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“We left you alone for twelve hours,” Pat said. “Did you get hit by a car or something?” A stupid question deserved a stupid answer, so Jean said, “Yes.”
How easily they spoke of outrage, this team that refused to fight. How hypocritical, how exhausting. What did these easygoing children know about anger?
Jean didn’t even hesitate. “That ill-bred child is not my friend.”
Laila rolled her eyes and got back to work. “Sometimes a simple ‘no’ is enough.” “A single word is seldom rude enough to make a point.”
“Your English is fantastic,” Jeremy said. “It’s not about that. It’s your native language, and none of us here can share it with you. That’s reason enough for me to learn.” Jeremy
was only alive because he made me promise to survive. If he died, who could hold me to that? I would have slashed the tires on his car before I let him escape us, and he knows it.”
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here with us, and I hope you’re happy, too. I hope you tell us when you’re not so we can help you. You’re our friend, and we love you.”
Isn’t that ridiculous?” “Most things about you are,” Jean pointed out. Jeremy laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But Jean? I’m glad you’re here, too. Our lives are better with you in them.” “Mine would be better if you would stop talking.”
“There you are,” Jean said. It was jarring enough to shake the warmth out of him. Where Leo had said it with hungry satisfaction, Jean only sounded thoughtful. “Jean?” he asked. Jean turned a considering look on him. “You go away when you go home.”
“No,” Jean said, and Jeremy only smiled like he found Jean’s attitude endearing.
That malfunctioning cretin existed to cause trouble for everyone in a thousand-mile radius,
A grievous mistake in hindsight, because a few minutes later Derek yelled “Oui señor!” at full volume. Across the court Cat called a scandalized, “Hello?!”
Jean wouldn’t let his gaze linger, but he saw enough to put a hungry knot in his gut.
Jean scowled at him, and Jeremy only tipped his head into the spray to send water streaming down his face and throat. The lashing they deserved would have to wait; Jean needed to get out of here.
“No, no, it’s so good. Please don’t ever change it. Jeremy,” they tried again, slightly better this time. “I bet he hit his knees the first time you said it. I would’ve.” Jean refused to go down that road. “Drink your water.”
“No,” Jeremy said, and admitted, “I haven’t asked him. I’m not sure what to say.” “‘Hope your teammate gets acquitted, XOXO’?”
It was more endearing than it should be, and Jeremy hid a smile against his long-empty mug whenever Jean got particularly rude.
Jeremy couldn’t help himself. “Must be nice, liking both. I bet it makes things easier.” “Stop dyeing your hair. The bleach is rotting your brain,” Jean said,
Maybe he ought to apologize for upending Jean’s plans so thoroughly, but then Jean tapped idly at Jeremy’s wrist. Jeremy glanced down, curious, but didn’t get a chance to ask. Jean’s lips grazed his cheekbone as Jean turned his head, and every coherent thought Jeremy had crumbled to dust.
“We’re his team now, and you’re his partner. Maybe he can’t lie to us because we’re his people.” Jeremy tested it out, liking the sound of that: “We’re his people.” “It’s just a theory.” “We’re his people,” Jeremy said again, and was heartened enough to return to his studies.
he held up his French book where Jean could see it and offered a cheery, “Salut!” It didn’t matter if Jean could hear him—the look that crossed his face when he realized what Jeremy was holding was more than enough.
He sat at his desk with his phone at his ear, toying with his wristband from the 4th of July party and a sand dollar he’d picked up at some point.
Laila sighed and leaned forward, winding her arms around his shoulder in a slow hug. “You’ll be the death of us, Jean Moreau.”
Jeremy wasn’t sure what the problem was; Jean looked just as good in this shirt as he had the last two.
“My year of English lessons were predominantly oral. I learned to read after the fact so I could pass my classes. It is an offensively ugly language,” he added, skimming the endless paragraphs on the page. “No personality whatsoever.”
Jeremy smiled. “Good thing I’m learning French, then.” Kevin looked up, startled. “Are you?” “Trying,” Jeremy amended. “It’s not going so well.” Kevin glanced between them. Jean very much did not want to hear whatever he had to say about that.
“You are an idiot,” Jean accused him. “You were barely fast enough to save him last time. The next time someone takes a swing at him, you and your brisket lungs will have to watch him die. I wouldn’t have given him to you if I’d known you would just throw him away so carelessly.”
