Page 18

J ean

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J ean woke in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed. He stared up at a pale ceiling, fuzzily trying to put the previous night together. It came in fractured moments: the sick heat of grief too-long buried, the steadying weight of strong arms, the bitter tang of pills to help calm him down when Jean couldn t pull himself together again. Brake lights and streetlights and a rickety car that was decades past its prime; Jean couldn t remember getting out of the car again, but he knew in a heartbeat where he was.

The horror of it sent him stumbling out of bed in a panic, but the sheets tangled around his ankle and nearly dragged him to his knees. He caught at the wall for balance, heart an unrelenting jackhammer in his temples. It took him a few seconds to fight himself free. Jean wasn t sure whether to make the bed or strip it: surely Rhemann would want to clean the sheets before anyone else slept here, but leaving it in such disarray seemed unspeakably rude. At last Jean set it to rights with quick efficiency, though it took his unsteady hands a few tries to get the corners crisp.

They d put him to bed in his jersey and shorts, but his shoes were just inside the bedroom door. Jean tucked them under his arm, eased open the bedroom door, and peered into the hallway. Across from him was an open doorway leading to a bathroom; nearly every other door he could see was closed. Jean weighed his options before ducking across the hall. Whatever Rhemann gave him last night left his throat unbearably dry, so he sucked down a few handfuls of water from the sink when he was through with his business. His face was a battered mess between Hinch s punches and Zane s violence, and a line of bruises circled his throat from Zane s rough fingers. Jean tore his gaze from the mirror and left the room.

The voice echoing down the hall was female, but the closer Jean got to the stairs the more reassuring he found it. He d heard the weekend morning news often enough at home to recognize the anchor s easy twang. Jean took five steps down to the main floor, surveyed the empty living room with a cautious look, and crossed over to the next open doorway.

The dining room and kitchen were connected as one long room. A small table with two chairs was at one end, and a chattering TV was mounted to the corner nearest it. Rhemann was on one of the bar stools at the low wall that helped set the kitchen apart. He had a newspaper open in front of him as he worked through a mug of coffee. The stranger from last night-Adi, Jean remembered-was washing dishes by hand at the sink, but he went still when he spotted Jean.

James, he said.

Rhemann glanced up and followed Adi s stare to Jean. The sight of his wayward backliner hovering just out of the doorway had him pushing his coffee and newspaper aside, and he turned on the stool to give Jean his undivided attention. Good morning. Were you able to get any sleep?

Yes, Coach, Jean said. I m sorry, Coach.

You have nothing to be sorry for, Rhemann said, as if Jean hadn t ruined opening night by having an ugly breakdown in his office. Maybe something showed on Jean s face, because Rhemann heaved a weary sigh and turned back to his coffee. Do you understand now, Adi?

Don t bully him, Adi complained. To Jean he said, Good morning! Adijan Bregovi , at your service. You can call me Adi. And you re Jean. He smiled, but it was weak. Speaking of apologies, I m sorry for what I said last night. I didn t know at the time it was such a loaded statement. It s just that James spent all summer talking about you, he said, waggling his elbow in Rhemann s direction as he washed and dried his hands. Moreau this, Moreau that, I was starting to think you were the second coming of Christ.

Jean had no idea how to address any of that, so he started with, Are you a coach?

God no, no no no. I know nothing about sports. At the look Rhemann sent him, Adi made a dramatic gesture. Okay, I ve picked up a bit about Exy, of course , but most everything else is happily beyond me. Are you hungry? Sure you are, he said before Jean could deny it. He collected three plates from a nearby cabinet and put them out side-by-side near the stove. You have excellent timing. Come, come, there s enough burek for all, I was just letting it cool a bit.

Eat, Rhemann said. It ll do you good.

