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Jeremy dug his feet in, refusing to budge, and Jean caught his chin so he could get a good look at Jeremy’s face.
It was enough to get Jean’s undivided attention, at least until Jeremy peeled his tank top off. Jean immediately found something else to stare at, like he always did when Jeremy was in varying stages of undress.
Weight on the bed had him drawing his arm back. Jean was leaning over him, one hand braced on the mattress beside Jeremy’s head. His charcoal dress shirt was only half-buttoned, and Jeremy instinctively followed the line of his throat down to his exposed collarbone.
Jeremy would be lucky to know his own name when Jean was standing between his legs like this.
At last Jeremy remembered to say, “No. Not to you.” He moved his arm so he could see Jean’s face. The Frenchman looked unconvinced and unimpressed. Jeremy held his stare and willed Jean to believe him. “I told you all summer I want you to trust me and feel safe with me, didn’t I? Lying to you would undo everything we’ve worked so hard to build. I’d rather lose face than lose your confidence.”
“No. The details cannot matter tonight. You are my captain and my partner; that is all I need to know. I will stand with you against them.” “You and me against the world,” Jeremy mused, delighted despite himself.
“Easier on—” he started to say, but Jean’s fingers on his neck killed his train of thought. “Horrid creations,” Jean said as he fixed Jeremy’s collar. “No better than a noose.” Jeremy meant to laugh or agree. What he said was, “You look good.” When Jean went still as stone, Jeremy hurried to correct himself with, “It looks good on you, I mean. But I get it—not the most comfortable thing to wear.”
“His is hands down the worst accent I’ve ever heard,” she said. Jean’s scandalized, “Mine?” startled a laugh out of her, and they went back to harassing one another.
“I could live a hundred lives and never be as smart as you,” Jeremy said. “Maybe if you would learn to read,” she returned.
It was enough to put a hole in his chest, but Jeremy only managed a hollow, “What,” before Jean’s fist came down between them hard enough to rattle every set of silverware on the long table.
Protective bf <3
Jean made a cutting gesture in his peripheral vision. “Let me fight him. I will make sure he never plays again.” When Jeremy only shook his head, Jean promised, “I will do it with no witnesses.”
He didn’t realize he’d looked away until Jean caught hold of his chin and turned his head back. Jean’s warning was quiet: “You promised.”
He reached for her, testing her head for nonexistent lumps, and Jeremy’s heart ached. Cat’s gaze went soft, and she tugged Jean’s hand around where she could kiss his palm. Jean finally said, “Not you. Not like that.”
The look on Jean’s face almost crushed the breath from Jeremy’s lungs, and far too late he thought of bloody bites and Jean’s fingernails digging lines into his own throat. “Give me a name,” Jean said. “I will kill him.”
Fuck him up bb
that. “If you won’t trust me, trust Laila. She hates all my partners; she wouldn’t protect them from you.” “True,” Laila started to say, but Jean’s fierce, “They are not your partners,” was louder.
else was forthcoming, then glanced past Jean at the clock. “It’s getting late. Is there anything else you want to know, or are you ready to get some rest?” Jean pressed a thumb to the bruises on Jeremy’s throat. “His name.”
“I don’t believe you. Cat has never bruised Laila like this.” “Maybe Laila’s not as good with her tongue.”
Luckily Jean found his voice first. Maybe that wasn’t a crack in his voice; maybe it was just his accent coming on stronger than usual. Jeremy forgot about it when the words registered: “I will tell her you said that.” “God, please don’t,” Jeremy said, flinging one of his pillows at Jean. “She’ll kill me.” Jean turned away from him. “Unfortunate.” “I’m going to buy you decaf tomorrow.” Jean scoffed. “No, you won’t.” “I’ll think about it,”
He admitted as much to Cat when they went for their ride Wednesday night. In response she tugged him down by his shoulders so she could kiss him square in the middle of his forehead.
Jean moved without thinking, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to her temple the way she did whenever she thought he was unraveling.
