Work Text:
There for You
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Just a little longer, Andrew told himself. In a few more months he’d be free of old WB - Wayward Burns - would be free of the legal system and no chance of foster care and… and just everything. Would be free once and for all. Emancipated. An adult with all prior legal troubles wiped clean, and most importantly able to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. If he wanted to take the little blue and white pills each day, if he wanted to get out of bed, if he wanted to lift a fucking Exy racquet to do anything other than bash it down onto whatever (or whomever) the hell annoyed him.
He’d probably stick with the pills, now that Tarquinio had finally managed to find some that didn’t make him manic or washed out or numb, that seemed to turn the ocean’s bottom deep lows more into manageable valleys when they hit every few months. Andrew knew he wasn’t lucky enough to ever be normal, but after almost two years in juvie, some things had gotten a little better. That he’d been forced on the meds after beating up a homophobic asshole who had taken ‘offense’ at finding him kissing another guy… well, that was how his luck worked, it seemed.
After all, he was the child who had been abandoned, who had finally found a home of sorts after one hell after another, had literally cut himself into pieces to hold onto Cass despite everything her son Drake had put him through only to find out he had a brother. He was the child whom his own mother had thrown away but kept another. He lost everything because of a twin he didn’t even know.
Only to end up at good old WB and fuck up things here, for his true nature to apparently drive Aaron and his uncle Luther away in the end (funny how they had stopped trying to contact him after the whole ‘bash Martin’s head in’ incident). Which left Andrew with two years to complete his sentence at the juvenile detention facility with mandatory therapy and counselors who had the brilliant idea that team sports were just what a bunch of violent-prone youths needed to let out all that aggression.
Andrew was convinced that life was one huge joke at his expense, and looked forward to the day when he could shove a knife down the throat of whatever god or divine being was behind everything. More than one knife, really. Especially when Coach Sanchez kept dropping hints to him during the daily Exy practices about Class I divisions and possible scholarships, as if Andrew would ever touch a racquet again once he left WB. As if he willingly touched an Exy racquet in the first place, except it beat suffering through more group therapy sessions for a couple of hours a day or doing track and field – at least he had access to weights for an hour as it was, and as a goalie could stand around for most of the team’s practice and games.
Gabe Quiroga, one of the few people Andrew bothered with at WB, caught up to him in the locker room after yet another of Sanchez’s speeches about ‘trying his best because the opportunities were out there’.
“He still on you about that one team, the Foxes?” the teen asked as he undid the white and black bandana holding back his curly black hair; Gabe belonged to the Cuatro Espadas gang, a growing ‘scourge’ in the West Coast, and had the four black spades tattooed on the back of his left knuckles. Most of the kids in WB avoided him, but after Martin and a few other ‘discussions’ where Andrew made sure that people knew to leave him alone, Gabe apparently had decided that he and Andrew would get along – neither of them had no real reason to fight, after all, and Andrew suspected that Gabe got tired of everyone cowering from him.
“Yes,” Andrew remarked as he removed his bulky gear; Gabe was lucky since he was a backliner and so had less padding.
“Huh.” Gabe seemed to think about that. “Full ride would be sweet,” for a moment Gabe’s chapped lips twisted with envy, since his family was too poor to pay for tuition, hence his ‘career’ choice, “but that team sucks.”
Agreed, which was why Andrew didn’t understand why Sanchez kept bringing up the topic, other than some stupid charity project. Since they were currently incarcerated (juvenile delinquents, after all), they could only play against similarly fucked up opponents on the rare intramural games (Emerson’s Juvenile Detention Center, T. Jones’ Center for Troubled Youth, so on and so forth). There wasn’t a formal schedule or anything, definitely not some sort of league where one team was declared a winner at the end of the season. The WB ‘Phoenixes’ met on the court each day and played for four quarters while adults watched on to make sure they didn’t kill or maim each other (for the most part) to burn off some excess energy, and if they managed to semi-behave then they got a chance to beat up the other teams now and then.