Jean obediently crossed the room to accept a plate, and he studied the rolled-up chunk of bread Adi had given him. He wanted to ask what the nutritional breakdown was, but he had to trust that Rhemann would not lead him astray. Adi served Rhemann at the counter before dishing his own breakfast up, and he motioned for Jean to precede him to the table. He set his plate down opposite Jean but didn t sit yet. It took him two trips to get everything settled: one to hand out little cups of yogurt to everyone and another to bring Jean some black coffee.

We have cream, Adi said as Jean hid his shoes under the table.

No, Jean said, and remembered to add, Thank you.

Eat up, he said, dropping into his chair at last. Eat, drink, and be merry.

Despite his chipper words, breakfast was an unpleasant affair. The news overhead couldn t make a dent in the heavy silence that settled in the kitchen.

Rhemann finished eating first, and he cleared his dishes away with easy efficiency. I ll let Jeremy know you re awake, he said, looking across the room at Jean. It s about twenty minutes from your place to mine, so make yourself at home in the meantime. I ll be out back if you need me.

Your hat s hanging in the laundry room, Adi called as Rhemann left. Jean looked from the doorway to Adi and back again, refusing to contemplate such impossible thoughts but unable to fully relinquish them. Adi drained his coffee before sitting back to study Jean. Don t take his attitude personally. I know he s worried sick about you; he s just under the impression you don t feel safe with him, so he doesn t want to be underfoot.

Jean said nothing, but he didn t have to. Adi saw the last answer he wanted on Jean s face, and his expression went grave. Oh, but he wasn t lying, was he? He would never, ever hurt you. I need to know that you know that.

But he could, Jean thought, remembering how easily Rhemann had knocked Zane off his feet last night. Close behind that were stranger memories: Rhemann s bone-deep weariness every time Jean skirted his gaze or tried to apologize for his Raven conditioning, agitated fingernails picking at a whistle when Jean offered contrition, and careful hands on his shoulders like he thought Jean might break under an indelicate touch. Jean fought back every easy deflection in favor of a disconcerting truth:

I know, he said, avoiding Adi s searching gaze.

You sure? Adi asked, and Jean forced a nod. Adi waited to see if anything else was forthcoming, then motioned to Jean s empty plate. Good, yes? I made Baba teach me before I left home. Difficult mornings deserve comforting food.

Yes, Jean said. He d never considered beef a breakfast meat, but it came together well enough. He tacked on a belated, Thank you.

Tour of the place? Adi asked as he collected his dishes. Before Jean could answer, Adi s pager went off. Adi checked the number and whistled through his teeth. Trust work to ruin the moment-looks like I ve got to make a couple calls. Please make yourself at home. There s plenty of coffee left, and the bathroom s just up the stairs if you need it. Good here? Good. Sorry, sorry. He sailed away, already rummaging through his pockets for his phone.

Jean sat alone for a few minutes more, but at last he collected his shoes and went on a slow tour. The entirety of Laila s house could probably fit into the first floor with room to spare. It was comfortably cluttered, with wide, arched doorways that helped each room breathe. The TV in the living room was half-again as large as Cat s, but it was the bookshelves that caught his eye. Every other shelf was devoid of books in favor of framed photographs. Jean spotted Lisinski in a few, and this one had to be Rhemann s family: the three men standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him looked too much like him to not be siblings or first cousins.

More than half of the pictures were of just Adi and Rhemann. Jean lingered longest over a photo of the two men on a boat at sea. They were noticeably younger here, without any visible gray in Rhemann s hair. Adi was holding up a tiny fish with unabashed pride while Rhemann laughed at his side. The photograph cut off near their waists, but Jean was sure that was a thumb showing around the flowing hem of Adi s unbuttoned shirt. Maybe Rhemann was holding onto a railing that was just out of sight, but-

The sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor had him hastily returning the picture to its spot, but whichever man was on the move didn t approach him. A door closed in the distance, sending the house to silence once more, and Jean retreated from the shelves with too many questions eating away at him.

The first office he passed had to be Rhemann s, considering the place was wall-to-wall Exy articles and team photos. Jean knew better than to trespass but continued onward, first past a closed door through which he could hear Adi s voice and then passing a laundry room with its own cabinetry and sink.

