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)
“Hey,” Jeremy said quietly. “How are you?”
Jean said nothing but fidgeted with the bandages on his throat. Jeremy wondered how long he’d been at it, that the edges were so frayed already. Maybe the police had demanded he bare his injuries to corroborate his story. Jeremy remembered what they looked like fresh, with spit and blood glistening on torn skin. He thought about Jean standing fully dressed in the locker room showers yesterday, the haunted look on Jean’s face last night when Neil Josten finally dropped him off again, and his quiet “If I asked you to kill me, would you?” that kept Jeremy up most of the night.
Rhemann stepped into the doorway and looked from one Trojan to another. “Let’s go. I’m taking you all home.”
Jean tensed, but Jeremy refused to believe he was surprised. It was enough that he stood without argument, and the four trailed Rhemann out of the stadium. Jeremy waited until they were on the road before asking, “Do you need me to call anyone?”
“We’ve got it covered,” Rhemann assured him.
The rest of the short ride to Laila’s house was silent. Rhemann pulled up behind Jeremy’s car and put his hazards on. He turned in his chair to consider the three packed into his backseat and said to Jean, “Lean on them as much as you need today. Lean on me if you are willing. If any of you need anything this weekend, reach out to any of us, any time of day. Understood?” He waited for Jean’s tense nod before glancing over at Jeremy. “Stay a moment.”
Cat and Laila got the back doors open, and Cat held hers so Jean could slide out after her. Jeremy watched out the passenger window as they went up the stairs to the front door. He thought about Jean tugging the chain last night, rattled and worn. He wouldn’t have to lock the door today. How horrible of Jeremy, to feel such relief at that thought.
Jeremy waited until they were inside before asking Rhemann, “Is Jean a suspect?”
“Perhaps the most obvious one, if not for the rock-solid alibi. Do you know where he was last night?”
Jeremy gave a helpless shrug. “Neil Josten showed up on our doorstep and whisked him away somewhere.”
After last year’s chaos, Jeremy didn’t have to elaborate on who Neil was. He doubted there was a single person in NCAA Exy who didn’t recognize the name. The Foxes’ vice-captain was apparently born Nathaniel Wesninski and had confirmed connections to two different crime families. The investigation into the late Nathan Wesninski was an ongoing fiasco that was nine-tenths rumors still, but it was sure to be a spectacular mess when it finally got off the ground.
“Ah, a target by association, then,” Rhemann mused. Jeremy frowned, not understanding, but Rhemann took a minute to think things through. At last USC’s head coach sighed and said, “Listen. If he brings it up with you, let me know. Not the details,” he amended, with a hand up like he could ward off Jeremy’s words. “They’re not my business, and I don’t want to know. All I need is reassurance we’re not sailing into a storm here. Understood?”
“No,” Jeremy admitted. “What’s going on, Coach?”
“If I knew, you’d know,” Rhemann said.
He obviously knew more than he was willing to admit, but Jeremy didn’t push it. He had a hand on the doorknob when his phone started ringing, this time with a tune he almost never heard. Jeremy cracked his knuckles against the door in his hurry to dig it out of his pocket. It would be rude to answer with Rhemann right here, so he silenced the ringer with distracted apologies. Rhemann’s gaze was knowing when Jeremy looked up again; he’d been Jeremy’s coach long enough to know all of Jeremy’s raucous alerts forwards and backwards.
“I’ll let you take that,” Rhemann said, motioning permission to leave. “I’ll check in after I’ve talked to Lucas and the school board.”
“Thank you, Coach.” Jeremy clambered out of the car as fast as he could go. He had his phone at his ear even before he pushed the door closed behind him, as he wasn’t sure how many rings he’d missed. “Yes, I’m here, hello.”
For a half-second he thought he was too late, and then the familiar rumble of his father’s voice said, “Jeremy. Heard you’re in a bit of a scrap again.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy sat on the front steps and waved as Rhemann pulled away. “I’m guessing Mom called you.”
Even with nearly six thousand miles between them, Jeremy heard his father’s distinctive, disgruntled huff. “A half-dozen times or so. Mathilda never was one to respect time zones. Do you know what time it is here?”
Every time his father moved, Jeremy learned to calculate the hours between them, so he said, “Yes, sir, I do.”
He clapped a hand over his free ear and strained to hear: not his father’s voice, but for any hints of where he was. He thought he heard voices and music, but considering the predawn hour it was likely commercials or a radio. Jeremy ached with the need to ask: where are you, who are you with, are you happy? but knew from experience what his chances of getting a straightforward answer were.