As he exited Liberty Newark International Airport, he bent down and kissed the ground.
“You must be crazy,” a passerby shouted. “Do you know how many germs there are?”
Quinn didn’t care as he sat back on his heels—his hands to his temples as he arched his back, his laughter turning to sobs.
“I’m here, Aunt Lena,” he said. “I made it.”Part 3
19
Quinn’s visit to Dr. Matthew changed nothing. He looked a dozen times at the website for the domestic abuse agency Dr. Matt referred him to. A dozen times he started to punch the number into his cell. A dozen times he told himself this time would be different; he would be different. But nothing changed.
He told himself it needn’t. After all, he was at the top of his game. The Temps were winning big and winning small—eking out victories against teams they had no business beating, shocking a few rivals, and pouncing on weaker opponents.