Eventually he found himself at the back door. The door was propped open, leaving just the screen door closed, and he peered out at a yard that was three times the size of Laila s narrow one. Rhemann was on his knees in a garden bed, carefully prying carrots free of the dirt. Seeing him like this was bewildering; Jean had foolishly believed Rhemann ceased to exist outside of Exy. It was a ridiculous thought, seeing how he d spent part of spring trapped with Wymack, but Jean honestly couldn t imagine coaches having personal lives.

Lend a hand? Rhemann asked, pushing the brim of a floppy hat out of his eyes.

Jean had been caught. He toed into his shoes, let himself out, and took the stone path toward Rhemann. Rhemann showed him with a few careful tugs how to get the carrots free of the dirt, and he left Jean to finish the row while he went to inspect the next set of vegetables. Jean added his prizes one at a time to the half-filled bucket Rhemann left behind. Having something to do helped settle him. It was a defined task with expected results, and although it wasn t Exy, it helped restore the hierarchy between them.

Rhemann returned with a few cucumbers, but he was slow to leave again. He studied Jean for a minute while Jean worked, then finally said, Tell me how I can help you. Jean slowly went still but refused to return his stare. Rhemann only gave him a few moments to come up with a response before continuing with, I know you aren t comfortable with me, and I know you don t trust me enough to confide in me, but I need to know you re safe. I need to know that you re okay. Do you understand?

I m okay, Coach.

Jean. There was more regret in his name than exasperation. Is there nothing I can do?

Jean thought about Rhemann delaying an interview as long as he could and barring USC s gates when the press followed the Trojans to class. He thought of Rhemann cleaning Grayson s bloody bites himself and the careful way he d strapped ice to Jean s bruised ribs last night. He d gotten Jean out of sight before the Trojans could see him, knowing Jean s control was in tatters, and brought him here so he could recover away from their smothering concern.

Jean didn t know how to handle or process these undeserved kindnesses; in no universe could he ask for more than what he d already gotten. It was already unbearable-a coach was supposed to take, not give.

Aren t they? he wondered, thinking of Wymack s steadying presence this spring. It was enough to make his stomach ache. Were Rhemann and Wymack the exception to the rule, or were the Ravens coaches the wicked anomalies?

Rhemann was still waiting for a response. No, Coach, would only disappoint the man, and You ve done more than you should have, Coach, sounded horrifically ungrateful. Jean couldn t come up with a safe middle ground, so he stared at the dirt under his nails and said nothing.

Rhemann had no choice but to give up on him. With a weary sigh he changed topics and walked Jean through the layout of his vegetable patch. The garden was Adi s idea, supposedly, and Rhemann had pushed back against it for years. He d killed every single houseplant he ever brought home; why should he be trusted with a bigger project? But he d eventually tried anyway, over and over and over until he finally figured it out. There were still setbacks, but Rhemann saw more successes than failures these days. The coach surveyed his crops with quiet pride, and Jean studied the greenery with new interest.

He d never once considered growing anything, but as he turned a tomato between his fingers Jean wondered if there was enough room in the tiny backyard at home to try. Would it be too much trouble and effort in the long run, or would it be satisfying to tend something from seed to plate? Idly he wondered if peaches grew on vines or trees. He almost asked, but he didn t know how Rhemann would react to his ignorance.

The back door creaked open then, and Jeremy stepped out onto the path to consider them. He hadn t brought his crutch with him; perhaps he hadn t been lying that last night s coddling was mere precaution. The tense set to Jeremy s mouth looked more like worry than pain as he studied Jean s face. Jean let him look his fill, offering no greetings or reassurances, and finally Jeremy remembered his manners.

Good morning, Coach. How s my pumpkin coming along?

