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)
He noticed when Lisinski sat on the bench to watch them, but since she wasn’t at the door to call them off, he pushed his luck and kept Jean moving. Finally she got up and rapped on the court wall, and Jeremy set to work collecting the scattered balls. Jean pulled his helmet and gloves off before helping Jeremy tidy up. Between the two of them, it was easy work, and Jean trailed him off the court.
Since Lisinski had stuck around, Jeremy led Jean over to her. She gave Jean a once-over before nodding approval. “Form looks good. How do you feel?”
“Unforgivably rusty, Coach,” Jean answered.
“You’ll be back up to speed in no time,” Lisinski promised him. “You two have a few minutes to stop by Lyon with me? I want to check your baseline in case I need to adjust your routine.” Jean looked to Jeremy, who nodded easy agreement, and Lisinski motioned for them to precede her back to the locker room. “All right, then. Let’s get you in something easier to move in and I’ll give you a ride over there.”
They put away the balls and racquets first so Lisinski could take her keys back, then peeled off their uniforms and dropped them in the bins to be collected and washed. The shower room was too large for just the two of them, and they washed up facing opposite walls. Jean was in and out before Jeremy had even finished scrubbing down his body, and Jeremy sent a bemused look toward the door. He’d noticed since moving in that Jean took impossibly fast showers, but he’d assumed the sweat of practice would take a little longer to wash clean. He guessed the haste had to do with the Ravens’ airtight schedule, and he sighed a little as he picked up the pace.
Lyon was a short walk but a shorter ride, and Jeremy trailed the two as Lisinski put Jean on different machines. He went where she pointed and lifted whatever she asked, testing both the strain it put on his healed body and the consequences of three months sidelined. Jean wasn’t crass enough to complain about his performance to a coach, but Jeremy saw the muted frustration in his stare as he had to face his new limitations. Maybe Lisinski sensed it, too, because her comments leaned more toward optimistic than her usual brisk assessments.
All in all, it was a mixed success until Lisinski took them to the aquatics center. She was chatting away about the water aerobics program and its benefits with her back to them, so she missed the way Jean went still when he realized where he was.
Jeremy almost put a hand on his shoulder, decided at the last second he didn’t want to get decked, and settled for a quiet, “Hey. You good?”
“Good,” Jean said, toneless and unconvincing, and he moved to catch up with Lisinski where she’d stopped to wait for them. She half-turned their way as they stopped near her, but it didn’t take her long to realize Jean wasn’t listening to her anymore. He didn’t even react when she trailed off to consider him; he was staring at the pool like he thought it’d bite him if he looked away.
“Am I boring you, Moreau?” she asked.
“No, Coach,” Jean said.
Jeremy idly wondered if he was crossing a line. “I don’t think Jean can swim.”
Lisinski arched a brow at Jean. “A little old to not know.”
“No, I—I can swim, Coach.” Jean started to reach for his neck but caught himself halfway there and grabbed his necklace instead. His mouth was pulled to a bloodless line as he watched sunlight dance off the water, and he gave the silver chain an agitated tug before saying, “It has been many years, but I should remember.”
Lisinski studied him for an endless minute, then caught his shoulder and gave him a hard push toward the edge of the pool. He was too far from the edge for it to be a real threat, but Jean reacted immediately. How he got out of her grip and to the nearest wall so fast, Jeremy would never know, but Jean caught at it for balance when his legs threatened to give out on him and closed his eyes.
“Sorry,” he managed, thready and faint. “Sorry, I’m—”
If he had anything else to say, he lost it when he locked his own hand white-knuckled around his throat. Jeremy dove for him and grabbed his wrist. Jean’s heartbeat was like a hummingbird’s against his fingertips, and Jean shuddered so hard Jeremy felt it to his elbow.
“Jean, stop,” he tried. “Jean, you have to let go.”
Jean’s fingernails left bloody lines behind when Jeremy finally managed to drag his hand loose. Jean wrenched his hand out of Jeremy’s in favor of digging the heel of his palm into his temple. Every breath he managed sounded like it was ripping his lungs in half, too fast and too sharp and too short to help him. He had yet to open his eyes, but he turned his face away from Jeremy like he could feel the prying weight of Jeremy’s stare.