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Walmart as well, because he came back with a couple of pairs of sweats,

some generic sweatshirts and T-shirts, some socks, underwear, and some

reallycheap tennis shoes from a Famous Footwear nearby—as well as

an attitude that fooled no one.

“And wasn"tthatfun for me. Uncle Leo, my ass… you"d better

win the fuckin" playoffs, Xander, that"s all I"m saying. Fuck the thank-

yous; just make me look good, okay?”

The Locker Room 199

“Thank you,” Xander muttered, before being sent off to a shower

cubicle by the now-sympathetic nurse.

“Yeah, thank yourself. It was your goddamned piece of plastic, you

big dumbass.”

But Xander didn"t remember giving Leo his credit card. Months

later, he figured out that he hadn"t, and that it reallyhadbeen all bluster

on Leo"s part. Uncle Leo, indeed.

All that, and it was still three days before they even knew for sure

if Chris would live.

During the eight-hour break between surgeries, Xander spent part

of the time at the foot of Chris"s bed and simply looked at him. They"d

had to shave his head again—or part of it—in order to stitch the head

wound, and he"d broken his nose and bruised the shit out of his face

against the airbag.

But Xander, tired, hungry (no one could get him to eat—Leo had to

threaten him with a sedative and an IV to get him to even pretend to eat),

and practically delusional, could see it.

“Do you see it, Leo? That gold shimmer? It"s still there. I can see

it. It"s still in him.”

Xander had been seated, leaning precariously over his knees in an

effort to get closer to Chris, in spite of the breathing tube and the

machines that made it difficult. Leo gave his head a little shove—just a

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