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)
“Any you don’t want to keep, just stack here,” she said.
Jean nodded understanding before adding his to the pile. It was a relatively tame letter, all things considered, but highly inappropriate: the sender wanted insider gossip on Riko’s personal life. Jean was not going to indulge that.
One letter wanted to know if there were any differences in Exy between France and the United States, and another spoke of how disappointing it was to see the Ravens collapsing. The sender had watched Raven games for years, finding motivation in their flawless performances and unwavering dedication, and was horrified to see his idols falling apart. He didn’t outright blame Jean for it, but he did reference spring as the beginning of the Ravens’ end. The remaining few letters were less discreet. The variations on “He gave you everything and you betrayed him, he killed himself because of you,” were to be expected, but every version Jean read left a sour tang eating away at his mouth and throat.
“If this keeps up, we’ll perhaps look at getting you a PO Box,” Laila suggested as she set her approved letters within reach. “We can set up mail forwarding for anything in your name.”
“What if Kevin sends more postcards?” Cat asked, then passed Jean a letter from her pile with an, “Oh, you should handle this one.”
The return address was Marseille, but the sender’s name was the greater blow. Jean wasn’t sure what showed on his face, but Cat kept her hand extended in case he wanted to reject the letter. Jean shook his head and slowly set to work peeling the flap up.
“A teammate from youth Exy,” he explained, trying to picture her face. He’d been forbidden to spend time with anyone outside of practices and games and ordered by his parents to keep all conversations only to the sport, but she’d played alongside him for five years.
“To the arrogant loner of Sainte-Anne,” her letter began, before whiling its way toward a more thoughtful message. It seemed she’d been keeping tabs on him since the master first revealed his imported Frenchman. She’d heard the news about his parents’ arrest and was watching the ongoing manhunt for his missing sister. “Either my memory has been kinder to you than you deserve, or a lot of your strangeness finally makes sense,” she said at the end. “I will keep you and Elodie in my thoughts.”
Jean carefully folded the letter and set it aside. Cat studied his face for any sign of distress before tapping a finger to the envelope. “Can I ask?”
Jean looked where she was pointing. “It is my name. Was,” he corrected himself as he flipped the envelope over. “I do not answer to it anymore.”
“Bad memories?” Cat asked.
Letting her think that was easier than explaining the truth, so Jean only shrugged. Cat let it slide in favor of handing over two more envelopes she’d already vetted. Jean set hers atop Laila’s. The discard pile they’d each come up with was significantly larger than the letters safe to peruse. The western teams might now be willing to give him a chance, but the Ravens’ fans would forever be the greater and louder majority.
Jean wondered if he would always be the villain, if this mockery and hatred would chase him for the rest of his life. It didn’t matter. It didn’t; it couldn’t. All that mattered was that he played to the best of his abilities and kept the promise Neil made on his behalf. But such thoughts couldn’t sustain him, and the weariness that ate at him suddenly was bone deep.
“I am going to bed,” he said.
“You haven’t eaten,” Cat said.
The gnawing in his stomach was nothing next to the sick chill eating through his chest, so Jean waved her off and left. He put the approved letters on his desk to deal with another day and shut himself in a too-quiet room. Barkbark was propped up on the windowsill, smiling its inane canine grin at him. Jean went to it, sure today would be the day he tore it in two, but he caught himself even as he started to tug. With an irritated mutter he put the dog on Jeremy’s empty bed instead. At least flat like this it couldn’t watch him sleep.
It was hours before he could stop thinking long enough to drift away, and when he dreamed it was of the courts at Campagne Pastré.
-
Because the first game of the season was a home game, the Trojans were required to attend their Friday classes. Jean, who only had one morning class to sit through, tuned out the grumpy complaints of his less fortunate teammates. He expected today to follow the same pattern of handoffs as the first week, but Shane took him halfway across campus to rendezvous with Jeremy. Jean frowned at his captain but waited until Shane left to say, “You have therapy on Fridays.”