Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
The bland look on William’s face said he was pitching his argument to the wrong person; William himself had no strong opinion on Jean either way. Jeremy subsided with a quiet sigh and said, “Did you know he barely knew English when he enrolled at Edgar Allan? Sounds like it was such a last-minute decision he had no time to really prepare. But they wouldn’t let him speak French because no one could understand it. I just thought that...” He gestured helplessly at the folder. “I want to show him we’re as committed to him as he is to us.”
William folded his arms across his chest as he thought it over. “Mathilda will find out you are studying French, and she will guess what inspired you, but she needn’t know the finer points. I can make a strong enough case in your favor to stay her hand, perhaps: a new interest in international law or immigration studies, with intent to branch into additional languages down the line as your career requires.”
It was a bit weak, but Jeremy knew it would work. Nan had hired William over twenty years ago at the recommendation of her personal assistant, and he’d been with the family ever since. Mathilda was his employer now that Nan was gone, but she trusted and respected William more than she did most of her supposed friends. The unguarded fondness that slipped out of her sometimes when she spoke with him was warmer than anything she directed toward her own children.
It was a sour thought to have when William was trying so hard to help him, so Jeremy stamped it down as quickly as he could. “I don’t want to make you choose sides.”
Maybe some of that bitterness showed, because William treated him to a long look. At length all he said was, “If you still have to ask whose side I am on, you have not been paying enough attention.” Jeremy was forced to look away, jaw working on a grief he didn’t dare acknowledge or voice. William stepped back, giving him space to breathe. “If there is nothing else, I will retire for the night.”
“Nothing else, thank you,” Jeremy said, tugging his folder closer so he wouldn’t have to face the man. “Get some rest for once.”
He waited until he heard William’s footsteps on the stairs before spreading out the profiles William compiled for him. The first and second were the obvious better choices, but Jeremy couldn’t deny the appeal of less-structured classes in person. Fitting them into his messy schedule would be a headache, but his mother’s approval might be the tipping point. She’d excuse a late arrival home from practice if she knew he was meeting with a tutor.
It was early to get his hopes up, but Jeremy pushed his homework aside in drafting a letter of introduction. He’d hope for the best and adjust to the worst; it was all he knew to do when it came to family.
-
It took reporters only a few hours to decipher what Renee might have meant by “the wrong Ravens”, and the ensuing forty-eight hours were chaotic and angry. Edgar Allan had ensured their current lineup was untouchable, and the Ravens’ classmates would happily close ranks to protect their fallen stars, but there were years’ worth of graduates scattered around the United States and abroad who had fewer safeguards in place.
Jeremy ought to be impressed with Renee’s gentle scheming, but he watched each disastrous and short-lived run-in with a growing sense of dread. It was glaringly obvious that the Ravens had serious issues, even so many years out from Evermore. It wasn’t just the widespread reluctance to speak to the press, or how soundly they refused to speak about Coach Moriyama and the Nest. Half of the Ravens who’d graduated and signed to professional teams were already on their way out of the league. The average Raven career seemed to last only five years.
Looking at them one or two at a time, the sustained injuries and chronic pain were simply unfortunate, but parading so many uncooperative Ravens in front of a camera back-to-back made it glaringly obvious. Years of sixteen-hour days, with so many few days to rest, coupled with their hideous concept of contrition, had shattered these players on a bone-deep level. Jeremy wondered why it took anyone this long to notice—then wondered if people simply didn’t care. While they could still play, the Ravens burned bright and ferocious, and there were always so many players desperate to replace them when they sputtered to ash.
Jeremy feared for Jean’s long-term health, but he feared for Kevin’s more. That evening he messaged Kevin an unprompted, “You have to stop night practices.”
When Kevin didn’t answer, Jeremy tried calling. It took six tries before Kevin finally answered, and Kevin had absolutely no interest in Jeremy’s warnings or concern. He’d said earlier this summer that he practiced with Neil and Andrew, but Jeremy didn’t have their numbers. Jeremy had a feeling Andrew would be a dead end, which left only one other choice. Jean was hesitant to share Neil’s contact information with him, even after Jeremy explained himself, but Jean could only refuse him so long. Jeremy wasn’t entirely surprised that Neil didn’t answer, but at least he’d tried. He set aside his phone with a weary sigh and turned back to his homework in a dour mood.