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)
Jeremy grimaced at the back of his head. “He’s been more honest since he transferred you to us. Maybe he’s almost ready to open up about it.”
“Sometimes you are unbearable.”
“Easy, both of you,” Rhemann said from up front.
His tone was calm, but Jean’s shoulders still hunched a bit at that hint of displeasure. The last minute of the ride passed in uncomfortable silence, and as they finally arrived at the stadium Jeremy saw the car hauler that was taking up an extraordinary amount of room. That the driver had made it through Los Angeles was genuinely impressive; that he’d made it around the tight turns at Exposition Park was a miracle bordering on ridiculous. Why he hadn’t switched to a smaller rollback when his load was only one car, Jeremy didn’t know.
The driver’s door was open. The driver himself was standing in the opening, leaning back against his seat while he smoked and played around on his phone. He looked up at their approach and zeroed in on Jean immediately. He flicked his cigarette aside, missed it completely when he went to step on it, and dragged a clipboard off his seat. A gesture toward his face indicated Jean’s tattoo, and he held the clipboard out when they were close enough.
“Marrow,” he said. “Sign here to accept delivery.”
“Moreau,” Jeremy said.
“That’s what I said.”
Jean didn’t seem to notice, too busy reading the short form he’d been handed. It looked like a standard workup from the hauling company; the top half was split between pick-up and delivery locations, and the bottom half had instructions on who it was to be released to. The next pages were the aforementioned title and associated paperwork, and a sticky note on the final page noted the car was no longer insured.
“Anytime this morning,” the driver said. “I’m an hour behind schedule.”
Jean slowly scrawled his name across the highlighted lines, and the driver scooped the clipboard back as soon as he lifted the pen. Jean’s keys were on the dashboard. The delivery driver handed them over without fanfare before going to get the car unloaded. Jean stared down at where the pair sat in his palm, looking very far away from here.
Getting the car offloaded only took a few minutes. Rhemann ushered his Trojans aside so the truck could finally pull out. While it would have been entertaining to watch it navigate out of the park, Jeremy was more interested in the sleek black car it left behind.
“Is that an S4?” he asked. “Not bad.”
Jean said nothing, so Jeremy went over alone to inspect it. The cross-country drive left it in dire need of a wash, but otherwise it looked brand new. The tires were in good shape and there wasn’t a single dent to be seen. The only sign it’d ever been driven was a small scrap of paper on the dashboard. Jeremy peered at it through the windshield, trying to read it upside down. It was a ticket stub for short-term parking at an airport.
He stepped back as Jean and Rhemann moved up alongside him. The distant look on Jean’s face made Jeremy think he hadn’t come over by choice, and he still was holding his keys like he was two seconds from catapulting them across the lot.
“Hey,” Jeremy said. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want it,” Jean said. “I don’t want anything from them.”
Jeremy knew that warmth in his chest was inappropriate, considering Jean was distressed, but for him to unhesitatingly reject Edgar Allan’s overtures was heartening. He hummed a little as he thought, then said, “You could sell it, but maybe give it a week to make sure you’re sure. I just don’t know what to do with it in the meantime,” he admitted, glancing it over. “We don’t have room at Laila’s place to store it so long as my car’s there, and it can’t really stay here.”
Rhemann gave Jean a minute to think it through before saying, “I could park it at home until you decide to trade it in.” Rhemann couldn’t miss the way Jean went so tense and still, and he sent Jean a sidelong look. “But I’ll only take it if you’re comfortable with me driving it.”
“I won’t let it be a problem for you, Coach,” Jean said. “I will figure something out.”
“If it was going to be a problem I wouldn’t have offered,” Rhemann said. “Just loan me a key until Monday so I can move it. Jeremy knows the way if you change your mind and want to come get it, but otherwise it can stay there as long as it needs to. I won’t even know it’s there.”
“Trust me,” Jeremy said. “Coach has room for it.”
Jean wasn’t reassured. “I can’t—” he started, but even he couldn’t think of a better solution. He fidgeted with his keys with a nervous restlessness, unable to impose on Rhemann’s generosity. Jeremy put his hand out but kept it out of Jean’s space: a silent offer rather than a demand. At length Jean grimaced and relinquished his keys with a quiet, “I’m sorry, Coach.”