The Golden Raven (All for the Game, #5)

by Nora Sakavic

Catalina Alvarez briefly pressed a shoulder against his arm, but Jean didn’t care if they looked. He’d been a bruised and bloodied mess most of his career with the Ravens. His former teammates were quick to mock him and quicker to take advantage of his weakened state on the court, but they knew better than to ask questions.

“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.”

His stomach roiled; his mouth burned as he forced back a rush of acid. Jean carved lines into his forearm to find his center. Jeremy caught his wrist to stop him, and Jean forced his gaze to the far wall.

“I don’t care about the Foxes. You were injured in West Virginia. You can’t tell me you went from Edgar Allan to Palmetto State without any treatment or care. Jean,” Xavier tried, a hint of desperation sneaking into his voice when Jean stared past him toward the far wall. “Tell me I’m misunderstanding you.” ​“I still have sets to do,” Jean said instead. “Are we done?” ​“No, we’re not,” Xavier said, disbelieving. “Where is your rage?”

“If you won’t take this from me, at least get something from the nurses when we get back to the stadium.” Xavier gave him a last chance to take the bottle before pocketing it for good. “We’re so close to having you on the line at full strength. Don’t let a little recklessness put you back on the sidelines.” ​“I am not reckless,” Jean said. ​“I’m going to trust you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You just want to fight someone your size,” Derrick said, as if he wasn’t nearly six feet himself. “If you get Coach L to sign off on it, I call next.” ​“And me,” Nabil Mahmoud said as he arrived, then asked, “What are we calling for?” ​“Derek wants Jean to go feral,” Derrick said. ​Jeremy made it over in time to hear that comment, and it was enough to stop him at the end of the row. “I’d rather we don’t go down that road,” he said, looking from one teammate to the next. “Jean agreed to play the game our way this season. Asking him to bring Raven violence to summer practices when he’ll be held to a different standard in August is unfair.”

The self-censure was regrettable, but then Jean said, “Pop. How easily these monsters die in the end.” ​The ease with which he called Grayson a monster put a hopeful twinge in Jeremy’s chest. Jean’s relationship with the Ravens was a complicated mess of love and hate, torn through by his refusal to face the horror of what they’d done to him at Edgar Allan. The few times he’d slipped up—Not Grayson, please; I didn’t ask—he’d retreated as quickly as he could behind dismissals and evasion. That Jean felt safe enough now to look so unabashedly relieved was enough to warm Jeremy all the way through. ​Cat was encouraged by his response enough to say, “Good riddance, too.” ​“Yes,” Jean agreed.

“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.” ​Jean’s flinch was full body. “Don’t say that to me.” ​Cat lifted her chin in defiance. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s the truth.” ​“It can’t be. I am just—” ​Whatever Jean meant to say got caught in his throat, and Jeremy watched as the light went out of him. It was the same look he’d come home with last night: the hollow stare of a man fast running out of something to hold onto. Jean wrenched out of Cat’s grip with a force that almost pulled her up onto the island. The knife was dropped halfway to the door as he stormed out, and Jeremy was off his stool even before Laila said his name.

“I didn’t like it either, the first time she said it to me,” he admitted. Jean didn’t respond, but Jeremy felt his head turn and knew he was listening. “Felt like I’d been waiting forever, so it wasn’t at all fair to come from her first. 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.”

He closed his eyes and let himself relax, testing the easy way Jean took his weight without protest. He wasn’t sure what time it was or how long he had until he needed to start home, but Jeremy was in no rush to sort it out. This was enough, for now: the heat of Jean’s back against his and the silence that cradled them both as Jean tended his inscrutable thoughts.

“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.” ​Jeremy studied him, but there was nothing curious or prying in his expression. He didn’t want to get into it after the day they’d had, but he risked saying, “You never ask.”

Jeremy was significantly better at this than Riko or Kevin ever were, perhaps because he had real pain to lean back on. Whatever Jeremy’s honest opinion of Grayson, he truly regretted the effect it would have on the struggling Raven lineup and he ached for the men whose lives Grayson had upended. Anyone who listened to him speak would believe Jeremy was one invitation away from attending Grayson’s funeral himself. This spring Jean had found his press face too annoying to stand. Today the act was almost calming, since Jeremy was acting as the first line of defense for Jean.

Their willingness to let Jeremy entertain other career paths was annoying enough Jean had to reach out and flip the book shut. He whacked Jeremy in the face in the process, since Jeremy couldn’t pull away in time, and answered Jeremy’s bewildered look with a cool stare. ​“Stop wasting your time,” he said.