He studied Jeremy in silence, this bottle-blond sunshine captain who could force Kevin into submission without raising his voice or hand.
“Jeremy,” he said, and it sounded so much like please that Jeremy went still as stone.
“You are supposed to be better than this,” Jean said, a quiet accusation. “You have always known what I am.”
It was mentioned in most of Jeremy’s early interviews, and I know I showed you those. Did you read any of them, or were you too busy fawning over his phot—” Jean elbowed him again as hard as he could and checked the empty doorway.
Jeremy’s smile was slow and radiant, and Jean had to look away. He needed to leave before he got himself in trouble, but of course Jeremy followed him to the kitchen.
“One swing with a racquet would shut this half-baked baguette up for good,” Jean suggested,
“We heard glass,” Jeremy said, looking between them. “Everyone okay?” “Everyone important,”
“For the record, it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even like men. It would have done you so much good to see that bitch humbled, Jeremy.”
“Hell, sorry, didn’t mean it like that. Maybe he’s like Cody, then. What’s that kind of queer that likes both chicks and dicks?” He yelped when Shawn got him again. “Jesus, sorry. I just mean that he—never mind, I give up.”
“Gorgeous as always, Annalise. Smile just lights up the room.” Annalise, who was decidedly not smiling, only motioned for Cat to get out of her way.
Jeremy knew she was beautiful, and he knew Jean liked women and men equally. He didn’t know why the laundry basket was now digging permanent creases into his fingers, but his tone was friendly and light as he introduced them.
He smiled in the face of her scrutiny, trying to radiate innocence, but Annalise only said, “I was right, wasn’t I? You really are going to make the same mistakes all over again.”
Besides, I don’t know what I’d change it to. Maybe I’ll put together a poll for graduation and let the floozies vote on it.” “Deny a vote to whomever named the dog,” Jean said.
Jeremy wasn’t sure what it said or which Fox had sent it, but it was enough to take the tension out of Jean’s shoulders for the first time that day. Jean’s tired, “I hate him,” as he left the room narrowed down the potential list of senders to one, but Jeremy wisely didn’t comment on that transparent lie. Later that afternoon Jeremy spotted the postcard hanging on the wall over Jean’s desk.
“Oh, my darling sons, off to their first day at school. Mwah!” she added, kissing the air near Jean’s cheek. “Do Momma proud.” Jean looked to Laila and said, “Handle her.” “Oh, I do,” Laila said into her coffee.
Jean showed off his filthy hands, but he checked how far away Adrian was before muttering, “This is repulsive.” “A little,” Jeremy agreed, tapping his sticky fingers together. “I’m going to make a dog bowl for Barkbark.” Jean stared at him in disbelief and immediately lost control of his clay. He cracked his knee into the wheel in his hurry to catch it, and he scowled at Jeremy’s helpless laughter.
Jeremy tugged at his shirt to sniff it. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. Not mine,” he explained when Jean glanced his way. “I bumped into a friend on my way back to campus. Is it really that offensive?” Knowing it had come off another man’s body made it twice as terrible. “Yes.”
Jean flicked him a withering look. “I will leave you behind at the next rest stop.” Jeremy’s smile was radiant and unafraid, and Jean had to look away even before Jeremy said, “You wouldn’t.” “Maybe not,” Jean said, “but I’ll think about it.”
When Jean only waved that off, Jeremy said in French, “Hello! My name is Jeremy Knox. What is your name?” The sound of his language on Jeremy’s lips was enough to give Jean pause. He counted his heartbeats as he studied Jeremy’s face, committing the textbook-perfect sounds to memory,
“No one will take you seriously if you learn French with a southern accent.” “Does that really matter?” Jeremy asked, studying Jean with a stare that felt prying. “I’m not learning French for anyone but you.” Getting kicked in the chest would be a little less painful. Jean desperately wished he’d sat with Cody; sitting thigh-to-thigh with Jeremy while he said such things so seriously was cruel.
He wanted to trace the memory of Jeremy’s weight down his side.
it. “Stained glass. English continues to be a hideous invention. Stained glass.”
Jean didn’t want to hear it. “I will teach you a phrase,” he said, digging in as hard as he could against the memory of Riko’s hands on his throat, in his hair, clawing lines into his face. “You will use it at the banquet if you need to leave. Yes?” The speed at which Jeremy’s expression went from concern to delight to caution was almost impressive.
