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It was a brutal game, just like Jeremy had expected.
He was used to the brutality of the court. While his younger self had struggled with the sting of the taunts and the uncalled for violence, he could at twenty-two only bestow them disappointment and sometimes even resignation after an especially violent game. He was familiar with the rivalry of the sport — not exclusive to only Exy — and how the players were compared and pitted against each other. Fair play hadn’t always been a priority to Jeremy.
Before he came to the Trojans he had played the game like he had been expected to. It was only when he played his first game with the Trojans that he realized that sometime during his fight to the top, he had lost the reason for why he loved the sport so passionately and with the Trojans he found it again. Surrounded by red and gold, he had remembered the feeling that had settled in his chest when he picked up the racquet the first time as a little kid and how the rest of the world had faded away around him. The only color Jeremy, his older brother grinning down at him and the two goals facing each other on opposite sides of the court.
Jeremy had won the Trojans home court during the coin toss, and the Catamounts’ first serve had set first half hurling into action. The Catamounts weren’t USC’s biggest rivals, so there was really no reason for the difficulty Jeremy was facing on the court. He fumbled passes he should have been able to catch blindfolded and missed the goal more than once. He tripped over his own feet and lost his balance too easily from his mark’s rough checks.
Jeremy had known even before he stepped on the court that his heart wasn’t in the game tonight. It was still on the floor of Cat and Laila’s living room like it had been since that night just a few days ago when everything had fallen horribly into place.
Nabil was sending him confused looks, jogging over to him to ask if he was okay while the Catamounts traded their dealer. Jeremy felt bad that he’d let him pick up his slack. He made sure to catch the next pass that was thrown his way and scored the Trojans one point. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Jeremy heard it from far away.
He wasn’t surprised when he was traded with Derek not even halfway into the first half. He’d played his worst game of the season — possibly his worst game since he’d become a Trojan. Derek gave him a quick clap on the back as he jogged past Jeremy to take his position. On the sidelines Jeremy gratefully took the water bottle Tony offered him. He slumped down at the offense bench and tried to ignore his teammates's curious glances. He saw Derrick open his mouth from the corner of his eye, but Ananya stepped on his foot with a firm shake of her head and he changed his mind, turning to scowl at her instead.
Jeremy could feel Jean glaring at him from all the way on the defense bench and Jeremy knew he wouldn’t be let off so easily after the game was over. Jeremy tried not to squirm under his gaze. He didn’t have to put up with it for long before Jean was traded in. Cat knocked her helmet lightly against Jean’s and took his place on the sidelines. She sent Jeremy a worried look when she caught his eye over Angie’s shoulder. She threw her helmet aside and mouthed, You’re playing like shit. What’s up?
Jeremy just shrugged at her. Cat gave him a disapproving look. She started chugging down her water too fast like she always did. Angie had to clap her on the back as Cat coughed and Jeremy knew, despite her back being turned on him, that she was rolling her eyes.
He returned his attention to the game.
No more than seven minutes had gone by since Jean stepped on court before the referee stopped the game for a faulty body check against Jean. Jeremy had realized with slowly rising dread that the Catamount striker was being twice as hostile towards Jean than he’d been towards Cat. He gathered Cat had too from all the cursing she was doing.
The game was reset with the Trojans in possession of the ball this time.
From then on Jeremy found himself watching Jean more than he was watching the ball. The checks from the Catamounts’ number ‘eight’ striker got more brutal as the game went on and the Trojans kept scoring. That wasn’t what was bothering Jeremy the most though. He knew personally that Jean could take a bodycheck, and was just as good at giving them. It was seeing Jean not fighting back that unsettled him. If he’d still been with the Ravens Jean wouldn’t have held himself back. He would have pushed just as brutal but Jean had agreed to leave that way of playing at Evermore on the contract he’d signed with the Trojans. Jeremy knew Jean wouldn’t break his word. At the same time he was proud of Jean for not sinking to the same dirty tricks. Jean was playing like a Trojan.
There wasn’t much time left of first half. Jeremy forced his right leg to still where he had been wriggling it unconsciously. Soon the referee would blow the whistle for halftime and then he could go check up on Jean and regain his own slipping composure in the locker room. When the Trojans won he would shake the Catamount striker's hand, tell him to “Have a winning day!” in Cat style and step off the court victorious with his team. That would have to be enough. He would spend the rest of the evening replaying the displays of cruelty in his mind, but he would fall asleep to Jean's breathing and everything would be okay.
Except it wasn’t okay. Nothing’s okay, he thought as he watched the Catamount striker snarl something into Jean’s ear when the referee was out of earshot. It wasn’t okay because Jean didn’t deserve to be put through this treatment. He shouldn’t have to be. He wasn’t a Raven anymore, he wasn’t at Evermore and Riko was dead and Jean should—
He should be free of it. All of it.
”I have belonged to the Moriyamas since I was fourteen years old,” Jean had told Jeremy, Cat and Laila that night and Jeremy was still trying to understand what those horrible words meant. That Jean might never get to be free.
He had thought that if he could reassure Jean into letting them in, and make him feel safe enough with them to share the heavy secrets he carried on his shoulders alone, that they could help him. With time and with their support, he would realize how worthy he was of a life of his own choosing. That he didn’t have to be a number, but could just be Jean. But the problem wasn’t only Jean’s failure to realize his own worth, it was that even if he realized he deserved a life on his own terms he might never get it. And Jeremy couldn’t do anything to change it.
Watching Jean’s recently healed injuries be picked and prodded at for weaknesses was too much for Jeremy to bear. He couldn’t stand watching it, knowing this was what he’d been put through his whole life. A raven who’d had his feathers plucked time and time again, and afterwards been told to fly for them.
It was simply violence for the sake of violence. It had no effect on the game if he didn’t manage to get Jean off the court either with a card when Jean snapped — which he wouldn’t, despite the tension in his shoulders and his blazing eyes that said otherwise — or with an injury. Jeremy hoped for the former rather than the latter.
Jeremy was grateful when he was traded in again. He needed to get rid of the uneasy restlessness that was crawling under his skin. The feeling that was building in his chest felt too close to what he had been trying to tame into his control the past years. With ten minutes left of first half the Trojans were leading with six points. Jeremy had just sent the ball off to Derek when the shriek of the whistle rang through the court. When Jeremy turned around, Jean was on the floor. Jeremy’s stomach had dropped all the way to his feet before Jean got back up again, and Jeremy’s body slumped with relief.
The Catamount player took his yellow card with a sharp grin, more fiendish than anything, and held out his hand towards Jean. It was supposed to be a display of sportsmanship, but since there had been nothing of the sort in his game tonight the gesture fell flat. Jean didn’t take it, instead turning his back on the striker to return to the game. The referee gestured for the Catamount to do the same. Instead he grabbed Jean’s shoulder and forced him to turn around.
There was no mistaking the horror that flashed over Jean’s face, twisting his features until he was almost unrecognizable. It was the same expression he’d worn after Grayson’s attack. Jeremy’s legs started moving of their own accord as he made his way over the court and ripped the other striker’s hand off of Jean who had frozen to the spot.
”That’s enough.” Jeremy didn’t recognize his own voice behind all the ice that sharpened his words. ”Lay back.”
”Knox.” There was a warning in the referee’s voice, but Jeremy didn’t care.
He was too busy scanning Jean’s face which had gone pale, no trace left of the California sun he’d soaked up in the previous months. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hands trembling at his sides. Jeremy saw his hand begin to rise towards his throat. Laila made it over to them from the goal and started murmuring something into Jean’s ear, her words too soft to hear. After a moment Jean came back from whatever horrible memory had taken him hostage and shrugged her off, dropping his hand back to his side. Jeremy swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.
”Last time I checked I didn't take my orders from you, Knox,” the Catamount player mused when he was done sizing Jeremy up. The referee let out an irritated sigh when Jeremy took off his helmet, letting him know that he wasn’t going back to his position just yet.
”Take it as advice then,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “You get carded one more time and you’re out. Though I don’t think you’d be that big of a loss to your team, having to rely on violence and ugly tricks rather than talent to beat your opponents.”
Laila hid a grin behind her glove. The Catamount striker didn’t look very amused though. He moved closer to Jeremy, probably with the intention to be threatening with the couple of inches he had on him but Jeremy couldn’t take him seriously. His face, exposed as it was without his helmet on, had turned a splotchy red color. His fingers were bloodless where they were pressing into the helmet.
Jeremy held up his hands and stepped back. He called an apology to the referee over his shoulder. He didn’t make it far before the other striker was opening his mouth again.
“Your fucking morale compass has no place on the court. I’m just playing the game.” Jeremy continued walking, but the other striker wasn’t thrown off by his disinterest. “All of us aren’t pathetic enough to sleep our way onto the starting lineup. We can’t afford to slack off during the games because we secured our place by whoring for the captain.”
Jeremy went still. He felt oddly detached from his body. He didn’t know what expression his face was making when he turned around, only that it made Laila shake her head at him in warning. It seemed to be taking every ounce of self control she had in her body. Jean was shifting his stare from Jeremy to the Catamount player. His lips were a thin, bloodless line. His dark eyebrows furrowed.
The Catamount nodded in Jean’s direction, a leering smile twisting his lips as he called to Jeremy, “Can the same be said for him?”
It happened so quickly. One second he was watching the Catamount jog to his position, cackling, and the next Jeremy was pulling the other striker in by the arm and punching him square across the face with such force that he was hurled to the floor. A grotesque crunching noise split through the shocked gasps of the arena. Jeremy didn’t know if it came from him or the Catamount. His body was completely numb. When the other striker retaliated, he couldn’t feel the pain. The whole world had narrowed down to the tangled mess of feelings inside his chest. The Anger. The injustice. His own uselessness. He’d thought he had tamed them to his heel, but lately he had been loosing his grip and instead of recognizing them for what they were, he had tried to stifle them.
The Catamount player pushed him up against the wall, and Jeremy was taken back to another night. Another fight. He smelled the disgusting tang of alcohol in his nostrils. He remembered the first punch, and the icy betrayal that had closed its fists around his heart as he’d wiped his blood on his sleeve with disbelief. He could hear the sirens screaming in tandem with his wild pulse. Hands were grabbing at him from everywhere and he recalled being pressed into the ground and his arms forced behind his back.
They finally managed to separate the Catamount from Jeremy. The other striker was pushing against his teammates’ hold, but Jeremy couldn’t move. The world had lost its red tint, but even as he blinked and blinked the card the referee held up in his direction didn’t disappear.
Red. Jeremy Knox, captain of the sunshine court, had gotten the Trojans their first red card ever. Red. The color that had speckled the ground after Grayson’s attack on Jean. The color of the police sirens blaring into the night at the fall banquet four years ago. Red.
He didn’t remember how he’d gotten to the locker room, only that someone had shouted his name — Cat maybe? He couldn’t stop staring at the blood on his hands. Jeremy headed straight to the sink. It was only when the water stung on his busted knuckles that he became aware of the throbbing pain in his hand. A small trickle of fear ran down his spine as he clenched and unclenched his fist carefully. Nothing was broken. Relief swept through him. He thought about the scars on Kevin’s hand. He thought about the unnatural angle of Riko Moriyama’s arm after Andrew Minyard had slammed his racquet into it.
The sink was pinkish with water and blood. He knew that most of it wasn’t his. That thought sent a different sort of shiver down his back. How many times had they stood like Jeremy in front of the sink, scrubbing Jean’s blood from their hands? Had they been as unable to meet their own eyes in the mirror as he was?
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass for a couple of seconds, catching his breath, before turning off the tap. He turned around to find coach Rhemann seated on the bench. A heap of medical supplies sat beside him. Jeremy didn’t know how long he’d been there – perhaps he’d followed Jeremy inside the locker room. It was an effort to hold his gaze with the shame a weight on Jeremy’s shoulders. There was no anger in those eyes, not even a flicker of disappointment – just that steadying calm, and even though it shouldn’t, it made Jeremy feel even worse than if he’d been angry.
He sat down next to the head coach who began inspecting and carefully prodding Jeremy’s hand. “Not broken,” he declared eventually. Jeremy didn’t know what to say. He let Rhemann wrap his hand with gauze and press a packet of ice onto it. He tried to focus on the lingering pain instead of the muffled bangs and shouts from the court. Jeremy knew he had to say something.
He glanced up from where he’d been staring at his wrapped hand, a self deprecating joke on the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his mouth a choked noise escaped instead. Jeremy rested his elbow on his knees and dragged a shaky hand over his face. He felt Rhemann’s hand settle on his shoulder, a comforting weight, as Jeremy tried to clear the knot in the back of his throat.
”Talk to me Jeremy,” Rhemann murmured.
What could he say when there was so much he’d promised Jean to keep quiet about? When one slip of the tongue could break Jean’s trust and possibly risk endangering Rhemann’s life. Jean hadn’t wanted them to know. ”It was selfish of me to tell you,” he had said. Jeremy wished Laila and Cat were there with him, even though he knew they needed to be on court, just to have someone who could understand.
He even wished Jean were with him just so he could make sure he was okay. It was unreasonable, he knew, but Jeremy couldn’t help thinking that he could somehow keep Jean safe just by having his eyes on him all the time – like the first moment he looked away he would be taken away from them. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Cat and Laila were out there with him, and hell would break loose if anyone tried to hurt him on their watch.
Rhemann was waiting for him patiently, and Jeremy knew he had to give him something. He took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the wall, dragging his good hand through his hair.
”You know, I’ve always found it so tragic when players lose their passion for the game because of the rivalry in sport. When enjoyment loses meaning over the desire to be the best. It’s like we forget why we picked up the racquet in the first place. Because we loved it.”
He thought about the first time he walked onto the court with his brother, the smell of rubber and sweat still lingering in his nose after all these years. The fit of the racquet in his little hand and his brother showing him how to use it. He remembered his first score, the adrenaline that had pumped through his blood as he watched the ball sail through the air and how he’d felt just about ready to take flight when the goal lit up red. His brother had scooped him up and put him on his shoulders, eyes bright with pride, as he started jogging over the court with Jeremy holding on for dear life and laughing until his stomach hurt.
It used to be the memory that kept him pushing forward on the court. Now it was the memory that bitterly resurfaced in his mind every now and then after a game without his brother there to pull him in close and ruffle his hair.
“I feel for those players who have forgotten what exy is supposed to be like. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this has always been what exy is–” He held up his bandaged hand between them. “-and I’ve just not wanted to see it.”
He couldn't stop seeing it. All the violence. All the pain. All made possible because of this glorious, wretched sport that Jeremy loved so much. How could he love what had broken Jean so many times in so many places? How could Jean even stand to pick up the racquet? Because he has no other choice. Because his life depends on it.
Jean’s arrival in California, all his belongings fitting in his one bag and an emptiness in his eyes that Jeremy had been totally clueless about how far it actually went. Three fractured ribs. Sprained LCL. Twisted ankle. Broken nose. That’s most of it. Jeremy had been so unprepared for it all.
Kevin telling him the truth about his hand over a frantic phone call — Riko retaliated — and confirming the suspicion Jeremy hadn’t wanted to be true. Hearing the echoes of Jean’s the master in Kevin’s voice.
The “I didn’t ask” that had slipped from Jean’s lips that day on the beach and put a new meaning to the tension and jolt of Jean’s shoulders every time he was touched without forewarning. The mutilated magnets and defaced notebooks. The cursed bite mark that tainted Jean’s beautiful skin, the scar one of the many cruel reminders that marked his body and wouldn’t let him forget; reflections of the scarring that was already forever etched into his mind.
The nightmares. The panic attacks. A hand clawing after a throat. So many years of Jean’s life that had been ripped away from him. Stolen from him.
Jean lowering his walls for them finally. Jeremy had thought that if Jean would only let them in, they could help him, right? As much as he had begged Jean for the full truth, a part of him had dreaded it; selfish enough to want to live in oblivion for just a little while longer, not ready to set in stone what Jean had been through and finding out that they couldn’t do very much to help him in the end.
