Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“I’ll look out for us,” Jeremy said. “You look out for you and your brother, okay? He’s had a rough end of year.” It was such a simplification it felt callous, and Jeremy couldn’t help but wince. “He needs you now more than ever, but if you need us, make sure you call us. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Yeah, cap,” Lucas said. “Thank you.”
Lucas bid him farewell soon enough, but Jeremy stayed where he was long after the call was over. He pressed his phone into his cheek as his thoughts ran away from him: Lucas’s defeated fear, the Ravens’ unkind rumors, and Kevin’s earnest entreaty to make room for Jean. He thought about Kevin’s broken hand, Jean hazed off the lineup mid-championships, and Riko killing himself at Castle Evermore after the Ravens’ first ever loss. He thought about people saying Jean was dragged out of the athletes’ dorm in bloodied towels the morning Riko died, and Jeremy put his phone away.
“This is the right move,” he told himself.
He had to believe it, but Jeremy didn’t think his nerves would settle until Jean was in California and Jeremy could meet him face-to-face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jean
If Jean had his way, he would never set foot in an airport again.
With the Ravens, it had been a non-issue: the staff had handled everything for them, and the Ravens simply had to shut up and go where they were told in a long line of pairs. The only time he’d been to an airport alone was when he’d had to collect Neil from Arrivals for Christmas break, as Riko had been busy with the master. Riko had driven them back on New Year’s Eve, as Neil had been violently disassociating from Riko’s cruel farewell party. Jean couldn’t have gotten him across the parking lot, but he could at least manhandle him from the curb to check-in and the TSA line.
This trip was entirely different. He’d never realized how complicated the process was or just how many people could fill an airport. Jean had put up a token fight when Wymack invited himself along on the westbound flight, but by the time they hit their layover in Charlotte he was desperately glad Wymack had ignored his heated protests. The speakers were going off nonstop in alternating languages, calling out unfamiliar names and final boarding calls and gate updates. Every time Jean saw black clothes in his peripheral vision, he automatically tried to change directions and fall in line. Only Wymack’s firm hand on his elbow could pull him back on track.
Los Angeles International was packed when Jean followed Wymack off the plane. He stuck as close to the coach as he could without stepping on the backs of Wymack’s shoes, sure that if they got separated he’d never get out of here again. There was a set of escalators halfway down the terminal, and Wymack stepped off to one side as soon as they reached the bottom. Tunnels stretched out to either side of them, and Wymack jerked a thumb at the signs. One way led to the next terminal while the other went to baggage claim.
“Straight down you go,” Wymack said. “Are you good from here?”
Wymack had come with him with no intention of sticking around; he’d gotten himself a same-day ticket back to the east coast and would supposedly waste the middle of his day at one of the airport bars. Jean could have asked him why he bothered, but he’d bitten it back a hundred or a thousand times today already. He knew why, even if he refused to trust it. Men like Wymack didn’t exist. They couldn’t; they shouldn’t.
“Yes, Coach,” Jean said.
Wymack looked like he might say something else, but at length he clapped a brief hand to Jean’s shoulder and silently turned back the way they’d come. Jean watched him go for a few moments before forcibly turning his attention toward the exit. He tightened his grip on the handle of his carryon and grimly set off in that direction. Soon enough he was through, and Jean immediately cut left along the wall to survey the waiting crowd.
Spotting Jeremy Knox was easy enough. The Trojans’ captain had come in a university shirt: not the only one in the crowd to have some USC lettering on him, but the only one in that much cardinal red. Jean slowed to a stop, taking advantage of Jeremy’s distraction to study his new captain. It was a little disorienting seeing him dressed down. In all of the games he’d watched this past month and all of the articles Kevin had shown him back at Evermore, Jeremy had been in uniform. Jean had played USC a few times, but it hadn’t been his job to check Jeremy. This would have been his year if he hadn’t gotten kicked off the line.