“Has it occurred to you that there is no perfect Court anymore?” Rhemann asked. “It was Moriyama’s obsessive daydream, and he is unfortunately no longer with us. Day rejected his place in it, and Josten only had his number for a few months. You’re the last man standing. I’m not questioning your skill or dedication,” he added, putting a hand up like he honestly expected Jean to argue, “but you’ve got to start looking beyond that narrow dream. If there’s no perfect Court, there’s just you, and you have to take care of you. You’ve got to learn how sooner rather than later. Do you understand?” ​“Yes, Coach.” ​“Look at me when you say it.”

Jean went for his locker like he thought Rhemann would change his mind. As soon as he lifted his helmet off its hook, Cody made a loud yipping sound. It was picked up by the rest of the defensemen in increasing volume, and Jean sent a nonplussed look at Cat when she joined in. She just grinned and knocked her helmet to his in encouragement. Jean wrote the line off as a half-mad loss and focused on getting changed.

“I mean, right now I don’t have a choice,” Derrick conceded. “On account of my scholarship and whatnot. But after I graduated? If I hadn’t come back around to enjoying it again, I’d drop it like a hotcake and find something new to chase. Life’s too short to be miserable all the time. You really going to stop playing when you leave here, then?” ​That violent twist in Jean’s chest might have been grief; it was just as likely to be acidic resentment. “I will never stop playing,” he said, and wouldn’t dwell on the I can’t that echoed like a second heartbeat against his thoughts. “This is all I am.”

Jean didn’t have to look to know what Cody had spotted. “Their ridiculous cardboard dog. Jeremy keeps moving it into our room.” ​“Damn.” Cody sounded admiring, but they weren’t talking about the dog. “Is that how you say it? Jeremy.” They sounded it out, trying to match Jean’s accent. Jean wondered if he ought to be offended, but Cody saw the look on his face and hurried to say, “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.”

He was nearly done when Cody texted him a simple, “Eat?” ​“Ate,” Jean confirmed. After a moment’s debate he added, “It was good.” ​“:)” was all Cody sent in answer, so Jean set his phone aside to finish eating.

It was more endearing than it should be, and Jeremy hid a smile against his long-empty mug whenever Jean got particularly rude.

Jeremy grinned over at Jean and said, “That makes up for the last fumble, right?” ​“A solid play can’t erase a critical mistake,” Jean said. Jeremy rolled his eyes and sank back to his side of the couch. He was nearly settled when Jean said, “But most of the time you are very good.”

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,

“Does it get easier?” ​He wished he could pretend he hadn’t heard, but his feet betrayed him and went still. When Jeremy turned back, Jean was again studying the portrait like it somehow held all the answers. Why it was so important to him, Jeremy wasn’t sure, but Jeremy had asked too much of him this summer to not at least attempt some honesty. ​“No,” Jeremy admitted, and Jean turned his distant stare on Jeremy. “Sometimes I get so caught up in everything else that I just—forget,” he said, though it was such an awful thing to admit. “Then I remember and it’s like it happened yesterday. But Dr. Spader said grief isn’t supposed to get easier: you just become someone strong enough to weather it. You let the good things and the good days shore you up so the bad days can’t tear you down.”

Jean looked baffled as Xavier tried to explain top surgery to him, which was worlds better than disgust, but then he gave a sharp jerk of his hand in violent rejection. Jeremy started that way automatically, but Xavier laughed as he got to his feet. ​He jogged back toward them, and Jeremy met him halfway. Xavier paused long enough to say, “Since it has no impact on how I play, he says it’s my prerogative to fix whatever’s broken. He doesn’t understand why he should have an opinion on my personal life one way or the other.” He smiled, slow and bright, and said, “I like him, Jeremy. Let’s keep him forever.”

The first time a family almost pushed Jeremy away from Jean, Jean caught hold of his wrist in a death grip. Jeremy took one look at his tense face and hauled Jean closer. Jean would feel better when the show started and the crowd went still, surely, except the first crackling pop startled a violent flinch out of him. ​Jeremy flicked him a worried look, but Jean’s transfixed gaze was on the fireworks crackling to life above them. Surprised, not afraid, Jeremy decided, but he couldn’t look away again. He watched colored lights dance off sun-reddened cheeks until Jean finally caught him at it. Gold peonies reflected in Jean’s eyes as he turned a curious look on Jeremy.

Between the delighted crowd and the fireworks, it was too loud for Jean to hear him. Jeremy rocked onto the balls of his feet to say at his ear, “I’m glad you came.” ​“I could’ve watched three more matches in the time we’ve been gone,” Jean said. ​Predictable to a fault; Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh. 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. Jean had to feel Jeremy’s pulse kick up beneath his thumb, but all he said was, “But I’d forgotten—I do not know them in English.” ​“Fireworks,” Jeremy said. ​“Fireworks,” Jean echoed. He tipped his head back to study the sky once more, and maybe Jeremy imagined his, “This is good, too.”

