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)
“I know,” he said, avoiding Adi’s searching gaze.
“You sure?” Adi asked, and Jean forced a nod. Adi waited to see if anything else was forthcoming, then motioned to Jean’s empty plate. “Good, yes? I made Baba teach me before I left home. Difficult mornings deserve comforting food.”
“Yes,” Jean said. He’d never considered beef a breakfast meat, but it came together well enough. He tacked on a belated, “Thank you.”
“Tour of the place?” Adi asked as he collected his dishes. Before Jean could answer, Adi’s pager went off. Adi checked the number and whistled through his teeth. “Trust work to ruin the moment—looks like I’ve got to make a couple calls. Please make yourself at home. There’s plenty of coffee left, and the bathroom’s just up the stairs if you need it. Good here? Good. Sorry, sorry.” He sailed away, already rummaging through his pockets for his phone.
Jean sat alone for a few minutes more, but at last he collected his shoes and went on a slow tour. The entirety of Laila’s house could probably fit into the first floor with room to spare. It was comfortably cluttered, with wide, arched doorways that helped each room breathe. The TV in the living room was half-again as large as Cat’s, but it was the bookshelves that caught his eye. Every other shelf was devoid of books in favor of framed photographs. Jean spotted Lisinski in a few, and this one had to be Rhemann’s family: the three men standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him looked too much like him to not be siblings or first cousins.
More than half of the pictures were of just Adi and Rhemann. Jean lingered longest over a photo of the two men on a boat at sea. They were noticeably younger here, without any visible gray in Rhemann’s hair. Adi was holding up a tiny fish with unabashed pride while Rhemann laughed at his side. The photograph cut off near their waists, but Jean was sure that was a thumb showing around the flowing hem of Adi’s unbuttoned shirt. Maybe Rhemann was holding onto a railing that was just out of sight, but—
The sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor had him hastily returning the picture to its spot, but whichever man was on the move didn’t approach him. A door closed in the distance, sending the house to silence once more, and Jean retreated from the shelves with too many questions eating away at him.
The first office he passed had to be Rhemann’s, considering the place was wall-to-wall Exy articles and team photos. Jean knew better than to trespass but continued onward, first past a closed door through which he could hear Adi’s voice and then passing a laundry room with its own cabinetry and sink.
Eventually he found himself at the back door. The door was propped open, leaving just the screen door closed, and he peered out at a yard that was three times the size of Laila’s narrow one. Rhemann was on his knees in a garden bed, carefully prying carrots free of the dirt. Seeing him like this was bewildering; Jean had foolishly believed Rhemann ceased to exist outside of Exy. It was a ridiculous thought, seeing how he’d spent part of spring trapped with Wymack, but Jean honestly couldn’t imagine coaches having personal lives.
“Lend a hand?” Rhemann asked, pushing the brim of a floppy hat out of his eyes.
Jean had been caught. He toed into his shoes, let himself out, and took the stone path toward Rhemann. Rhemann showed him with a few careful tugs how to get the carrots free of the dirt, and he left Jean to finish the row while he went to inspect the next set of vegetables. Jean added his prizes one at a time to the half-filled bucket Rhemann left behind. Having something to do helped settle him. It was a defined task with expected results, and although it wasn’t Exy, it helped restore the hierarchy between them.
Rhemann returned with a few cucumbers, but he was slow to leave again. He studied Jean for a minute while Jean worked, then finally said, “Tell me how I can help you.” Jean slowly went still but refused to return his stare. Rhemann only gave him a few moments to come up with a response before continuing with, “I know you aren’t comfortable with me, and I know you don’t trust me enough to confide in me, but I need to know you’re safe. I need to know that you’re okay. Do you understand?”
“I’m okay, Coach.”
“Jean.” There was more regret in his name than exasperation. “Is there nothing I can do?”
Jean thought about Rhemann delaying an interview as long as he could and barring USC’s gates when the press followed the Trojans to class. He thought of Rhemann cleaning Grayson’s bloody bites himself and the careful way he’d strapped ice to Jean’s bruised ribs last night. He’d gotten Jean out of sight before the Trojans could see him, knowing Jean’s control was in tatters, and brought him here so he could recover away from their smothering concern.