Haven t killed it yet, but I ve still got a few weeks. Rhemann clapped dirt from his hands before turning back to Jean. He held the bucket of vegetables out in offering and said, These are for you. Keep the bucket if you can figure out a use for it and toss it if you can t. I swear we ve got at least ten of them around here somewhere, so I don t need it back.

Jean hesitated before taking hold of it. Thank you, Coach.

Go on, now, Rhemann said as he got to his feet.

Jean stood and dusted his knees off one-handed. Rhemann walked the two of them to the side gate so he could unlock it for them, but he didn t follow them through. He motioned to Jeremy and said, Be careful if you stop by the stadium for his things. Security should be on high alert, but I d rather not leave anything to chance. He waited for Jeremy s serious nod before glancing over at Jean and adding, Keep an eye on each other, and let us know if you need anything.

Yes, Coach, was the chorused response, and Jeremy led Jean away.

A narrow path took them to the front of the house. An unfamiliar car was side-by-side with Jean s at the head of the driveway, and Rhemann s creaky ride was parked behind them. There wasn t really room for Jeremy s car, but he d done his best to fit. It meant most of his trunk was poking out into the road, but there didn t seem to be much traffic around here. Sprawling houses and sculpted trees lined both sides of the quiet street.

Jeremy preceded him to the passenger door, but instead of opening it he turned to study Jean. Inevitably his gaze dropped to the bruises circling Jean s neck, and Jeremy s face fell.

I knew it was a bad idea, Jeremy admitted, so quiet Jean could barely hear him despite how close they were standing. You ve never really talked about Zane, but the careful way you avoided bringing him up made me suspect he was a problem. I didn t trust him, and I didn t want you to leave with him, but I didn t think I had any right to refuse you. Then Lucas practically pulled Coach off his feet saying Zane was trying to kill you, and I- Jeremy couldn t finish it.

Technically Zane wanted to kill Lucas, but Jean couldn t get into that. He knew what assumptions Jeremy would make about Grayson and Zane if Jean put that target on Lucas s back, and he didn t have the strength to deal with it right now: no stomach for the ugly truth, and no interest in a lie that would erase Zane s sins. It was easier to focus on the rest of it: that Lucas had gone running for help after he escaped. Jean hadn t stopped to wonder how Rhemann made it to them so quickly.

He wasn t. This was a fight eight months overdue. It did nothing to take the guilt out of Jeremy s stare, so Jean added, It is good he came. I needed to see him one last time.

He was surprised that he meant it, but there were tender scars where there d been open wounds before. It was a curious development; he would have expected Zane s viciousness to leave him more broken, not less. Maybe it had less to do with Zane s aggression and more to do with Rhemann lancing the poison from his shattered heart afterward. The bone-deep tension he d carried for too many months had finally snapped free of him, leaving him empty and tired.

Good, Jeremy echoed, soft and disbelieving. He reached for Jean s neck but stopped a hairsbreadth from touching the mottled skin there. Enough is enough. If you re not comfortable speaking out against him, at least let me make a statement on your behalf.

There is nothing to say.

We can t just ignore this.

Says the man who refused to care about his own bruises, Jean said, voice sharp.

Jesus, Jean. It s not the same. Faser- Jeremy winced as he realized his misstep. Jean committed the man s name to memory even as Jeremy tried to distract him: Zane was obviously trying to hurt you, and you won t hold him accountable. You deserve better than that.

That word again; Jean wanted to claw it from Jeremy s tongue. He grabbed Jeremy s chin to force his head up. Fuck what I deserve. What about what I want?

A bold demand-and unbearably thoughtless. This wasn t at all what Jean meant, but he felt his mistake as soon as Jeremy s startled stare locked with his. The ghost of Riko s knife at his throat had him snatching his hand back, and Jean retreated to a safer distance. Jeremy stepped back in turn, but he had nowhere to go. He leaned against his car instead and studied Jean s face with a steady, unwavering gaze. Jean refused to meet it but counted heartbeats until the danger passed.