Andrew didn’t see how the hell any of that would get him recruited even if he cared enough to play the game for a few more years. All he wanted was to get his high school diploma and then… well, he’d figure something out eventually.
He still had some time.
Once showered and done with any required shit for the day, he snuck off to the one back stairwell which led to the top of the main building, the lock broken at least a year ago by Danny Echelon who had left last winter. Danny had been a kleptomaniac and a bastard, but a couple of broken fingers had made him leave Andrew alone, especially when Andrew found out about the roof access; there weren’t too many safe places to smoke cigarettes or pot on the campus, after all. Andrew went there to enjoy a cigarette from a pack for which he’d traded a month’s worth of hamburgers, and felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax despite the faint trill of fear which settled in his stomach from looking down at the ground when he sat near the edge of the roof.
Five more months, he told himself. A drop in the bucket compared to everything else he’d gone through, time enough for him to figure out what to do when he graduated and had to leave WB, to decide if he wanted to scrape up enough money for some sort of community college or just muddle through with some lousy job. But he’d finally be his own person after so long, wouldn’t have anyone else dictating his life. He slid the cigarette between his lips then ran the fingers of his left hand over the hidden scars on his right forearm for a moment before he forced his hand to drop to his side.
Five more months and he’d be free.
Andrew should have known better than to think something like that, should have known that he’d curse himself somehow. Because life didn’t work that way for him; it loved to let him think that things might actually work out and then utterly fuck them up.
Less than two weeks later after a horrendous group session (Malia crying after she was triggered by Treys being more of an asshole than usual and Kathy trying to make it better but only ending up joining in, which set off a chain reaction of sorts and Dr. Tin growing flustered as he lost control), Andrew showed up (as if he had a damn choice) for Exy practice to find a lot of unexpected people hanging around the ‘court’, which was a convertible gym the Exy team shared with the basketball team. People such as a good bit of the security staff and assholes in suits whom he usually only saw when things went wrong or certain times of the year like health inspections or certification renewals.
He braced himself for Sanchez seeking him out as he came to a halt, mind busy going back over the last few days to see what he could be blamed for as it was always his fault, these things. Yet for once he came up blank – there were the cigarettes and he’d gotten a hold of some cheap whiskey, but that wasn’t anything unusual around here. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten into any fights lately, not when everyone gave him a wide berth and he just didn’t give a damn about anything.
So it had to be about something else, Sanchez’s too wide smile just then. “Andrew, I’ve got some good news for you today.”
“Practice is cancelled?”
Sanchez blinked at that for a moment then shook his head. “No,” he said as the smile slipped. “Look, I know you’re not sold on making a go out of Exy even though you’re talented.” Judging from the disbelief in the man’s voice, he still didn’t understand Andrew’s reasoning, yet he let out a slow breath as if trying to move on from that old argument. “But this is a great opportunity today, is-“
“Not interested,” Andrew told him as he went to walk past the man into the locker room so he could change into his gear and just get the day’s practice session over and done with, as always.
“Dammit, Doe!” Sanchez muttered something in Spanish for a moment as he spun around to follow. “Look, this is a once in a lifetime chance, all right? The Ravens are coming here today, the Ravens.” Andrew’s steps faltered upon hearing that, but only from confusion – why the hell would the best NCAA Class I division Exy team come to this place? “Carmen from Emerson’s posted a couple of their games online and someone from Edgar Allan saw them, saw you play and they’re interested. Since they’re out here for some charity event, they decided to swing by to see you in person.”
Andrew stared at the man, at the earnest expression on his sun-weathered face, the emotion gleaming in his dark brown eyes and faked a cough. “Oh no, I think I’m coming down with something, best to go to the infirmary.”
