“No limo. Cancel the car.” A beat of confused silence hangs between Hayes and me. “Buddy, what are you talking about?” He laughs, a note of uncertainty in it. “We’ll take your Escalade.” I want to break down and scream, or hurl his phone into the walls, or, worst of all, to tell them the truth, but if I did, they would think my concussions were talking, or that I was cracking. They would handle me with care and get me to the medical unit, and then they’d climb into the limo without me, and— No, we have to do this together, and I have to be the sanest man in this room. “I’ll drive,” I say.