It was more than Jeremy had expected or hoped for, and he was still smiling when h...

“You’ll be the death of us, Jean Moreau.” ​“I won’t let me be,” Jean said.

Jeremy filed that important insight away for later but only said, “Speaking of Neil, I’m surprised he didn’t come with you. Not that we’re not happy to have you,” he added over his shoulder at Andrew, “but I assumed he’d want to visit Jean again.” ​It took him a minute to realize he’d said something wrong. He made it past another exit before realizing Kevin was staring at him. Jeremy studied his curiously blank expression and realized he’d finally gotten Andrew’s undivided attention. ​Jeremy forced his gaze back to the road, bewildered. “Is it something I said?” ​“What do you mean, visit Jean again?” Kevin asked. ​“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Jeremy returned. “He was here in June.” ​Kevin twisted in his seat to stare at Andrew. Jeremy risked a glance at the rearview mirror, but Andrew was gazing out the window again with a distant look on his face. Kevin gave him a few moments to come up with something before settling in his chair with a curse. He had his phone out and at his ear a moment later. Whoever he was calling picked up within a couple rings, and Kevin tore into them in furious French.

Jean was leaning against the sink to drink his coffee, and Jeremy didn’t think it a stretch he’d gone there to put a whole room between himself and his unwanted guest. His mug stilled halfway to his mouth when they walked in, and his gaze went right past Jeremy to Kevin. Jeremy searched his face, looking for any hint of violence or anger, but Jean’s expression was curiously blank. He didn’t move as Kevin crossed the room toward him. ​Kevin took his mug from unresisting fingers and set it aside. “You look better. California agrees with you.” ​Jean curled his lip. “You could sound less proud of yourself.”

“When did you learn how to cook?” he asked. ​“Cat is teaching me,” Jean said. He could have left it at that, but after a beat, he admitted, “I like it. It makes everything else go away for a while.”

Jean fixed his stare across the parking lot. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” ​“You asked me to help you survive whatever comes next, and this is part of it,” Jeremy said. “I’m standing here as your friend and your captain, and I’m asking you to be honest with me. Look at me, Jean,” he said, and waited until Jean dragged his attention back to Jeremy’s face. “Can you trust me, or can’t you? I need to know.”

“You are protecting your Trojans,” Jean said. ​“You are one of my Trojans,” Jeremy reminded him, low and insistent. “This isn’t me picking them over you. I need you to know that. I’m trying to look out for all of us.”

“I’ve asked you a lot of questions today that I knew you didn’t want to answer, so it’s only fair to ask: is that enough?” ​“It is not my place to ask you for more.” ​“You’re my friend. Just because I don’t talk about my family doesn’t mean you can’t ask.” ​“You are my friend,” Jean returned, testing the way it sounded aloud, “and you don’t want to talk about them. I won’t ask.” ​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.

“It’s the South Carolina state flag,” Laila said, scribbling in another answer. ​Jean finally reached out with both hands to take the card, but he was slow to turn it over. It took him only a few moments to read the short message penned on the back. 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. Laila found him leaning against the doorway to the study room and propped herself up opposite him. Jeremy smiled at the questioning look on her face and said, “I think we’re in for our best year yet. Are you ready?” ​“Last year,” she said. “Last chance. Let’s finish it.” ​They hooked their pinkies together in silent promise, and Jeremy let Laila tug him down the hall.

“You showered again,” Jean said as Jeremy got settled at his side. ​Jeremy stared blank-faced at him. “Uh?” ​“Different cologne.” Jean dragged a highlighter over a relevant section of his notes. “This one does not suit you whatsoever.” ​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.” ​“Sorry,” Jeremy said, sounding more amused than apologetic. He scooted out of Jean’s space, then moved again when he realized he was upwind of Jean. His smile was irreverent when he asked, “Better?” and Jean refused to humor him with a response. Jeremy didn’t press him for an answer but flopped back on the grass with a satisfied smile. Jean highlighted the same section again with a little more force.

“Your call,” Cody said. They checked their watch and collected their trash. “Just promise me you’ll keep an eye on him tomorrow. Most everyone who was a problem back then should’ve graduated by now, but I know at least one who’s still around. These kinds of grudges don’t go away so easily.” ​“He is my partner,” Jean said. “I will protect him.” ​He’d gotten Neil through three weeks at the Nest; dragging Jeremy through one banquet would be easy. Having to behave would be the only difficult part.

Jeremy was on his knees facing backwards so he could talk to Xavier and Min; trust the man to never run out of anything to say.