Before he could take two steps, Sanchez held out his hand and moved to block Andrew’s path; the man wasn’t that big and only had a few inches on Andrew’s own five feet, but he was a stubborn bastard and the faded “USMC’ tattoo with the stylized eagle and globe on his left arm meant that he wasn’t one to be fucked with, something quite a few kids at WB had learned the hard way. “You skip out of practice today and you’re off the team.” His eyes narrowed in satisfaction when a slight frown tugged on Andrew’s lips at that threat – no, it was an ultimatum because Sanchez always carried through with what he said, much to Andrew’s displeasure. “You know what that means.”
More group therapy, and probably an individual session or two. “What a shame, if one of those fancy Ravens gets dinged up,” Andrew tried, only for Sanchez’s smile to widen.
“Kid, you’re good but you’re not that good, not yet. Might even see you work your lazy ass for once.” He laughed when Andrew gave him the finger and stalked off to the locker room so he could change into his uniform.
Everyone was excited about the game that day, which did nothing for Andrew’s mood. Gabe gave him a wary look when he slammed his locker shut and the others kept well out of reach, and once out on court Sanchez had them do some laps then put them through a quick series of drills to warm them up. After about twenty minutes of that, the Ravens arrived.
The admins went into a flurry of excitement as the figures in black and red came onto the court, while Sanchez had the team cool off by running laps again; Andrew sighed over all of the unnecessary exertion even as he eyed the figures standing on the outer court. Tetsuji Moriyama was easy to spot in his expensive black suit and red tie, his grim expression and slicked-back black hair shot with grey. The man was about the same height as Sanchez and there was a bit of resemblance between the two with their builds and the way they held themselves, even though Sanchez’ hair was cut close to his scalp and he was dressed in jeans and a dark blue polo shirt bearing the center’s logo.
As for the Ravens… there were nine of them, which indicated that the game would be along the lines of a scrimmage rather than a formal one, which was odd considering that Andrew had never heard of the team playing with less than their usual roster of twenty-eight or more. Riko Moriyama stood out with his black and red windbreaker bearing the number one along with his resemblance to Tetsuji, with the arrogant expression on his face and the tattoo on his cheek. The disdainful look he gave the court made Andrew want to punch him on the principal of it alone.
Next to him was Kevin Day, several inches taller and just as much of an arrogant and disdainful asshole, judging from the way he was shaking his head while glancing at the court. Yet his frown turned into a bright smile when one of the admins came over to talk to them, as if some sort of kiss-ass flip had been switched.
So those were the numbers one and two of the ‘Perfect Court’, the ‘heirs’ of Exy which Andrew had heard so much about, which all the idiots on the team babbled about whenever talking about the sport. The nephew of Tetsuji Moriyama and son of Kayleigh Day who had invented Exy, supposedly the two best players in Class I division and probably the pros when they joined in another five years or so. Rumors had it that it wouldn’t be long before they had a spot in Court, they were that good.
Andrew didn’t give a shit about any of that, and he wasn’t impressed with what he’d seen so far.
Still, since he’d have to play against them (and suspected that twisting his ankle while running laps wouldn’t get him out of the damn game), he searched for the third member of the stupid ‘Perfect Court’ as he came around the outer ring once more and was surprised to see someone standing next to Jean Moreau, number four of the Ravens and their best backliner. The tall, black-haired Frenchman appeared as grim as always as he shook his head at whatever the short redhead next to him had just said – the kid had to be around Andrew’s height since it looked like Moreau had a foot on him, and possessed a lean runner’s build. He also didn’t appear to be in college, not when he didn’t even look to have his driver’s license yet, though there was a ‘three’ tattooed on his sharp left cheekbone. When he turned around to say something – it looked more like arguing, considering the jut to his chin just then and the way his hands moved about, how he jerked his right one through the artful mess of bright auburn hair, Andrew caught the name ‘Wesninski’ on the black jacket above that number.
“Mierda, they brought him,” Gabe breathed out from where he ran next to Andrew.
Annoyed at someone knowing more than he did, Andrew flicked a narrow glance at his teammate. “Explain.” He disliked going into a game not knowing about the opposition, he told himself.
