Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
The voice echoing down the hall was female, but the closer Jean got to the stairs the more reassuring he found it. He’d heard the weekend morning news often enough at home to recognize the anchor’s easy twang. Jean took five steps down to the main floor, surveyed the empty living room with a cautious look, and crossed over to the next open doorway.
The dining room and kitchen were connected as one long room. A small table with two chairs was at one end, and a chattering TV was mounted to the corner nearest it. Rhemann was on one of the bar stools at the low wall that helped set the kitchen apart. He had a newspaper open in front of him as he worked through a mug of coffee. The stranger from last night—Adi, Jean remembered—was washing dishes by hand at the sink, but he went still when he spotted Jean.
“James,” he said.
Rhemann glanced up and followed Adi’s stare to Jean. The sight of his wayward backliner hovering just out of the doorway had him pushing his coffee and newspaper aside, and he turned on the stool to give Jean his undivided attention. “Good morning. Were you able to get any sleep?”
“Yes, Coach,” Jean said. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Rhemann said, as if Jean hadn’t ruined opening night by having an ugly breakdown in his office. Maybe something showed on Jean’s face, because Rhemann heaved a weary sigh and turned back to his coffee. “Do you understand now, Adi?”
“Don’t bully him,” Adi complained. To Jean he said, “Good morning! Adijan Bregović, at your service. You can call me Adi. And you’re Jean.” He smiled, but it was weak. “Speaking of apologies, I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t know at the time it was such a loaded statement. It’s just that James spent all summer talking about you,” he said, waggling his elbow in Rhemann’s direction as he washed and dried his hands. “Moreau this, Moreau that, I was starting to think you were the second coming of Christ.”
Jean had no idea how to address any of that, so he started with, “Are you a coach?”
“God no, no no no. I know nothing about sports.” At the look Rhemann sent him, Adi made a dramatic gesture. “Okay, I’ve picked up a bit about Exy, of course, but most everything else is happily beyond me. Are you hungry? Sure you are,” he said before Jean could deny it. He collected three plates from a nearby cabinet and put them out side-by-side near the stove. “You have excellent timing. Come, come, there’s enough burek for all, I was just letting it cool a bit.”
“Eat,” Rhemann said. “It’ll do you good.”
Jean obediently crossed the room to accept a plate, and he studied the rolled-up chunk of bread Adi had given him. He wanted to ask what the nutritional breakdown was, but he had to trust that Rhemann would not lead him astray. Adi served Rhemann at the counter before dishing his own breakfast up, and he motioned for Jean to precede him to the table. He set his plate down opposite Jean but didn’t sit yet. It took him two trips to get everything settled: one to hand out little cups of yogurt to everyone and another to bring Jean some black coffee.
“We have cream,” Adi said as Jean hid his shoes under the table.
“No,” Jean said, and remembered to add, “Thank you.”
“Eat up,” he said, dropping into his chair at last. “Eat, drink, and be merry.”
Despite his chipper words, breakfast was an unpleasant affair. The news overhead couldn’t make a dent in the heavy silence that settled in the kitchen.
Rhemann finished eating first, and he cleared his dishes away with easy efficiency. “I’ll let Jeremy know you’re awake,” he said, looking across the room at Jean. “It’s about twenty minutes from your place to mine, so make yourself at home in the meantime. I’ll be out back if you need me.”
“Your hat’s hanging in the laundry room,” Adi called as Rhemann left. Jean looked from the doorway to Adi and back again, refusing to contemplate such impossible thoughts but unable to fully relinquish them. Adi drained his coffee before sitting back to study Jean. “Don’t take his attitude personally. I know he’s worried sick about you; he’s just under the impression you don’t feel safe with him, so he doesn’t want to be underfoot.”
Jean said nothing, but he didn’t have to. Adi saw the last answer he wanted on Jean’s face, and his expression went grave. “Oh, but he wasn’t lying, was he? He would never, ever hurt you. I need to know that you know that.”
But he could, Jean thought, remembering how easily Rhemann had knocked Zane off his feet last night. Close behind that were stranger memories: Rhemann’s bone-deep weariness every time Jean skirted his gaze or tried to apologize for his Raven conditioning, agitated fingernails picking at a whistle when Jean offered contrition, and careful hands on his shoulders like he thought Jean might break under an indelicate touch. Jean fought back every easy deflection in favor of a disconcerting truth: