CH7: Crossing Out the Good Years

Jeremy sat at the table in the Trojan lounge/media room, his feet kicked up on a rolling chair across from him. The screen of his Mac glared at him with untouched schoolwork, and despite his good—albeit pathetic—effort, Jeremy wasn’t getting anything done.

Most of his team was sprawled out across the couches, a few at the tables, and an unsurprisingly large number were face-first on the floor. They were athletes. And with the harsh transition from eight-hour to twenty-hour weeks with the start of Spring semester… Jeremy had found himself on the floor more often than not. They call it twenty-hour weeks, per Class 1 regulations, but that really meant twenty hours of coach-supervised training a week. The team had ‘on your own’ workouts to complete as well, so it was more like four or five hours a day of physical conditioning, not including the additional hours he dedicated to the team as the captain.

But shhh, Class 1 doesn’t need to know that. Plus, Jeremy didn’t know of a team in the top ten of the class that didn’t do the same thing.

He was exhausted—but God, did he love his team.

There was a slight pain in the side of his head, and he looked over. Laila had an arm slung around Alvarez’s shoulders and an arm stretched precariously close to Jeremy’s head, ready to flick him again. Alvarez was hunched over some work, diligently ignoring her girlfriend using her as a support.

“Feel better?” Jeremy asked, rolling his eyes. Laila smiled triumphantly.

“I do, thanks,” she said. “Are you lost in your head?”

“I like being at school,” he responded, shaking his head. Laila’s eyes flashed with concern. It wasn’t that he hated being home… he loved it, really, but there were too many memories and associations for him to break them all. And it wasn’t the ‘home’ itself or his parents that were the issues. It was all amazing, truly. The problem was Jeremy’s head, and the fact that it hadn’t been his home. Apart from when he was playing exy or being with the Trojans, it always took time for him to come back to himself after winter session.

She pushed off Alvarez a minute later, whose head came dangerously close to hitting the desk.

“Okay, fuck you,” Alvarez said. Laila leaned in and gave her a kiss on the temple without hesitation. Jeremy looked back at his team as Alvarez grumbled something like, you’re so fucking affectionate, you goddamn teddy bear. Laila threw back an ‘I love you, too.’

They had a special love language, that was for sure.

“Knox, you bastard,” someone said. Jeremy smiled and looked over right as Ashton threw himself on him for a bear hug.

“Oof, how it’s going man–” Jeremy’s world started to tilt as the chair toppled over backwards. Ash caught him before his head hit the ground, but then stumbled. They both landed on the floor with a thud. If Jeremy hadn’t been getting thrown into the plexiglass by his backliners, repeatedly, for the past week, it probably would’ve hurt.

“Ash,” someone—Madeline?—called. “You’re as graceful as a bull in a china shop.” Her voice was hard but there was a hint of humor (definitely Madeline). Jeremy shoved Ash off of him, laughing as his teammate pushed up to his elbows to glare at Madeline.

“Real original,” he said, winking. Jeremy knocked one of his elbows out, and Ash landed hard on his back and groaned.

“That’s what you get for tackling me,” Jeremy said.

“You’re a striker. It’s not my fault your reflexes are shit,” Ashton replied, cracking an eye open to look at Jeremy.

“You really wanna go?”

“Not really,” he said. Jeremy snorted.
“When you two feel comfortable parting with the floor, I’d like to say a few words.” Jeremy shot up, a smile splitting across his face as he locked eyes with his Coach. Jeremy took the first, unlabored breath since winter session started. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Knox.”

The team laughed.

It sounded like an insult, but Rhemann knew him too well. It meant so much more. If they weren’t in a room full of people, Jeremy would’ve tackled his coach similar to what his fellow striker did a few minutes ago. Rhemann gave him a nod that said he understood.

Jeremy stood and pulled Ash up with him. Ash plopped down on the couch right between Madeline and Cody, ignoring the couple’s protests. Coach Rhemann waited for the room to quiet down.

“I’m really proud of the work we’ve done these past two weeks of intensive training,” Rhemann started. “This round of testing just gave us another data point to add to our growing list. We have a strong foundation heading into this Spring. Physically, mentally—we are prepared. We’ve had a very professional training camp, with no drama, and continued competitive, dedicated work.

Remember: this is just a moment in time. This is one data point that we will use, and then continue pushing forward. Our sights are on the first match, right here, in nine weeks. The playing was really tight today. For our testing, we had a delta less than a second among the strikers, and one or two seconds for our defense and dealers. This is the closest our team has ever been, and the fastest we have ever been.

We will keep pushing forward. I’m looking forward to a great season. Let’s make it a championship one.”

Jeremy took a moment to look around the room. There were nods of affirmation, and a few hyped up shouts. A small number of his teammates held a quiet dedication in their eyes that vaguely reminded him of Kevin Day. This team… Jeremy didn’t know what he did to deserve it.

