her home in Britain during the Blitz before emigrating to America with 37 cents in her pocket, but my attention was already focused elsewhere. I needed more background on Benson and Amaro. Throughout the multiple interviews I did with both of them during my time at SVU, neither was willing to talk in much detail about the search for Benson or her subsequent rescue. I did, however, find a officer from another precinct who had been on the scene and agreed to speak anonymously.
"Yeah, a ton of us turned up at that house around the same time and we didn't really know what we were dealing with. Amaro was the only one who had actually talked to her over the phone and the details she was able to give were real sketchy. We knew he was down- Lewis was- that he was unconscious if not dead, but there was still talk of bringing in the cavalry just in case. And Amaro said 'like hell you are, if she says he's down I believe her and I'm going in myself.' So my boss- Amaro's captain was still en route- tells him he can't do that cause it's against procedure. Amaro says 'fuck you, and fuck your procedure, because I'm not letting anyone in until I get her out of there.' He says that to the guy in charge! And so my boss tells him you got two minutes and then I'm sending my crew in with the medics. Course, he was beyond pissed, my boss was, but I guess he wasn't gonna waste any more time arguing with Amaro."
"Hundred twenty seconds later, on the dot, he sends me and a few other guys in. It was- I mean, I've seen some shit in my day, but I'd been fortunate until then to never see another officer in that sort of situation. It's different that way, you know? Anyhow, I didn't really get a good look at Lewis myself, but I caught a glance as the medics were carrying him out and- Jesus. He got the worst of it, physically. Benson, though... really, I think Amaro had the right idea after all, cause I'm pretty sure she didn't know who the hell we were or what was going on and had we barged in...she had a gun within arm's reach. I'm not convinced she wouldn't have fired at us. But Amaro had it under control even though- like I said, she was mentally gone. He tried to get her out of the way when the medics came for Lewis, tried to take her into this little bathroom in the corner and she got all sorts of agitated. Once that happened, she wasn't going anywhere. And he talked to her, tried to reason with her, but she wasn't in a rational state of mind for that. I thought there's no way in hell they're going to get her out of this house without having to physically restrain her. And I think he knew that too, and he knew that would probably be the worst possible thing they could do right then. But of course by now everyone's outside and they're in a rush, they want her to get to the hospital and they want to secure the scene, so I did the only thing I could do. I went to the front door and yelled to the captain- get everyone to back the fuck off. And amazingly, a minute or so later, she walks out of there on her own two feet.'
"So Amaro? He's a good guy in my book. And I've heard he has anger problems, about some of the shit he's done- but I understand. Seeing someone like that and thinking you were supposed to have their six, wondering if you could'a done something different...I think if it were me, I'd be mad at the world too."
When I ask my source if he thinks there may be something romantic between the two (having already been told by Benson's neighbors that Amaro is a frequent overnight guest), I get a loud laugh in return. "Benson? Amaro's not her type, if you know what I mean. She's gay. Definitely gay. You didn't know? It's pretty obvious, a woman like that...if she's not married, she's gay."
(Benson would later refuse to comment on the subject).
"What the fuck were you doing?!"
"The fuck was I doing?" Nick asks as your office door slams behind him. He's been right on your heels and you find yourself moving to the far corner of your office to try and put some distance between you, but he doesn't seem to notice how he's got you backed in between the couch and the bookshelf or how you're clutching the shelf to maintain your balance. "What do you think? I'm gonna sit there and do nothing while some punk ass kid is fucking threatening my partner? He's lucky I didn't-"
"Stop! Goddamn it, would you just stop? Would you just-" You bite your lip, embarrassed at how pleading your voice sounds. "Just stop. I can't do this, I'm..."
Something clicks in his mind and he looks to both sides, stepping back as he realizes how he's got you trapped. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. Why don't you sit down here for a second, Liv, you look kinda pale. Lemme get you some water."
You shake your head, leaning forward until your elbows rest on the top of the bookshelf and you can cover your face with your hands. It's not working, not when you can still smell the heaviness of the cigarette smoke intermingling with the chemical odor of bleach and taste a mixture of copper and gunmetal that's coating your mouth in red.
"Liv. It's okay, I promise you. You're okay. We're here in your office."
In your office. Where you have to keep everything and everyone, including yourself, under control because you are the one in charge. You don't have time for the luxury of falling apart while you're in command. And yet here's Nick in your office talking to you like he did when he held your hand in the ambulance or when he sat with you at 3 AM after a nightmare- when you're supposed to be his superior. "I know you're upset, but you're alright. It-"
"I am upset!" you say, turning around to see that Nick has sat down on the couch. "You know why? Because one of my detectives- who's already on thin ice- almost strangled a suspect. How else am I supposed to feel?"
"I said it already- he was threatening you!"
"That wasn't a threat. That was a teenager mouthing off to try and get a rise out of me, and then you-"
"Trying?" Nick scoffs. "He didn't need to try, you were already- you know, if you had just stayed the hell out of it, none of this would've happened. I was finally getting somewhere with him-"
"Oh you were not-"
"I had him! He was about to crack until you lost your shit on him, and then he decides to lawyer up and we're back to where we started because you thought you could do it better."
"You had nothing," you say. "How many times has he been in there while you and Rollins let him dick you around? Too many. You're wasting time and I'm the one who has to deal with the chief getting on my ass, who has to tell the girl's family that no, nothing's happened yet...and meanwhile Rollins is out there looking for some kid we don't even have a missing persons report for."
Nick sits up straight at the mention of Amanda's name. "What happened? Where'd she go?"
"It's none of your concern, Nick! Did you ever think that maybe if you left her alone and I didn't have to referee between you guys, we'd get more done? Hell, maybe your whole life," you say, gesturing toward the wedding ring on his right hand, "would improve if you stopped-"
"Oh no no no." Nick stands up, shaking his head with each 'no' for extra emphasis. "We've been over this. You are the last person I'm going to let give me a lecture on how I should live my...why the fuck are we even talking about Amanda anyway? Maybe you would get more done if you stopped looking for ways to blame her for everything?"
"You're right. This isn't about her, it's about you taking it out on the world because you're pissed off that you can't save everyone. I don't need you to defend me. Amanda doesn't want you to rescue her. And your wife, from what she tells me, just wishes you would leave her alone."
"Do you feel better now, Liv? Now that you've managed to completely change the subject and make it about everyone but you? Because you're never the problem. You're always fine, it's everybody else that's wrong. Isn't that how it goes?"
"I'm not talking to you any more. Go find out from Sergeant Price what they're gonna do about Cory. And by the way-" you add just before Nick can turn the doorknob, "I know you skipped your last two anger management classes, because that's another thing I got blamed for. And I'm guessing I know who you were with when you were supposed to be there."
Nick just laughs. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm not the one who needs it."
{I can't slow down for no one in town
and I can't stop now for no one}
In the next chapter...Jimmy Mac visits Casa Bensidy. Plus more!