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 am,” Jeremy said. Jean opened his mouth, closed it again, and let go of Jeremy without a word. Jeremy snagged his arm when he started to turn away. “Who did this to you?”
Jean said nothing, seemingly content to stare at him in steady silence. Maybe he saw the stubborn set to Jeremy’s face, because at long last he said: “My father.”
It felt like getting kicked. Jeremy dropped Jean’s arm with a startled, “Oh.” It was a pathetic response for such an awful confession, but Jeremy struggled to come up with something better. His family had its problems—all families did, he supposed—but never in his life had his mother raised a hand at her rowdy children. He couldn’t fathom being struck by a parent; how could he possibly wrap his mind around the malice behind something like this?
“Do not let it bother you,” Jean said, setting his racquet aside so he could finish getting dressed. “It will not affect my performance on the court.”
“That’s not the issue. Your parents are supposed to love and protect you, not—” Jeremy gestured helplessly toward Jean. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine what that was like for you.”
“Imagine getting changed so we can practice,” Jean said.
Jeremy weighed all the things he could say, all the questions he knew Jean would never answer, and sighed as he went in search of his own locker. Jean caught up with him when he was halfway done. Jeremy grabbed the balls as they passed the equipment room again, and they went down to the court together.
Jeremy unlocked the door but motioned Jean on ahead of him. He half-expected Jean to head to center court where he could get a look at the full thing, but the man unerringly went for his starting spot on the first-fourth line. Once there he did a slow turn in place, studying the freshly redone floors before tipping his head back to look up at the scoreboard hanging far overhead.
Jeremy secured the door and went to stand with him. The bucket he set at his feet long enough to tug his gloves on, and he grinned up at Jean. “What do you think of her?”
“Tacky,” Jean said, gazing out at the stands through the walls as he worked on his own gloves. “Smaller than expected, considering your school’s rank.”
“We only had so much space to work with around here,” Jeremy said with a helpless shrug. “It’s not about size, anyway.”
“Defensive,” Jean said, tugging his glove straps with his teeth.
Jeremy straightened in indignation. “I don’t have anything to be defensive about.” Jean lost his grip and bit his lip, and Jeremy hurried on before either of them could think too much about that double entendre. “Let’s start with a couple laps and work our way up from there. You have to let me know if you feel anything pull, okay? I told Coach Lisinski I’d watch out for you.” He waited a beat, was unsurprised by the silence, and said, “Say ‘yes, Jeremy’.”
He had the distinct impression Jean wanted to roll his eyes. “Yes, Jeremy.”
Jeremy forgot everything else he could have said in favor of staring. It was the first time he’d heard Jean say his name. Hearing it in Jean’s accent put a wicked flutter in Jeremy’s stomach. He stared a moment too long, and Jean quirked an eyebrow at him in silent question.
“Nothing,” Jeremy said, and leaned over to set his helmet beside the balls. He changed his mind just a moment later. “Jean, if I—” he started, but faltered until Jean turned toward him. “If I ever make you uncomfortable or make you feel unsafe, will you promise to tell me? If you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s wrong and why, at least trust me enough to tell me that something is wrong. I can’t fix things if I don’t know there’s a problem. As your captain and your partner, don’t I at least deserve the chance to not be a villain in your story?”
Jean favored him with a pitying look. “You are the captain of the sunshine court. In no universe could you be anyone’s villain.”
That unhesitating trust warmed him all the way through, but all Jeremy said was, “Technically it’s the Gold Court.”
“Do not act like you don’t enjoy the moniker.”
“I do,” Jeremy admitted with a smile. “Ready?”
He kept an easy pace on account of it being Jean’s first day on the court in three months. They alternated workouts and warmup drills, 1-2’s and half-steps and corner shots. There were two versions of nearly every drill: one static and one that involved checking the player while they were trying to make their shots, but since Jean was no-contact for at least a little longer Jeremy neatly excised the second half. He thought the restrictions would irritate Jean, but Jean followed his lead without hesitation or complaint.