You earned it, a voice that closely resembled his therapist rang out in his head. Pfft.

“Knox?” Coach asked, prompting. Jeremy pulled back out of his mind.

“We all came out of the gate racing at the start of training camp,” Jeremy started. “I am proud of our competitiveness and our supportive environment. We push ourselves, we compete with each other for starting line-ups, but at the end of the day, we bring our teammates up.

As Trojans, we find our limits and push beyond them, with each and every player. We pick each other up. Let’s head into this season with that mindset.”

Jeremy would lay his life down for this team.

“Hands in,” Rhemann said. “Travis, call it.” The room was silent for a split second, and Jeremy felt his team slot into place.

“Trojans on three. One, two, three.”

“Trojans!” The team split, grabbing their bags and making their way out of the room. Laila winked at Jeremy on her way out, dragging a grumbling Alvarez behind her.

“I need a fucking nap,” Alvarez said.

“I know, babe.” Jeremy gave them a salute before turning to Rhemann.

His coach opened his arms, and Jeremy didn’t think twice before crushing him in a hug.

“Welcome back, Knox,” he said. “Missed you, kid.” Rhemann patted the back of Jeremy’s neck twice before they broke apart.

Coach looked him up and down, with the subtlety of an anvil falling on someone’s head. His eyes snagged on his neck.

Fuck.

Jeremy froze, some ugly mix of fear and anger dousing his body. He looked down.

Rhemann sighed.

“How was break, Knox? Dylan good?” Jeremy looked up at that, and a tentative, unconscious smile drew across his face. He avoided Rhemann’s eyes as he pulled up a chair and rolled one over to Jeremy. He waited until Coach sat and leaned back to straddle the chair in front of him. “Knox.”

Jeremy looked up again.

“Look at me.”

Oh. He looked up. Rhemann gestured for him to continue, and Jeremy knew he was genuinely interested.

“Break was good,” he started, a little hesitant. Rhemann’s patient eyes brought him back to himself—like always. “Dylan’s eleven, and has some good friends at school.”

“He’s still playing exy?” Rhemann asked. Jeremy raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not allowed to recruit in 7th grade, Coach.” Rhemann waved him off.

“If there’s another Knox out there, I want ‘em.”

“He’s a Navarro,” Jeremy said.

“Right, sorry.”

“Anyways, yes, he is still playing exy. Settled into a goalie position.” Rhemann nodded like he was already making line-ups, and Jeremy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “He’s a quiet kid, now. I think the lack of chaos with his mom and dad is rubbing off on him. He’s very different from me. Dylan honestly reminds me of the Fox’s goalie.” The thought made Jeremy smile. It looked like Rhemann wanted to say something, but he decided against it.

“What grad year is he…” Jeremy chuckled. “How are the parents?”

“Maureen’s good. We went on a few hikes and runs together. Calabasas is gorgeous—I still haven’t gotten over it. Anyways, she’s in the middle of marathon training, so I kept my runs to a half marathon. Daniel and I decided to hunt down all the old libraries and churches throughout Calabasas, Woodland Hills, and Los Angeles.”

“Good. And Dylan still loves them?” Jeremy nodded.

“They’re a family, through and through. I’m glad he got them at a young age.”

“He always had you,” Rhemann mumbled. Jeremy nodded. He didn’t want to open that conversation up again. “Did you… did you see Wendy?” Jeremy shrugged. “When?”

“Uh. The Tuesday before training camp,” he said, eyes dropping to Rhemann’s shoulder to avoid his face.

“Tuesday before? Almost two weeks ago?” Jeremy nodded. Coach stayed silent, though Jeremy knew it was in an attempt to control the tension radiating off his body. Rhemann was fiercely protective, and Jeremy knew that. Despite Jeremy’s intention to stay relatively distant freshman year (he’s been told to separate school and his home life for years), Coach never relented. It wasn’t until after the winter session his freshman year—in a situation oddly similar to the one they were having now—where Coach put his foot down.

Looking back, that was one of the best days of Jeremy’s life. Not in the moment, but his relationship with Rhemann completely changed once Jeremy stopped fighting it. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Did you stay overnight?” Rhemann asked.

“I was going to,” he responded. Rhemann snapped his fingers and Jeremy brought his eyes back up. He met a gruff expression, but it wasn’t unkind. “It was fine during the day, but then… shit happened.”

Rhemann gestured to his neck, and Jeremy raked a hand through his hair. He used to be embarrassed around Coach with this. It was pathetic, in Jeremy’s opinion. But Jeremy wasn’t one to resort to violence, even when someone inflicted violence on him—especially when inflicted on him. At the wrong moment and the wrong time, however, Jeremy sometimes lashed back, and he hated it.

