Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Most days Jean was in and out as fast as he could go. On bad days at Evermore, when he was beaten half to death and needed the heat on his aching muscles, he could tolerate longer showers by keeping his head out of the spray for as long as possible. It was still always a toss-up if his control would hold, but having the Ravens around helped. There were lines Riko wouldn’t cross when he had witnesses. Today Jean had no one, and the longer he stalled the more his thoughts tipped toward what was waiting for him in June.
He dug his fingers into his side over his ribs, looking for a residual ache to center him, and came back with nothing. At last he had no choice but to step into the shower, and he washed up so quickly he still felt dirty afterward. It almost wasn’t fast enough, and Jean gave in to weakness long enough to kneel in the tub after he cut the water off. He stayed until his knees ached and went numb, listening to his heart pound a deafening staccato in his ears, and sent his thoughts as far from him as they could go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jean
Jean made it two steps into the kitchen the next morning before his legs stopped working. Jeremy and Laila were at the counter in their swimsuits: Laila in a black one-piece with well-placed cutouts along her waistline and ribs and Jeremy in pale blue shorts that hung dangerously low on his hips. Looking at Laila for too long would be wretchedly inappropriate, all things considered, but staring at Jeremy was dangerous on too many levels to tolerate.
Damn him for looking just as good as a blond as he did a brunette. Jean knew his place; he knew his purpose. He knew that as a Moreau it was his lot in life to endure whatever sadism and degradation the Moriyamas saw fit to heap upon him. What he couldn’t stomach was the cruelty behind these nonstop temptations, from Kevin leaning into his space with a conspiratorial whisper, to Renee’s lips on his temple, to Jeremy with his easy laugh and easier smile.
“Yes?” Laila asked when he’d been staring a little too long.
He had the distinct feeling she was laughing at him, but Jean cut his losses and left.
At least they covered up for the car ride, the women with shorts and gauzy tops and Jeremy with a baggy USC t-shirt. The three of them were in a grand mood as they got on the road. If they noticed that Jean had nothing to contribute, they did nothing to bully him into speaking. He let their words go in one ear and out the other, content for now just to stare out the window and watch the city go by. It was a cloudless day, almost warm enough to be uncomfortable. Every storefront window they passed threatened to throw the morning sun right back at them, and Jean was belatedly grateful for the sunglasses Laila had forced him to buy.
It took a couple tries to find a lot with space for their car, but at last they parked a block away and could head down to the beach. Jean paused at the first soft crush of sand beneath his shoe, so caught off-guard by memories he couldn’t move. Cat and Laila kept moving forward arm-in-arm, with Cat singing the rest of a song they’d been listening to on the radio. Jeremy was closer to Jean, and he immediately noticed when Jean stopped.
“You good?” he asked.
“Marseille was on the coast,” Jean said. “The Mediterranean.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jeremy asked, looking absurdly pleased by this tidbit. “I’ve never been to Europe. Dad’s been stationed there a couple times, but…” He shrugged and didn’t bother to elaborate. “Can you tell me about France?”
“No,” Jean said, and the disappointed look that flickered across Jeremy’s face sent a jagged prickle through his veins. He should leave it at that; he needed to leave it at that. Instead he said, “I don’t want to talk about home. I wouldn’t trust my memories, anyway. I came to America when I was fourteen, but five years in Raven time are a lifetime.”
It was closer to seven and a half years in his head, but if Jean spelled it out like that, he knew what Jeremy would say. The look on Jeremy’s face said discretion hadn’t saved him, and Jean stepped forward like he could leave this conversation behind.
Jeremy kept pace. “That’s what I don’t get about you,” he admitted quietly. “This heinous crime was committed against you, against all of you, but you’re not angry about it. I mean, you’re angry at the little things, but not about what really matters. Coach Moriyama never should have put you through this.”
“Everything that happened to me happened for a reason,” Jean said. I am Jean Moreau. I am perfect Court. “I have no reason to be angry about what made me into this.”