At last Jeremy said, What do you want, then? Tell me, because I don t know how else to help you. They re coming after you at home, at school, at the court-I can t watch them do this to you all year. It isn t fair or right. I need you to feel safe with us.

Most of the time I do, Jean said, and meant it. You promised you wouldn t look away, so I will let you look. But let him walk away, captain, and let me lock the door behind him. He will not be back. He came here for a truth, not a number. There is nothing else he can take from me.

Jeremy said nothing for an age, then offered only a defeated, You re sure?

Yes, Jean said immediately.

I don t like this, Jeremy said.

This is your prerogative.

Jeremy dropped his gaze, conceding the fight. Jean let him go, and Jeremy pulled open the passenger door for him before starting away. Jean put the bucket of vegetables on the floor between his feet, and he buckled as Jeremy climbed in on the driver s side.

There was no chance they d make it home in silence, but Jeremy held out until they were on the interstate. Then he rummaged one-handed in his cup holder and offered Jean a coin.

Nickel for your thoughts?

Jean wasn t sure what his thoughts were, but maybe there just wasn t space enough in his head to untangle them. He took the coin and rolled it between his fingers while he stared out the window. I didn t like the Bobcats, he said. He felt Jeremy s eyes on him as he started in the least expected spot, but his captain held his tongue and forced his attention back to the road in front of them. I should have, yes? They play the way I was trained. The right way, he added, knowing it risked an interruption from Jeremy.

Jeremy didn t take the bait, and Jean worked through his prickly thoughts in peace. All summer he d fought an uphill battle, trying in vain to drag the Trojans off their high horse and grumbling discontent about the restraint they demanded of him. He d argued for them to see sense and sort out their priorities, and they d gleefully refused him at every turn.

They d been brilliant last night, as he d known they would be-they were Big Three, after all, and the stars of Kevin s dreary world-but it wasn t their performance that rattled him. It was the jarring contrast between the Bobcats and Trojans, emphasized by Zane s unapologetic heartlessness afterward. What a sharp reminder of how far he d come from a hideous normal.

I don t want you to be like Zane, Jean said, slow as he tried piecing it together. I don t want Coach to be like the master. I don t want to teach Tanner contrition when he continuously fails my drills or to break my racquet over Cat s back if I think she should have performed better. I don t ever want to go back to how things were. Maybe you are fools, and I am the biggest fool for indulging you, but better to be reckless fools than Ravens.

He held the nickel out toward Jeremy. We will do it your way, and we will win anyway.

At last Jeremy smiled, and it almost looked real. He reached blindly for the coin, and Jean pressed it into his palm so Jeremy could keep his eyes on the road. Jeremy gave his fingers a quick squeeze and said, With you on our side, how can we lose?

He was going for warmth, Jean knew, but his tone fell a bit short. Still upset over letting Zane get away with this, Jean assumed, and he cast about for an appropriate distraction. What he stumbled over was an ill-advised, Coach is- that he couldn t finish. It was unforgivably bold to make such a presumptuous statement about a coach. He settled for a vague and uncertain, Coach and Adi.

Jeremy finished it for him: Are partners, yeah. They ve been together something like twenty-seven years. Maybe twenty-eight, now. But they re pretty lowkey about it. Don t know what people will say about a gay man running a college sports team. Locker room, impressionable athletes, all that prejudiced nonsense. Officially Adi is Coach s best friend from college. Two bachelors living the dream in LA, or something.

I m not even sure how many Trojans have figured it out, to be honest. Adi generally avoids the stadium outside of championships, and Coach doesn t bring him up in mixed company. I met him my freshman year, after... He trailed off, knowing Jean could guess the circumstances without his help. Jeremy gave him a moment to take it in before cautiously asking, Does that make you more afraid of Coach or less?

Jean settled for an honest, I don t know.

On one side was Riko s scathing, I will bleed this out of him, Kevin s weary, They were supposed to be a warning, Jean, and a thousand judgmental slurs hurled his way with devastating accuracy. On the other was Neil s blas , I m sure he knows, when Jean warned him to hide Andrew from Ichirou, the Trojans casual acceptance of their floozy line, and a partnership that somehow survived twenty-eight years in this heartless world.