“You are very lucky they have me on a leash,” he said in French. “You’re in America,” the striker said. “Speak English, you illiterate fuck.” The buzzer sounded. The Trojans had scored again to put the teams at six-three. Jean offered his mark a thumbs-up and intoned in English, “Have a winning day.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. We all know that’s why you signed him—no chance in hell two fags ended up on the same western team by coincidence.” “Oh,” Jeremy said, affecting surprise. “That’s rude, considering your current roster. I hope you apologize to them later.”
“It’s not about being perfect, Jean. It’s about being better overall, and you were. You are in every way,” he insisted when Jean tried to wave him off. “If I threw a rock into the chasm between your talents and his, I don’t think I’d ever hear it hit bottom.”
“It makes you more interesting,” Jean said, and watched the way Jeremy’s jaw worked on silent protests. That he wouldn’t even defend himself said worlds to how disappointed he was in his thoughtlessness; he didn’t want Jean to like this side of him. Jean finally took pity on him and explained, “Not your capacity for unkindness, but how fiercely you fight against it.”
Jean didn’t have to look at Jeremy to know he was smiling; he could practically feel the warmth radiating off his captain.
“Talk to me again and I’ll break your other ankle, Knox,” Zane said. Jean put himself between them. “Do not threaten my captain, Zane.”
That word again; Jean wanted to claw it from Jeremy’s tongue. He grabbed Jeremy’s chin to force his head up. “Fuck what I deserve. What about what I want?”
The easy excuses fell apart; they were still true, but they rang hollow in the moment. It was Rhemann’s voice in his head, Rhemann’s and his friends’ and Neil’s, drowning out his miserable thoughts and excuses with unrelenting force. Jean squeezed his hands until his fingers went numb and willed himself to believe the words as he slowly spoke them into existence: “I deserve to get better.” “You do,” the doctor said, with an easy and unhesitating compassion that would somehow keep Jean sane during this horrible session, “and you will.”
How Jean’s kind heart had survived a place like Evermore, Jeremy wasn’t sure. It was bruised and bleeding, but it wasn’t broken. Jeremy wasn’t sure if that ache in his chest was pride or grief. Whatever it was, it was hard to breathe around.
“I am not sorry. Perhaps I should be. But I will choose you every time. You, and Cat, and Laila, every time. I will lose them all if I must.”
“Starting to think blue is your favorite color,” Cat said, inspecting his finds with obvious approval. “It is not,” Jean said. “It’s Jeremy’s,” Laila said as she draped an armload of hangers over one side. Jean had figured that out, but he only offered a noncommittal, “Hm.”
It was not the answer Cat was expecting, judging by her reaction, but Jean didn’t waste his time explaining. Brown like the soil in Rhemann’s garden, or the sand where the tide washed ashore, or the dirt roads Cat had led him down time and again. Brown like the gaze that sought Jean out in every room, but that last thought wasn’t one he could linger on.
She gave him a meaningful look and gestured between herself and Laila. “Read the room.” “You don’t even have a bed yet,” Jean complained. “I have a face she can—” Laila hauled her out of the car before she could finish and slammed the door closed.
Jean pressed his fingernail hard against the paper. “Your parents threw you away, too.”
FUCK OFFFFF
Jeremy offered Rex his hand, waited while the dog snuffled at it, and brought the other up when Rex got bored of the first. “Hi,” he said again. “Can I touch you? Can I hold you? Is that okay?” He waited like he thought the beast might answer, then gently hooked his hands around him.
Im having a breakdown
Jean could almost hear her “Oh, Jean.” After a pause, she sent, “I don’t ask Kevin about you. Andrew clocked Jeremy immediately, and three of every five messages you’ve sent me this past month are about him.” It was an obvious exaggeration, but Jean refused to check their messages to prove it. Renee wasn’t done but said, “I was curious, but it never felt appropriate to ask.” “There is nothing to ask,” Jean sent. “It is against the rules.” “Whose rules?” Renee asked.
“If he is going to be a Moreau, he will have to learn French.”
SHUT THE FUCK UP HES WILLING TO TEACH FRENCH AGAIN
“Whose rules?” Renee asked, and Neil’s voice answered a carefree, “The rules have changed.” Not for me, Jean warned himself, but for one moment, just this moment, he would let himself pretend.