“Good news,” he said, with a touch too much cheer. “Three hours down, six to go.” ​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.”

“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.

When Jean took too long to answer, Jeremy leaned into him to dig his phone out of his pocket. He dictated his message to his butler as he typed it out, perhaps buying Jean time to argue with him. Jean should, but the words caught somewhere between his lungs and teeth. He wanted to trace the memory of Jeremy’s weight down his side.

Jeremy’s thoughts wandered as he dressed: Laila, to his sister, to Renee’s picture that had disappeared from Jean’s desk shortly after they teased Jean about her. None of the three looked anything alike, leaving Jean’s taste in women an utter mystery. Jeremy considered asking, but instead he said, “Mom thinks I should marry Laila.” ​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. It was horrifically inappropriate fighting for Jean’s attention like this, Jeremy knew; shame was a prickling heat eating away at his satisfaction. He was quick to tug his shirt on, a simple white button-up with a snazzy tie to brighten it, but Jean didn’t move until Jeremy was buttoning his slacks. ​“Ridiculous,” was all Jean had to say as he unzipped the bag with his clothes.

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. From anyone else this would be an invitation, but this was Jean. Too many others had put their hands on him and shattered his trust. Jeremy couldn’t make the first move here no matter how desperately he wanted to tug a few more buttons loose. ​Don’t, he warned himself, even as he studied the pale scars crisscrossing on Jean’s skin.

By the look on his face, Jean had no idea what to do with that information. Jeremy waited patiently for the obvious follow-up, but Jean only pulled free of him and said, “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. “But it’s not just me on trial tonight, so take what time you need to steel yourself. They’ve likely heard all the rumors and watched your interview backwards and forwards; they’ll have a lot of opinions and a lot to say. I’m obligated to remind you this is a public event and that you’ll have to play nice, but if you watch my back, I’ll watch yours.” ​“Tiresome charade,” Jean muttered.

“Let me,” he said, and Jean relinquished it to him. Jeremy wound it around Jean’s neck and hesitated, trying to imagine the movements on someone else and distracted by the weight of Jean’s unblinking stare. Jeremy went through the motions slowly as he waited for muscle memory to kick in. It took two attempts before he figured it out, and he smiled triumph as he smoothed Jean’s tie flat. ​“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.” He was saved when his phone went off with Laila’s alert, and he retreated to a safe distance to check her message. “Looks like most everyone else is downstairs already. Shall we go?”

“I don’t believe you. Cat has never bruised Laila like this.” ​“Maybe Laila’s not as good with her tongue.” ​It took him a moment to realize what he’d said, and he and Jean were left staring at each other. Jeremy didn’t trust himself to speak, but one of them had to break the silence. 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,” Jeremy promised as he went to get the lights.

“Good?” It was Angie, pausing at his side. ​There was no reason to tell her how strange it was to exist in such a moment and place, so Jean only said, “Good.”

“You are very good,” he said to Jeremy. “I finally understand why Kevin admires this team.” ​Looking at Jeremy was a mistake; Jean forced his attention back to the court so he wouldn’t have to face that pleased smile. ​“We,” Jeremy said. “We are very good, Jean.”

“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.” ​Cat hadn’t lied; the innocuous words earned him an immediate gloved fist in the mouth.

They were almost to the door when Jeremy caught his sleeve, and Jean slowed to a stop. Jeremy’s smile was gone, but his tone was earnest as he searched Jean’s face. ​“You were incredible out there. I know everyone else will say the same at the post-match roundup, but I wanted to say it first. And I know you’re only going to get better from here, because I know you’re still second-guessing this new style. I can’t wait to see how far you can go this season.” ​“I was outstepped,” Jean reminded him. ​“Maybe,” Jeremy said, “but you were never outmatched.” ​“He should have scored. That he didn’t is a testament to Laila’s skill, not mine.” ​“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.”

Careful hands settled on his shoulders, not to shake him or strike him, but to hold him still as Rhemann said, “We never should have let him get that close to you. We should have protected you better. I’m sorry that we didn’t.” ​“I’m sorry,” he said, as if it was at all appropriate for a coach to apologize to one of his players. It was so unexpected and so unwarranted Jean forgot how to breathe, and the fleeting, traitorous thought that followed tore his heart wide open: he is not the one who should apologize to me. The gall of it was nearly as frightening as the truth of it, and Jean couldn’t hold on tight enough to muffle a choked sob. ​Don’t, Jean thought, desperate. Endure it. Please— ​“Jean.” Rhemann gave his shoulders a fierce squeeze. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let go.” ​Jean crumpled in on himself with an awful sound, and the weight of Rhemann’s arms around him wasn’t enough to keep him from shattering.