Jean picked at his knuckles as he considered the vast distance between these realities. It was a waste of time to wonder, he knew. He was Moriyama property; there were lines he could not cross no matter what.

I would trust him with my life, Jeremy said, but I haven t had to face the things you have, so I won t try to convince you. I know you need to get there on your own.

The silence that settled between them wasn t comfortable, but it was calm, and Jean chased his thoughts in exhausting circles. In the end he only found peace by counting: A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Open roads. Friends. Fireworks. After a beat he added a tentative, Coach , but that was so repulsive he had to reject it. Tetsuji Moriyama was also a coach, and Jean refused to associate Rhemann and Wymack with that violent nightmare.

He d run into this same problem when trying to account for his teammates, but there was no easy solution this time. Jean turned it this way and that in increasing frustration until a stray memory brought him up short. My kids, Wymack had called the Foxes, and Rhemann had said the same this summer: You re one of my kids now.

Fathers? Jean thought, but that was so horrifically inappropriate he reached for the door handle.

Hey, Jeremy said, startled by the crack of Jean s knuckles against the door. Are you all right?

Yes, Jean lied as he stared out the window. He tried to bully his thoughts into submission, but they refused to let go and move on to other suggestions. For a moment he considered asking Renee for ideas, but he swiftly rejected the idea. This one was too vulnerable to share; he would have to sort it out on his own. But miles later he d still come up with nothing else.

Maybe, he thought. After all, they never had to know. And it wasn t like the word came ingrained with sentimentality. Herv Moreau had seen to that.

Jean gingerly counted it out again, ending with Fathers.

It still put a nervous twist in his chest, but Jean would learn to live with it.

Familiar streets distracted him from uncomfortable thoughts a minute later, and soon enough Jeremy pulled up behind Laila s car. Two men in suits were standing at the bottom of the stairs. Jean recognized only one face, but the uniforms were familiar: it was the same company who d provided Laila with security when the press were showing up at the house.

Her uncle s men, Jean said. Precaution or reaction?

Jeremy grimaced an apology at him. Ingrid was still at the bench when Lucas came running for Coach, so she heard that Zane had gone after you. After Coach White kicked her out of the stadium without an explanation, her colleagues stopped by last night demanding proof of life. They wouldn t back off until security got here. I think we ve only got them for three or four days this time, but hopefully that s enough.

How much longer will her uncle tolerate me disrupting her life? Jean asked.

You make Laila happy, and that makes him happy, Jeremy said. Don t worry.

Jean collected his vegetables on the way out of the car, feigned not to hear his name being called by reporters down the street, and followed Jeremy up the stairs. He wasn t sure if Cat and Laila heard the yelling or just recognized the familiar rumble of Jeremy s engine, but they were waiting in the hall in their pajamas when Jeremy and Jean made it through the front door. The grief that twisted Laila s face when she got a good look at his new bruises was quickly stamped out, but Cat crossed the hall in record time.

When are they going to stop? she demanded, sharp with anger. Jean-

It doesn t matter.

It does matter, Cat insisted. He really hurt you.

Jean put the bucket up between them before she could feel the swollen line of his throat. Cat obediently took it, but her stare didn t waver. Jean snapped his fingers in the air between them until she dragged her gaze up to meet his. I am actively working to forget he exists. Do not undermine my attempts. The stubborn look on her face said she wasn t swayed, so Jean said, We are not discussing it further. Take it up with Jeremy if you do not like it.

Cat turned a disbelieving look on Jeremy, who shook his head. It s his call, Cat.

Cat s sour expression said they were going to have words later, but she was smart enough to bite her tongue now. Jean tapped the bucket to distract her from Jeremy and said, Gifts from Coach.