Gabe’s broad face grew blank as he glanced around and found the rest of their teammates busy gawking at the Ravens. “Wesninski back there, they brought him. That surprises me.”
Interesting. “You know about him?” Gabe was like Andrew, he only played Exy because he hated the therapy sessions too, and was a halfway decent backliner who enjoyed slamming into people more than he did blocking them from the goal. So how did he know about a Raven Andrew had never heard about before today? A Raven with a striking appearance and a bit of a temper, from what he could tell.
“I know… a little,” Gabe said as he made a show of holding up his left hand for a moment. “Later.”
Oh, interesting indeed, Andrew thought as he gave a slight nod. Then he looked back over at the Ravens and found that the four ‘Perfect Court’ were gathered together yet not quite. There was Riko and Day off to one side, and Wesninski and Moreau to the other. Those two stood shoulder to shoulder (well, as much as possible with the glaring height difference) but out of arm’s reach of the strikers, and while Moreau’s expression was still blank, Wesninski’s was one of defiance. It was difficult to tell his eye color from so far away, but it appeared to be something pale as he gazed at Riko with a slight smirk on his face while Day frowned and Riko gazed back with a tight smile as he spoke.
Whatever he said made Moreau flinch and Day shake his head, while Wesninski’s body grew tense. Yet the teenager didn’t look away from Riko, didn’t stop smiling, and when Riko went to reach for Moreau, he stepped forward so Riko’s hand smacked into his shoulder. That made Riko’s smile widen and his hand clamp down on Wesninski’s shoulder… and dammit, the court curved around so Andrew lost sight of the four young men. When he came back around a minute later, they were gone.
However, it wasn’t much longer after that when Sanchez told everyone to take a break and do their stretches – everyone but Andrew, whom he waved over. Andrew heard some muttering from the other players, such as Sham and Nicole, as he made his over to their coach who was standing by Tetsuji Moriyama and some guy in a suit with the ‘Perfect Court’ not too far away.
“Here he is, Andrew Doe,” Sanchez said. “Best goalie I’ve ever seen, when he’s motivated.” Tetsuji gave a slight frown at that while the suit laughed, the sound strained. “Andrew, this is Tetsuji Moriyama and Will Blake, one of the directors of Wayward Burns.”
Andrew gave the two men a blank look after he nodded at Sanchez and waited for something else to be said, displeased at being put on display. “You must be excited about this opportunity,” Blake said with a too-wide smile, which made Sanchez wince.
Andrew didn’t bother to answer that and instead looked over at Tetsuji. “You really wasting time on this?”
Tetsuji gave him an equally cold look in return before turning toward Sanchez. “You’re right, he has an attitude problem.” Then he walked away as he pulled out his phone, which made Blake scurry after him while Sanchez merely shook his head and grinned while he went to check up on the rest of the team.
Andrew was about to go sit on a bench when he heard his name be called out again and found Riko and the others approaching him – Riko with a smug smile on his face, Day with a glower, Moreau blank and Wesninski… hmm, the kid’s eyes were pale blue and his expression attentive. Andrew took a moment to notice that before Riko spoke.
“Andrew Doe, eighteen years old, remanded to the state of California for grand theft auto and destruction of property, with further charges of assault and battery.” Riko’s voice had a slimy quality to it, in Andrew’s opinion, was too slick and smug as befitted someone used to getting what they wanted, was used to being adored… adored and perhaps feared, considering the way that Moreau’s grey eyes tracked the Japanese teenager at all times. That Wesninski kept his body between Riko and Moreau, kept them both just out of reach of the striker while also dividing his attention between Riko and his surroundings.
How both of the young men’s pale eyes had a certain emptiness to them that Andrew wasn’t used to seeing outside of kids he’d run into at the centers between foster homes or at WB and Emerson. An emptiness which spoke of having endured too much and having too much taken away, until nothing else was allowed to show through anymore.