There was so much of it. Too much.
Now that the truth was laid bare Jeremy didn’t know what to do with it. He’d thought himself prepared for whatever horrors Jean had suffered through, but it was too big a weight to hold. And oh, how ashamed he was of it. Jean had to live with what had been done to him every day for the rest of his life and the uncertain future that awaited him. He had to wake up with it and move through the day with it and yet Jeremy had the nerve to break down while Jean refused to let himself?
”I’m so sorry, coach. I messed up,” Jeremy croaked. Rhemann’s hand tightened around Jeremy’s shoulder.
”Do you know why you were chosen for captain?” Jeremy gazed up at him. “You have the strength to hold this team together through whatever setbacks we are faced with, and push us to strive forward and evolve even though it costs us. To be better players, but even more important, to be better people.”
Jeremy swallowed hard, his eyes were burning.
“You messed up. So what? People make mistakes all the time, and no one on this team will hold this one against you. Have you seen how they look at you? They admire you so much, Jeremy. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Jeremy didn’t have his brother or the rest of his family cheering for him anymore, but his teammates cheered loud enough to make up for it and that meant the world to Jeremy.
“Thank you,” Jeremy said, finally managing to muster up a weak smile. Rhemann gave him a final clap on the back before he rose from the bench.
“Will you join me outside?”
“In a little bit.”
Rhemann nodded. In the doorway to the locker room he changed his mind and stopped. He turned around to look at Jeremy. “Remind them, Jeremy. Remind them of what this sport should be. If anyone can do it, it’s you.” The sincerity in his voice was enough to make Jeremy’s chest ache with want.
Maybe it wasn’t Exy itself that was evil, it was the power hungry corrupting it and using it as a weapon; twisting it until it had become unrecognizable. Despite all the bad people that had drawn blood in the name of this sport, Jeremy had met some of the very best of them through it. He couldn’t accept that he’d been wrong, that exy was sinister at its core.
The door shut behind Rhemann as he returned to the sidelines. Jeremy knew there wasn’t much time left until the referee would blow the whistle for halftime, and the room would swarm with his teammates. He sucked in a deep breath. Despite Rhemann’s words he was crawling with nerves.
He had cost the Trojans their flawless reputation – even if their use of fairplay wasn’t a performance for the media, but something they did for themselves – and a player for the next game. Jeremy didn’t doubt that they would manage fine without him, but it didn’t ease the sting of having to watch the next game from the sidelines.
He’d also given his family another scandal to add to the Knox name. Jeremy felt like he was going to throw up.
The muffled sound of the whistle signaling halftime made it through the locker room walls and Jeremy steeled himself. Just like he'd thought, the door burst open not long after but instead of his whole team swarming in through the entrance it was only Jean. Jeremy jolted up from the bench as Jean made his way through the room with rapid pace, throwing his helmet aside carelessly.
”Are you okay—”
“Your hand.” All the color had drained from his face. ”Give me your hand, Jeremy.”
When Jean was saying his name like that, all french accent and thundering demand, Jeremy was pretty powerless to resist. He mutely placed his hand in Jean’s. Jean’s hand was warm and callused around his, his touch delicate as he turned it over and inspected it with unwavering focus.
“Rhemann already patched me up. He said it looked fine. Nothing broken.” Jeremy paused to clench and unclench his hand. “See?”
Jean’s eyes didn’t leave Jeremy’s hand.
“Rhemann is not a nurse,” he muttered, but most of the tension had fallen from his shoulders.
“And you are a better judge?” Jeremy couldn’t help a smile.
“I am used to dealing with injuries.” Jeremy’s face fell. Jean didn’t seem to realize the severity of what he’d said. He usually didn’t. “As of this one”, he said. “He made a fair assessment.”
“Great.”
Jean finally met his eyes. He caught Jeremy’s chin with one hand, the other still holding Jeremy’s wrapped hand, and tilted his face to the left and right as he took in the black eye he’d been dealt by the Breckenridge player. Jeremy was again so very aware of Jean’s body heat flowing from his fingertips into Jeremy and setting his nerve endings on fire. Jean brushed a finger under his eye and Jeremy shivered, his body leaning into the touch. For a moment, a sweet fleeting moment, Jean stepped a little closer and they stood there with the crowns of their heads almost touching. He let go of Jeremy too soon, increasing the space between them, and crossed his arms over his chest.
