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)
“I am not reckless,” Jean said.
“I’m going to trust you. Don’t make me regret it.”
Xavier left Jean to his own devices for the remainder of the workout, but Jean didn’t miss the way his smile didn’t sit quite right as he chatted with the Trojans’ enthusiastic freshmen. So long as Xavier stayed out of his way, Jean was willing to return the favor, but getting the conversation and his wretched memories out of his head again was impossible.
Threaded through Xavier’s dismayed “Where is your rage?” was Jeremy’s quieter “You’re not angry about what really matters” from this past May. How easily they spoke of outrage, this team that refused to fight. How hypocritical, how exhausting. What did these easygoing children know about anger?
Equally irritating was how hard it was to focus this morning. He’d spent years burying the worst Evermore had thrown at him, chaining down anything he could and forcibly moving past what he couldn’t. He’d been teammates with Grayson for too many years to be this rattled a day later. But even as he tipped in and out of bloody memories, he knew there was no easy way past this. If he stopped thinking about Grayson, he’d have to think about yesterday’s other visitors, and that was a road Jean refused to go down. It was too much to bear; the grief and horror would surely break him in half.
At long last they were done with the morning workout. The Trojans jogged back to the stadium for quick rinse-off showers before Lisinski dismissed them for lunch. As usual, Jean finished first and went to wait on the bench near Jeremy’s locker. That turned out to be a mistake, as most of the offense line had been with the dealers in a different meeting room this morning. Only their youngest had seen Jean at the gym. The remaining five were getting a close-up of Jean for the first time today.
Derek Thompson, who’d ridiculously introduced himself as “Big D” on Monday to the freshmen, was the first to arrive. He worked a brush over his tight curls as he contemplated Jean and finally offered a, “You don’t look so hot,” as Derrick Allen joined them. Derek nudged his partner to get his attention but directed his words toward Jean. “True you’re out of scrimmages this afternoon?”
“Yes,” Jean said.
“Good news for you, since you still haven’t figured out how to handle him,” Derrick said with unrepentant cheer. “He’s gonna kick your ass next week, just watch.”
Jean expected bravado, but Derek only said, “Yeah, probably. Would be better if it happened today.” Derrick seemed equally surprised by the honesty, but Derek jabbed his brush in Jean’s direction before setting it in his locker. “Look at him, tense enough to make me uptight by proxy.”
“Nice SAT word,” Ashton Cox said as he wandered past them to get dressed.
“Getting too smart for this crew, right?” Derek tapped a finger to his temple. “I’m just saying, throwing someone through the court wall would probably fix him. It’d be good practice for White Ridge, too.”
“You just want to fight someone your size,” Derrick said, as if he wasn’t nearly six feet himself. “If you get Coach L to sign off on it, I call next.”
“And me,” Nabil Mahmoud said as he arrived, then asked, “What are we calling for?”
“Derek wants Jean to go feral,” Derrick said.
Jeremy made it over in time to hear that comment, and it was enough to stop him at the end of the row. “I’d rather we don’t go down that road,” he said, looking from one teammate to the next. “Jean agreed to play the game our way this season. Asking him to bring Raven violence to summer practices when he’ll be held to a different standard in August is unfair.”
“Not trying to set him back, cap,” Derek said, “but he’s got the same look my brother gets before he does something stupid.”
“I am not stupid,” Jean said.
“No, I didn’t—” Derek faltered and asked Jeremy, “How good is his English, again?”
“Better than your French,” Jean said, with enough of an edge Derek put his hands up in self-defense. “Good enough to tell you your failures in our scrimmages this week are on your weaknesses and not my strengths. You’ve wasted so much time giving ground as a Trojan you don’t remember how to hold it. It should be no surprise your opponents can run you over like an unwanted dog.”
“Whoa, whoa. Why’re we hurting dogs?” Timothy Eitzen asked as he appeared at Jeremy’s elbow, and Jean gave up on the entire line as a lost cause.
He pushed past all of them on the way to the backliners’ row again, but the sight of so many teammates gathered there wearied him. Ridiculous that a locker room so big and bright could feel more suffocating today than the Nest, but Jean turned and kept going. He stalked from one huddle room to the next, steering clear of the coaches’ hall and ending up near the nurses’ offices. He pressed his thumb to his wrist, looking for an ache that had faded before they’d even made it back from Lyon.