She dutifully inspected his vegetables. Oh, he s getting better at this, she said, with forced enthusiasm. Jean didn t care that it was an act; if she kept it up long enough, she d trick herself into a better mood. Nice. I ll get them washed and put away.

Coffee? Laila asked. We started a fresh pot when Jeremy went to get you.

Coffee, Jean agreed, and the four of them moved to the kitchen.

Cat pointed at the island on her way through the door. Her laptop was set up there with a colorful browser open. Jean sat to investigate while Jeremy poured coffee for them both. Cat was on an Exy news site-rather, the photography-adjacent section of it that archived every shot captured from last night s NCAA matches nationwide. She d already filtered it to display only the photographs from the Trojan-Bobcat match, and the page of thumbnails went on and on. Jean clicked through them as Cat set to work scrubbing vegetables at the sink.

The series started with the Trojans arrival for warm-ups. Here and there were sets that were practically slideshows; the photographer had hoped a worthy moment coming and was determined to capture the best shot of it. Most such sets centered around scoring chances, but a ridiculous amount centered around Jean: going through warmups before the match, interacting with his teammates on the sidelines, and then on the court itself. Jean tabbed through those as quickly as he could, uninterested in seeing himself through a stranger s prying eyes.

Laila sat at his side and motioned, and Jean relinquished control to her. She clicked into the next tab. The article covering the game was pulled up there. Bold lettering across the top read: USC DEFEATS WHITE RIDGE IN HOME OPENER; GOLDEN RAVEN SOARS IN DEBUT . The photograph directly beneath it was of the Trojans celebration at the final bell, but halfway down the page was a shot of Jean launching off Lander s shoulder.

Soars , indeed, Laila said. I couldn t believe you did that.

Springboard off Lander? Cat guessed over her shoulder. Look at his face!

Jean hadn t seen it last night, too intent on reaching the ball first, but Lander looked deeply offended to be treated as a prop. It didn t make Jean s ribs hurt any less, but it afforded him a bit of annoyed satisfaction. He pressed careful fingers to his jersey, testing the ache that a night of rest hadn t cured, and said, Asshole.

They are a team of charmers, was Laila s dry response.

At least we got them out of the way early, Cat pointed out.

Laila scrolled to find the paragraph she wanted and read: If not for the Ravens vocal campaign against him this spring and the unmistakable number on his face, anyone watching this match would be hard-pressed to remember Jean Moreau is a transfer from Edgar Allan. He looks as at home on the Gold Court as he ever did at Evermore, matching and supplementing the Trojans infamous good-natured playstyle with unexpected ease.

Not unexpected, Cat said, belligerent. People just don t listen.

Laila studied Jean for a moment before saying, You were stellar, you know. And I mean both on and off the court. She went to a third tab, where she d opened one of the photographs on its own page: Cat tucked into Jean s side, with Jean s mouth at her temple. Without context it looked almost peaceful, but Jean remembered what they d been talking about at the time. He was annoyed someone had captured the moment and put it up for anyone to see.

He glanced away from it, but Laila wasn t finished: The Ravens put in so much time trying to paint you as an ill-behaved problem child, but now everyone can see who you really are. Anyone could call your interview a scripted attempt to sweeten your image, but everything people saw last night was genuine. She clicked through a few more tabs, lingering only a few seconds on each one so he could see they were additional writeups on the game from other sources. Overall tone is thoughtful and positive.

I do not, Jean started, but his care what people think of me evaporated on his tongue. Last night proved that the six months of aggressive and antagonistic attention had gotten to him whether he wanted it to or not. He downed the rest of his coffee in one go and said instead, I don t want to read my mail anymore. Throw it all away if you get to it before I do. He didn t bother to specify Kevin as an exception, knowing they d check the senders for familiar names before tossing his letters into the trash.

Gladly, Laila said. I ll buy a shredder today.

Silence descended in the kitchen, but it couldn t last. Jeremy gently nudged him and asked, Are you going to your appointment today, or would you rather get it rescheduled?