As the loss of Jean’s touch sat heavy in Jeremy’s chest, the Catamount striker’s ugly words echoed through his mind. Jeremy felt a twinge of guilt. There was no denying the attraction between them, but that didn’t mean it was right of Jeremy to act on it. Not when Jean was in such a vulnerable spot mentally. Not when Jeremy knew what speculations and false assumptions would smear Jean’s name if the media found out about it.
“It does not suit you,” Jean said.
“Black eyes rarely suit anyone.” Jeremy gave a shaky smile. “That is if you’re not the lead in an action movie.”
Jean wasn’t amused. Jeremy figured he’d stalled the conversation long enough.
”Have a winning day”, Jean mocked.
”That’s Cat’s line, not mine.”
”It was a foolish thing to do. You could have done severe damage to your hand and what would that have been good for?”
”I don't regret it,” Jeremy said calmly.
He meant it. He had tried so hard to be better than the angry freshman he had been — to let that part of himself go — and he had unraveled it all in just one night. Despite that, he knew that he would have hated himself even more if he’d done nothing. The list of people in Jean’s life who had stood by and watched was longer than it should be. Jeremy wouldn’t add himself to that list.
”Why did you do it?”
Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows. “You didn’t hear what he said?” He asked carefully.
“My ears work perfectly fine.” Jean rolled his eyes. “I heard him very well. That does not answer my question.” Jeremy stared at him. “Well? I am waiting, and unlike you I have a second half to play,” Jean said impatiently.
”Jean. I watched him terrorize you the whole time you were on court. I couldn’t watch anymore. And about what he said–”
“It is nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“That doesn’t mean you should have to hear it again, or that they have any right to throw around such words.”
Jean was silent for a long time before murmuring, ”I never wanted you to dirty your hands because of me.” Jeremy’s stomach dropped.
”It’s not dirty if it's in your name. I mean it when I say I don't regret it. Really.” Jean didn’t look convinced. ”I’m your partner,” Jeremy continued. “I’m supposed to have your back.”
”Your failure is my failure.” There was bitterness in Jean’s words. “You got red carded because of me.”
”No,” Jeremy said with emphasis. “I got red carded because that Catamount player was being a total jerk.”
”But this is not just about that, is it?” Jeremy didn’t answer. “Is it Jeremy?”
No. No it wasn’t. Jeremy let out a ragged breath.
”I-I hate them for what they have done to you. I hate them, and I hate that I can’t do anything to stop them from keep on hurting you.” Jeremy dragged a hand over his face. ”I offered you a blank check but it might as well have been worth nothing.” His voice cracked in two.
”Jeremy,” Jean said. ” Jeremy. Look at me.”
Jean caught his wrist and pulled the hand from Jeremy’s face and forced him to meet his gaze. Jean’s steadfast eyes, his pulse point beating against Jeremy’s were a balm to the knots in Jeremy’s chest.
Pull yourself together.
He made a weak attempt at a laugh at his own expense, blinking until Jean’s face was no longer blurry. ”Sorry. I–” Jean cut him off.
”You let me into your team and gave me a place in your home and with your friends.” Jean’s voice was rough. ”You have given me more than anyone has ever given me. Do not dare call it nothing when it means everything.”
”It's not enough,” Jeremy choked out.
They stood in silence. Jean was still holding Jeremy’s gaze but he looked miles away. Jeremy scanned his features for a possible glimpse of what was going on in his head. His hand was tight around Jeremy’s wrist.
”Tell me that you won’t walk away,” he said suddenly. ”That this won’t disappear. That is all I need from you.” The desperate edge to his voice made it clear that this was not a small ask to Jean — perhaps more fundamental even than him asking for Jeremy’s help after Neil Josten had dropped him off back at the house that awful night.
”I won't walk away,” Jeremy said softly, trying to convey how sincerely he meant that promise. As long as Jean wanted him, he wouldn't be going anywhere.
