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

by Nora Sakavic

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. Most of them assumed his injuries were due to the master’s displeasure, especially since the perfect Court was called away daily for private sessions. Whether or not they truly believed it or simply refused to think critically of their beloved captain, Jean would never know.

“Did you get hit by a car or something?” ​A stupid question deserved a stupid answer, so Jean said, “Yes.”

“I can read,” Jean said.

“Nothing,” he finally said.

“It wasn’t their problem,” Jean said.

“What reason do I have to be angry? I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. Ravens understand the cost of being the best, and we are not afraid to pay it.”

“No, I didn’t—” Derek faltered and asked Jeremy, “How good is his English, again?” ​“Better than your French,”

“No,” Jeremy said. “He’s dead.”

His mouth twitched again, but Jean dug his fingernails into his lower lip to stop the smile from forming.

The self-censure was regrettable, but then Jean said, “Pop. How easily these monsters die in the end.”

“You do not have to trust him,” Jean said. “I do.”

“That ill-bred child is not my friend.”

“I would also destroy my phone if it went off as incessantly as yours do,” Jean said.

He looked toward Jean. “Do you want to talk about Neil?” ​Jean curled his lip. “Do you want to talk about Joshua?”

“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 allowed him a few moments to think it over before pressing on with, “If you don’t want me to study it, I won’t. Just tell me now if it would bother you.”

“The Ravens were a means to an end, and he was always undeniably their superior. He will not waste his time pretending to mourn dead weight; he will be as silent about this one as he was the rest.”

“It’s not just Grayson,” Jeremy said, trying and failing to catch Jean’s eye. “You were hurt yesterday. Kevin will want to know.” ​“He will not care,” Jean said again.

“He is your friend.” ​“He is not.”

“You give him too much. You know nothing about us.” ​“You were both abused at the Nest,” Laila said, and Jean went still. “You know who broke his hand, and he knows who broke your ribs. But neither of you will confront Edgar Allan and put the blame where it belongs. He could have said something this spring when they were spreading such horrific rumors about you. Why didn’t he?”

“You say that, but you’re angry he couldn’t protect you.” ​“He was not my partner. It was not his job to protect me, and I didn’t want him to. I just wanted him to die.”

“I was glad when he lost his hand. Exy is all he has and all he loves; I knew it would destroy him to lose it. A month in the Nest without it, maybe two, and he would have no recourse but to kill himself. I 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.” ​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—”

“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.

“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.”

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.

“The newest Trojan faggot,” Bryson said. “Have you slept with this one yet?” ​Jeremy rounded on him to demand, “Why? Is Warren shopping for another Beemer?”

“No. He’s not even my type.” ​A complete lie, but the truth was a complicated mess she couldn’t handle. She was so discomfited by the reminder that Jeremy had a type that she didn’t bother to push it. Jeremy looked away as she struggled to find an emotional landing point somewhere between regret and disgust.

“You waste our time pretending to be modest. We both know your statistics and records. They will fight to the death for you, and Court will be waiting in the wings.”

He saw only Jeremy Knox, captain of the USC Trojans, and he knew what Jeremy was worth on his own.

“Jean?” he asked. ​Jean turned a considering look on him. “You go away when you go home.”

“Go for a run or take advantage of an empty house. Easiest choice we’ve made all year, right babe?” ​“Make it a very long run,”

“Now you are making teams up,” Jean decided, and Jeremy could only laugh.

Renee was a steadying presence even from so far away. She knew how to interpret his curt response to her check-in and so spent the rest of the weekend sending scattered slice of life updates. It helped pull him out of his thoughts and away from all of this.

Jean would only drive himself mad if he tried to understand the toxic mystery that was the human heart.

“Preference is a weak excuse,” Jean said.

One, technically, since the other had that choice ripped away from him in January.

That malfunctioning cretin existed to cause trouble for everyone in a thousand-mile radius, but Jean only said, “No, Coach.”

“Speaking nonsense for the sake of hearing your own voice,” Jean accused him.

“Exy is not supposed to be fun,” Jean said. ​Derrick stopped to stare at him. “The hell?” he managed after a minute. “Of course it is. Hey no,” he said, catching at Jean’s racquet when Jean started to turn away. “You’re like—you’re Jean Moreau. Perfect freaking Court. What do you mean it’s not fun? You play like you do and what, it’s all just a bothersome chore? I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified that we’re so far beneath your notice.”

“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.”

“I’m going to destroy him,” he said. ​“Hyperbolically speaking, I hope,” Cat said. ​Jean only shrugged and left it to her to decide.

A grievous mistake in hindsight, because a few minutes later Derek yelled “Oui señor!” at full volume.

Jean wouldn’t let his gaze linger, but he saw enough to put a hungry knot in his gut.

Jean considered asking, decided he didn’t care enough to endure a conversation, and found a showerhead as far away from the others as he could manage.

“A team of all talent and no intelligence,”

Cat waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “Like all thirty days of it, or do you want to narrow it down some for me?”

“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.”

“I like him, Jeremy. Let’s keep him forever.”