Jean glanced at the clock and saw it was a quarter after nine. He d missed last week s session because of the banquet. He would rather never go back, but he had promises to keep. I have to go, but I need to shower first. The thought of getting wet when he knew what was coming for him in an hour left his stomach in shreds, but he d gone to bed gross from a game and knew he was a mess. I will be quick.

You always are, Jeremy said, holding out a hand for Jean s mug.

Jean turned it over and left the room. In the short time it took him to wash up and get dressed for the day, pictures from this morning s return home were posted online. He saw them pulled up on Cat s laptop when he checked the kitchen for his friends. The morning sun was kinder to his bruises than the harsh light of Rhemann s bathroom, but the ones around his throat were clearly left by fingers. Jean didn t care to read any speculation about his encounter with Zane, so he turned his back on the kitchen and tried the living room next.

Cat was brushing Laila s hair as Laila tapped away on her phone, and Jeremy had a foot on the coffee table as he checked his ankle. Jeremy smiled at Jean s arrival and got to his feet. His LSAT guides were on the table with his French book, but after a brief hesitation Jeremy only grabbed the latter before leading Jean to the front door.

Jean watched him take his keys off the hook before saying, I want to sell the car.

Sure, Jeremy agreed.

Cat s frantic, Wait! almost drowned out Laila s indignant squawk. The thump of furniture getting knocked aside made Jean think Cat vaulted Laila to get out of the room faster. She caught at the living room doorframe to stop her skid into the hall and reached for him. I mean, yes! Yes, you should. Let me take you when you do it. My uncle would buy it off you in a heartbeat. It s a collectible to the right people, and all, so between that and me vouching for you, you d make bank on it. Five figures easy.

You don t believe that, Jean said skeptically.

I know I m right, Cat promised. She motioned frantically toward him, like she thought he d walk away before she got through her spiel, and said, But Jean, you could even trade it in for a motorcycle of your own and still have plenty leftover. You don t have to, obviously, you can use this starter one indefinitely, but wouldn t it be nice to have something that s just yours?

She made it sound easy. Maybe it really was. Jean hesitated before saying, I ll think about it.

The guards saw them off with serious faces, but Jean didn t hear any more cries for his attention. Maybe the reporters were satisfied with the shots they d gotten already, or the guards ejected them when they tried to come closer for a statement. Either way, Jeremy got them on the road north without any further setbacks. Jean watched the city slide past his window and tried not to think about what was coming.

Jeremy gave him peace until he parked, and then he said, I spoke to Renee Walker last night. It was unexpected enough that Jean could only stare at him. Jeremy studied him with an inscrutable expression before explaining, She couldn t get ahold of you, so she had Kevin call me. She d heard the rumors that Reacher attacked you at the court and needed to know you were okay. I told her Coach was looking after you and that you d talk to her today. Is that all right?

Yes, Jean said. I will need to pick up my phone.

We ll get it on the way home, Jeremy promised.

They were early for his appointment, but the minutes passed easily enough. At last Jean was shown to the back, and he closed the office door behind himself. He took his seat when his doctor motioned to it, and the man sat back in his chair to consider Jean. A slow gaze tracked the new bruises staining his face and neck.

Do we need to talk about this? he asked.

Home game last night, Jean said.

The doctor s stare lingered on his throat, but he decided not to push. I m glad you came back. I wasn t sure you would.

There was no point lying. I didn t want to, but I- The easy excuses fell apart; they were still true, but they rang hollow in the moment. It was Rhemann s voice in his head, Rhemann s and his friends and Neil s, drowning out his miserable thoughts and excuses with unrelenting force. Jean squeezed his hands until his fingers went numb and willed himself to believe the words as he slowly spoke them into existence: I deserve to get better.

You do, the doctor said, with an easy and unhesitating compassion that would somehow keep Jean sane during this horrible session, and you will.

One week at a time, Jeremy had promised him.

Jean drew in a slow breath and nodded. Okay.