”Say it again.”
”I won’t walk away. Neither will Laila or Cat. We are your friends. We aren’t going anywhere.”
Jean’s eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath escaping his lips as his shoulders slumped forward. He buried his face against Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy could feel his warm breaths through the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t know for how long they stood like that. He was reluctant to move even an inch and risk causing Jean to pull away too soon.
”I hate them too.” It was barely a whisper, the words bit out through gritted teeth as If he was fighting himself. Fighting the words that had been ingrained in him. I am Jean Moreau. I have always gotten exactly what I deserve.
Jeremy’s breath had caught in his throat. Jean radiated tension, and Jeremy was contemplating stepping back to give him space when his fingers tightened around Jeremy’s wrist. It was a soundless stay. So Jeremy did.
”I hate them.” The anger which with he gasped the words were almost enough to make Jeremy weep with relief. It was the first time he had heard Jean speak about the Moriyamas with outright contempt.
”I know,” Jeremy choked out. Jean exhaled shakily against his shoulder once before he let go of Jeremy. His eyes were bright when they collided with Jeremy’s, anger and horror warring over his face.
”I play for Ichirou,” Jean said slowly, more to himself than to Jeremy. ”When I go pro he will get his eighty percent of my earnings. I fail to secure those eighty percent and there is no reason for keeping me alive. That is the deal. That is all that matters to him.” He paused. “The rest is up to me. It is like Neil said. I can create a life for myself. And I started here. It is not the nest. Ichirou is not Riko or the master.”
But you’re never going to get to be free. The thought was tragic, but Jeremy figured that perhaps this was freedom to a man who had been denied it for the most of his life. Who had been a bargain and a compromise and a possession, who had been stripped of all of his choices. This was more freedom than he’d ever thought he would have, and it was enough for him. It didn’t mean that Jeremy would ever be okay with it.
”You deserve better. All three of you do.”
”I am satisfied here,” Jean said after a moment.
Jeremy smiled weakly. ” Satisfied, huh?”
“Happy.”
Happy. One tiny word and five syllables that meant everything. Some of the weight lifted from Jeremy’s chest. Despite all the darkness surrounding them, Jeremy was bursting with small silvers of hope. He’d thought perhaps something similar was beginning to take root inside Jean. They would get through this together. Jeremy had to believe that.
The door to the locker room slammed open for the second time. Cat and Laila rushed over to them. Laila made Jeremy sit down on the bench again as she scanned him for injuries.
Cat sat down on the left of him and nudged his shoulder gently with her own. “Hey. How are you?” She asked.
“How’s your hand?” Laila carefully lifted Jeremy’s wrapped hand.
“Better than that guy’s nose, that’s for sure.” Laila shot her girlfriend a disapproving look.
“The hand will be okay.” He gave Cat a weak fistbump. ”Just a little sore.”
His friends spent another couple of minutes fussing over him. Jean had quietly slipped from the room at some point. Jeremy wished he’d stayed, but he figured Jean had a game to get back to and halftime was almost over.
“So. USC Trojans’ first red card, huh?” Laila said softly.
“You, mister, made quite some history today.” Cat let out a low whistle. ”Think they will take away the Day Spirit Award from us this year?”
”As if.” Laila snorted.
The three of them grinned.
“How are they taking it?” He couldn’t help finally asking. Cat’s smile turned tender.
Laila threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. “You’re still captain sunshine, don’t worry,” she said. Cat pressed a kiss to his hair. Jeremy felt himself relax into their fierce embrace, the last remainders of tension and worry seeping out of his body.
Jeremy was a little surprised when the door opened and it was Jean again. He dropped something in Jeremy’s lap. ”For your hand,” he said. It was a packet of ice. Jeremy hadn't realized the one Rhemann gave him had melted.
”Thanks.” Jeremy smiled
They stayed with him for a little while longer before they had to return to the court for the second half. “You feeling okay?” Laila asked him in the doorway.
“Yes.” Jeremy glanced away from his bruised face in the mirror to meet her gaze. ”I think it’s going to be okay,” he said and followed her out of the locker room.