“I’m speaking to you, Doe,” Riko said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, and Andrew forced himself to glance away from Wesninski and Moreau, to look at Riko instead and noticed how even that time, Day flinched a little. Yet Andrew didn’t react, all he did was cock his head to the side as he met Riko’s dark gaze.
“I thought you were here to play a game, not go over my rap sheet.”
Riko’s smile widened as he crossed his arms over his chest as he attempted to stare down Andrew. “Oh Nathaniel, how nice, another one with a smart mouth. If we sign him you could be a matched set.”
“Aw, Riko, you know you don’t mean that. No one can come close to me,” Wesninski – Nathaniel – ‘teased’ back with a smile even though his eyes remained empty as he gazed at Andrew. “Though have to say, it’ll be nice to have someone on the team shorter than me.” As he spoke, he gave a very slight shake of his head.
Puzzled by that – was Nathaniel telling him not to join the Ravens or something? – Andrew snorted in derision. “Not by much.” The kid only had about two inches on him, not exactly something to crow about. “Besides, who says I’m signing?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Day asked as he came to stand next to Riko. “I’ve seen the videos and you’ve got a lot of raw talent, when you decide to use it. Despite your lack of reach you can shut down the goal and your reflexes are amazing, you have an instinctual grasp of where-“ He blinked when Riko held his right hand up in front of his face.
“Enough, Kevin, we’ve heard all of this before,” Riko said in a bored tone while Nathaniel’s lips quirked a little and Moreau continued to stand beside the kid as if he was a living statue. “It’s why we’re here, after all.” Riko nodded once to Andrew. “Kevin sees enough in you to make you worth our while, to have us come here before the senseless game with the Trojans, but we’re not going to beg.” His lips twisted into a sneer on the last word. “We’ll see how you are in person and if Kevin’s right, you will be offered a standard contract to play at Edgar Allan. Anyone with an iota of common sense would sign it.” His tone implied that he was rather doubtful that Andrew possessed any common sense.
“He’ll sign it,” Day murmured as if Andrew wasn’t there. “What else does he have waiting for him? This is his best chance to be something.” Behind him, Nathaniel frowned then spoke rapid-fire in a foreign language which sounded like Japanese, something that made Day take to glowering again.
Before Day could respond, Riko did in the same language as he spun around and latched on to Nathaniel’s left arm to drag him away as if attending to an unruly child. Andrew caught a quick wince on the kid’s face before it smoothed out – that and how Moreau finally showed some emotion, an angry look sent his way before the backliner fell in step with the other three men.
“Try not to fail too much on the court,” Riko shouted as he left, while Andrew wished he had his goalie racquet just then so he could smack it down on the bastard’s head.
He returned to the lockers where the rest of his team were gathered as Sanchez let everyone know who would be gearing up to play the nine Ravens for the scrimmage, and when about half of the team took to booing over having to sit out the game, detoured on the way to his locker for the rest of his gear to talk to Gabe.
“Wesninski. Talk, now.”
Gabe didn’t appear upset over sitting out the game or surprised about Andrew’s demand, he only made sure once again that no one was paying them any attention. “Okay, so, you don’t follow Exy so no surprise you don’t know about him, how Moriyama supposedly saw him at a little league game and took him in as a kid because of his talent. Rumor is they’re even rushing him through school so he’ll be ready to play next season, which is why he’s starting to show up at special events and shit.” Andrew shook his head at that even though it made sense on what a high school kid was doing with a Class I team. “So here’s what not many other people know,” Gabe said as he leaned in as close as he dared to Andrew. “My cousin, he’s done a few jobs on the East Coast and knows some people.” Once again, Gabe tapped the tattooed knuckles on of his left hand. “And out there? There’s one name people mention like little kids going on about the boogey man or El Cuco - and that’s the Butcher. Nathan Wesninski.”
Andrew started at that revelation, but before he could ask any questions, Sanchez was yelling about everyone getting out on the court so he had to get his stuff. Besides, the expression on Gabe’s face had become closed off, indicating that the teen wasn’t in the mood to share anything else.
