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 new silence in the locker room was uncomfortable, but Jimenez finally said, “If any of you see him, do not under any circumstance approach him. Understood? Any questions? All right. Thank you, I’ll turn you over to Lisinski. Coach?”
“Let’s get moving,” Lisinski said, clapping her hands. “I want everyone dressed and ready to run in five.”
The other meeting had gotten out before them, as it hadn’t been derailed by sidebar conversation. Prying stares followed Lucas and Jean as the defensemen headed for their lockers. The raucous morning chatter that echoed off these walls all week was gone today, replaced by a heavy and morose silence that sat like a too-familiar weight against Jean’s bones.
The warmup lap around campus was eerily quiet, and Lisinski split them into the usual groups once they arrived at Lyon. She would rotate between them as needed, checking progress here and pushing harder there, and Jean was not at all surprised when she started with Xavier’s small team. That she checked on the freshmen first was a see-through pretense. It didn’t take her long to make it to his side.
Lisinski watched with a heavy-lidded stare as Jean went through his shoulder presses, studying the smoothness of the motion. Jean felt the twinge in his wrist almost immediately, but he was familiar enough with pain to know this discomfort was all surface level. He kept his expression calm and his gaze averted from his coach, and eventually she moved on. Jean waited until she’d crossed the room to the seniors before digging a thumb into the aching heat in his wrist.
It was just a split-second of weakness, but it was more than enough to summon Xavier to his side. “Here.”
Jean took the proffered bottle, but a glance at the label made him tense. “Who let you have this?”
Xavier didn’t immediately answer, and he made no move to take the bottle back when Jean thrust it toward him. Lisinski’s back was mostly to them, but if she turned even a little, she’d have a clear line of sight on them. There’d be hell to pay if she realized Xavier was carrying medication, and Jean was not about to take a beating for something that wasn’t his problem. Since Xavier refused to take it from him, Jean leaned over and set it out of sight behind the machine. He went back to his set, but Xavier didn’t leave.
“Friend,” Xavier said at last, “it’s just ibuprofen.”
“I can read,” Jean said.
Xavier was unmoved by his irritation. “And you know what it is?” He put both hands up at the mean look Jean sent him. It was not the calming gesture he probably hoped it was, maybe because Xavier looked halfway to helpless laughter. “I’ve never seen anyone react like that before. Is it a controlled substance in West Virginia or something?”
He said it with easy humor, but Jean thought about the clipboard hanging on Josiah Smalls’ office door at Evermore. Anyone who wanted medication outside of being immediately treated for an injury had to put in a written request, and Josiah would approve it if he was feeling charitable. Ibuprofen was always his go-to, as useless as it generally was. Jean knew he had stronger pills in stock, but for the most part those were saved for Riko himself. Not cost effective to coddle the rest of the team, Jean assumed, since the Ravens were endlessly injured. Certainly not worth it to waste that medicine on Jean.
Unbidden he thought of the pills Abby Winfield gave him in South Carolina. The name had been far too long and complicated to retain, but Jean remembered the easy way it sank through him to send him under. Jean wouldn’t think about how freely Abby dispensed it to someone who wasn’t even technically her problem and who’d never once thanked her for her trouble.
There was a warning twinge in his chest, warning him not to follow this road back to the Ravens. Why was too deadly a question to ask, especially when it came to Edgar Allan.
“I was joking,” Xavier said when the silence stretched too long. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and Jean knew better than to meet his searching stare. After a beat Xavier put the bottle away, motioned to him, and turned away. “Watch this. Emma, Mads,” he called, and the freshmen immediately paused their chatter to face him. “You girls have ibuprofen on you?”
“Left it in my locker, sorry,” Emma Swift said, but Madeline Hill was already rummaging through the coin purse she’d brought with her from the stadium. The bottle she withdrew was slimmer than the one Xavier owned, but even with three machines between them Jean could see the matching color scheme. She tossed it over, and Xavier made a show of skimming the label.
“Thanks,” he said as he returned it. “Couldn’t remember if it was four or six hours.”