“I don’t know.” He hates those words, he hates them, and he’s never said them so much in his life. All he wants is to have his cat curl up on his lap but he can’t without the possible impulse of eating him. George, as though sending the thought, starts up a croaky little meow of protest where he’s locked in the bathroom.

“I’m not trying to defend him, I’m just trying to… get it straight what he did. You win,” Neal says tiredly. “All right? You win.”