Equipped with his helmet and gloves, Andrew left the locker room, and soon enough was out on the court with his racquet. As he took his spot in the goal, he noticed that Nathaniel was paired with Moreau as a backliner and they both wore full red sleeves beneath their black jerseys as if to hide something – just like Andrew wore long black sleeves beneath his dark blue jersey to hide his scars.
Then he didn’t have time to wonder about anything else since the game started, and even if it was just a nine man each scrimmage, it was still the most intense Exy game he’d ever experienced in his life. If anyone had thought that the Ravens would take it easy on what was basically a high school team, they were sorely mistaken.
For once Andrew felt driven to actually guard the damn goal, to do something other than stand there, just because he was annoyed at the smug grin on Riko’s face after the bastard scored a point literally forty-five seconds into the start of the game, followed by a cheerful ‘much too slow’ as he sauntered away from the goal. Day wasn’t much better since he grumbled ‘pathetic’ two minutes later.
Hell, even Nathaniel got a point as he slipped past Cho and Williamson; he shook his head as Andrew slammed the end of his racquet onto the wooden floor. “Don’t let them get to you,” the kid whispered before he spun around, and only because Andrew was watching him so closely did he notice how Nathaniel’s gait was rough for a step or two before it evened out.
After that, Andrew did his best to shut down the goal; it was an impossible task considering that Cho and Williamson crumpled before Day and Riko each and every time, but he felt a fresh bit of satisfaction whenever he could block the bastards’ shots, when he saw Sanchez pump his fist in the air in reaction and even caught a flash of white from Nathaniel.
The WB Phoenixes still lost fourteen to nothing, but Andrew’s team went on about the ‘learning experience’; during the half-time break and afterward Tetsuji had taken a few minutes to speak about how the Phoenixes could improve certain aspects of their game and learn from the Ravens (it still hadn’t helped them any during the game itself, and Andrew doubted it would help them much in the future since most of the team sucked). All Andrew cared about was that the stupid thing was over and that he’d picked up on a real sense of frustration at a few points from Riko and Day.
Some of his teammates attempted to congratulate him on the way to the showers, but he gave them a dirty look until they left him alone so he could wash off in peace. He’d just changed back into his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt when he heard the raised voices of his teammates.
“How did you get in here?”
“What? How did-“
“Wow, I feel the tiniest bit guilty for kicking your asses now that I know you have facilities like this,” someone – Nathaniel said. There was a murmur from a deeper voice in a foreign language which prompted the kid to laugh while Sham cursed. “Yeah, you’re right, I don’t, not really.”
Andrew came around the corner to find Nathaniel and Moreau standing in the locker room with several confused and indignant Phoenixes around them, both Ravens dressed in black track pants and their black and red windbreakers with damp hair. Nathaniel waved at him while Moreau glowered at the young men gathered around them.
“Get the fuck out of our locker room,” Sham told them, his complexion darkened with anger.
“I’m here to talk to Andrew, so fuck off,” Nathaniel answered back with a thin smile.
“Listen you-“ Sham made to grab for him, but Nathaniel moved with surprising speed (or maybe not, considering how he had ran on the court earlier) to grab the South Asian teenager’s wrist and jerk his arm out to use it to flip him onto the floor.
“Don’t,” Nathaniel said in that same cheerful voice, but there was an edge to his smile as he stepped back from a groaning Sham. “Don’t touch.” Despite the smile, his eyes were utterly devoid of emotion just then, while Moreau loomed behind him like a dour shadow – loomed behind him but kept enough space between them so they didn’t touch.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Andrew told his ‘teammates’, and between Nathaniel’s not-smile, Moreau’s baleful glare, and Gabe muttering something Spanish, they did just that. As Gabe followed the last of them out the door, Moreau nodded to Nathaniel and went to lean against one of the lockers.
