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)
Jeremy scrubbed goosebumps from his arms as he debated how to answer. He could say “We’re recruited from the best of what high schools have to offer nationwide,” but that went for every Class I team. He could say “We were chosen to play here, so we want to give it everything we’ve got,” but presumably those who made the cut at Edgar Allan were driven by the same need to be great. In the end the only answer he could think of was one he knew Jean wouldn’t accept.
“Because we don’t let ourselves get too lost in this,” he said. “If we don’t get bogged down in the numbers, we’re free to have fun, and what’s fun for us is pushing ourselves as far as we can go. We still love what we’re doing, wholeheartedly and enthusiastically.”
“Loving something is not enough,” Jean told him, right on cue.
“When is the last time you enjoyed playing?” Jeremy asked.
“Irrelevant,” Jean said. “I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. I do not need to enjoy it to be the best backliner in the NCAA.”
“That’s really sad,” Jeremy said. “You know that, right?”
“You’re naïve,” Jean returned. “Your team is an unforgivable anomaly.”
Jeremy’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Grateful for the diversion, Jeremy pulled it out to check. The text was from Kevin, but Jeremy wasn’t sure he wanted to open it with Jean right there. Jeremy glanced at the shirts he’d been pawing through just moments ago, but this wretched conversation had put an ugly slant on his intentions. Jeremy turned his phone over and over between his fingers and looked at Jean.
“I’ve got to deal with this,” he said, waggling his phone and hoping Jean wouldn’t ask him about it. “Pick something out while I do, won’t you?” Jean obediently turned to the rack Jeremy had just been considering, and Jeremy took careful hold of his elbow. “It doesn’t have to be from this rack specifically. It can be from anywhere in this store as long as it’s got some red or gold on it. Take a lap and see what all they have to offer.”
It was inevitable, perhaps, that Jean would gravitate to the black and red shirts. Ten minutes ago it might have felt like defeat, but Jeremy would forgive the color scheme for now. If that was what Jean felt safest in, Jeremy would back his decision wholeheartedly. The brighter designs could wait until the season started.
He was not in the right mood to read Kevin’s text, he knew, but with Jean temporarily distracted he had to know. He regretted opening it almost immediately, because Kevin had sent him a far-too-late rundown of Jean’s injuries:
“Three fractured ribs. Sprained LCL. Twisted ankle. Broken nose. That’s most of it.”
That’s most of it.
Jeremy’s chest ached with tender grief. It was a heat normally reserved for game nights against their most violent opponents, a niggling sense of helplessness as people repeatedly tried to hurt a team that just wanted to have a good time. Jeremy powered his phone off before he could ask Kevin “Why?” A reason wouldn’t take back what they’d done.
The why was already answered in Jean’s unintended confessions and the layers behind Kevin’s vague, scattered advice. The Ravens had no control over anything except how they performed and were perceived on the court. When they finally snapped, of course it’d be against their best performers: first Kevin, now Jean. Even Riko hadn’t been immune, choosing to take his own life rather than live without Exy.
Jeremy was going to have to bring that up with him sooner or later, he knew—both Riko and the rumors that had the Trojans thinking twice about their unexpected recruit. But after how badly every other conversation had gone today, Jeremy didn’t trust himself to get through it.
He was distracted from dismal thoughts by Jean’s approach. Jean was holding his chosen shirt with just his fingertips, keeping it away from his body like it offended him. Ready to drop it at a moment’s notice if Jeremy disapproved, Jeremy thought, but he refused to look that deep into it. He forced his shadowed thoughts away, focusing instead on the tiny victory right in front him. Jeremy would have to warn Laila what she was up against tomorrow when she took Jean shopping for the rest of his things, but for now he smiled and took the shirt from Jean.
“Looks great,” he said. “Anything else?”
“No,” Jean said, and followed Jeremy up to the register.
Jeremy paid for it, and Jean refused a bag when the cashier offered. Jeremy kept the receipt but passed the shirt back to Jean to carry, and he didn’t miss the tight grip Jean kept on it as he followed Jeremy out.
CHAPTER NINE
Jeremy
The house still smelled like food when they got back, but this time it was the headier scent of beef and not the spicy chaos that had preceded it. The sound of a TV drifted down the hall, and by the time Jeremy made it to the living room doorway he’d figured out which gameshow they were watching. Laila was sitting cross-legged on her papasan chair, brushing Cat’s hair absentmindedly as she stared at the TV.