Nathaniel stood still for a moment, his expression a bit lost and looking every one of what had to be only fifteen or sixteen years old, appeared so small in his Raven’s jacket. Then his expression hardened as he looked up at Andrew. “That wasn’t smart, trying to shut out Riko and Kevin.”
“Ask me if I care,” Andrew said. “Instead, tell me why you’re here.”
The sharp smile returned. “Don’t you get it? I’m here to recruit you.” He held out his arms. “How can you resist the Ravens when you see me?” Behind him, Moreau snorted in derision. “Too much?” There was a murmur of French which made Nathaniel shrug. “Oh damn, I tried, I really did, there’s nothing else to do, is there.” He gave Andrew another wave then began to turn around. “I’ll give Riko your best regards and break the bad news to him.”
“Wait, I didn’t say ‘no’,” Andrew called out before the kid could leave.
Nathaniel paused while Moreau sent Andrew a displeased look. “Didn’t you hear me?” Nathaniel said as he turned back around. “What you did wasn’t smart, trying to make Riko look bad.” For a moment his smile slipped as he shook his head. “So let this go, and I’ll tell him you’re not a team player.”
Andrew thought about that, thought about how Nathaniel had tried to warn him away earlier, how Riko had laid his hands on the teenager, how Nathaniel seemed to position himself between Riko and Moreau. How Moreau now stared at Nathaniel with poorly masked concern.
Andrew didn’t know Nathaniel, but he felt annoyance in someone trying to protect him, of all things. Especially a kid nearly half his size who- not this kid with the intriguing past that hinted of violence. “And how is Riko going to react to that, when he clearly sent you here for a reason?”
Nathaniel’s smile faltered only for a moment before it took on a mocking edge. “Didn’t you hear? He doesn’t expect much from me, it’s not a problem.”
That earned him what sounded to be a sharp rebuke from Moreau, to which Nathaniel shrugged again.
Somehow, Andrew doubted that it was so easy, which was why he turned to Moreau. “What’ll happen if I say ‘no’?”
Moreau gave him a cold look. “Not your problem, Doe,” he said without any inflection but with that concern lurking in his grey eyes.
Meaning it would be Nathaniel’s. For a moment part of Andrew was tempted to let the idiot walk away, to go to Riko and tell the asshole that Andrew didn’t care about the Ravens. Yet standing in front of him was a kid who for some insane reason was determined to save Andrew in some manner at the expense of himself.
To do something that no one had ever done for Andrew before.
Andrew stared at Nathaniel, at the hint of a cruel smile which he suspected the kid wore as a mask, and once more turned to Moreau. “What will Riko give me if I sign?”
Moreau pushed away from the lockers with a hint of relief on his face. “You were told it would be a standard contract.”
“Wait, I-“
He ignored Nathaniel’s protest. “That was before I earned his interest. What will he give me now?”
“It depends.” Now Moreau’s expression grew wary, and between that, Nathaniel’s reaction earlier and how defensive the two were about each other, Andrew took a chance on something and gave Nathaniel a loaded glance for a couple of seconds. Only Moreau caught it, but it was enough to make the Frenchman at first pale and then give Andrew a look of pure hatred.
Well, there was one suspicion resolved. Andrew’s hands clenched into fists as he made a decision that might be stupid, but at least he wasn’t doing it over someone he’d never met, who had never done anything for him but walk away. “Let’s go talk to Riko then,” he told the two backliners.
Nathaniel swore in French as he shook his head. “You’re going to regret this.”
All Andrew did was give him a mocking salute with two fingers to his forehead then motioned for the kid to precede him out of the locker room. When Nathaniel stomped away, Moreau hung back enough to wait for Andrew. “Touch him and you won’t have to worry about Riko,” the Frenchman told him, voice low and full of menace.
Andrew flipped him off as he sauntered after Nathaniel, and consoled himself that at least he’d be wearing a decent uniform for the next five years or so as he followed Nathaniel’s black clad figure to his latest bad decision.
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