Rhemann sighed, rubbing both hands over his face.

“Two weeks, Knox? Really?” It was a nasty bruise, even now, and Jeremy knew that. “What happened?” Jeremy shrugged.

“Mom and I were fine.” Rhemann passed him a harsh look. “Really! I swear. It was going well. Then her new idiot boyfriend came over and he said some words to my mom and I said some back. He came at me and I snapped and we fought. Then mom pulled him back and… took matters into her own hands.”

“And you didn’t fight back,” Coach finished for him. Jeremy clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Did she hit you anywhere else?”

“Yes.”

“Wendy did all that?”

“Her boyfriend contributed.” Rhemann was quiet for a few minutes, and Jeremy tried to block out his pained expression.

“Can I see?” Rhemann asked. “Or you can see the team nurse.”

“You. Tomorrow?” Jeremy asked. Rhemann nodded. Jeremy wanted to avoid the team nurse at all costs. It would bring in so much baggage that he really didn’t want to deal with. It was against regulation, but Rhemann kept it between them. While he wanted to ensure Jeremy was okay, he wouldn’t put it in his file as something that needed to be ‘cleared’ because of domestic abuse.

“Where did you spend the night? Huron isn’t close to Calabasas.”

“My car.” Jeremy was stuck between the need to look away and the urge to stare Rhemann down. He ended up doing some mix of the two—his face flushing red as he looked at his coach.

“Fucking Hell, Jeremy,” Rhemann snapped. “When are you going to stop going back?” Jeremy’s world seemed to rewind, pulling up memories that were old but throwing him back into feelings that never changed.

“Hey, Jere-bear,” his mom said, leaning on the railing outside her double-wide. Jeremy locked his car, breathing through instincts that made him simultaneously want to smile and flinch.

“Hey, Ma,” he said, going in for a hug. “Missed you.” She hummed in response.

“How’s school, kiddo? Everything good?” His Ma opened the screen-door and they went inside. This house hadn’t been the one Jeremy grew up in, but it was damn similar. Jeremy flopped onto the couch, resorting to an overly-casual demeanor when he felt the farthest thing from it.

“Yeah, it’s fine. exy is going well and the team is great,” he responded. She nodded, listening as she opened the fridge to grab a beer. The fridge door bounced back open after she tried to close it. Jeremy watched her push it closed twice before kicking it hard enough to leave a mark. He felt eight all over again.

“And, Dylan?” she asked. Jeremy shot her a glare that she didn’t see; his mom was too busy popping the cap off the bottle with the laminate kitchen-counter.

“I don’t want to talk about him.” That got his mom to look up.

“Well, I do. Is something wrong?” She paused. “I’m his mother, Jeremy. I’d like to know.” Jeremy took a breath and sorted through the words in his mind, searching for ones that wouldn’t ruin the relatively pleasant moment they were having.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then what’s the problem?” She took a sip.

“I will not talk about him with you,” Jeremy said. He’d talked to Dylan, at one point, about their mother. Dylan had been too young to have suffered so much—his mind blocked out most of it. Despite the fact that Jeremy wouldn’t let them anywhere near each other until he knew his mother was capable of a non-abusive relationship with him, Dylan didn’t seem very interested. Neither were Maureen and Daniel, for that matter.

“That’s rude, Jer. I deserve to know,” she said.

“Leave it alone, Ma, please,” he said. She shook her head, scoffing. They had this conversation every time.

“If you’re not willing to try, Jer, then what’s the point?”

“I am. Just take it one step at a time. Dylan will still be there after you’ve had a consistent relationship with someone else.” She laughed, taking a few more sips from the near-empty beer.

“What, with you?” Jeremy stared at her, but she just shrugged.

“Is that so bizarre?” he asked, quieter than before.

“No, it’s not. I just don’t get you, Jer. You come over here, to my house, oftentimes unannounced, and you won’t even bother to talk about anything other than you.” Jeremy didn’t know why it still hurt. It shouldn’t hurt anymore. He didn’t bother to mention the calls she left unanswered.

“That’s not it, Ma. Dylan has his own life and I’d like him to live it separate from us,” he said.

“You mean you want him to stay cut-off,” she fired back. “If you’re so ashamed of me, you should just leave.”

“I never said that,” Jeremy gritted out. “Can we have five minutes, Ma?”

“Oh, please. You always lied as a kid. I’m not surprised.”

“That’s–”

“Why do you keep coming back, Jer? We don’t need you here,” Ma said, kicking the fridge door closed again. A bottle rolled off the top and shattered to the floor. Jeremy dropped his face in his hands.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked.

“Like you fucking care,” she said.

“Ma,” Jeremy snapped.

“Me and Clifford.” Jeremy sighed.

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes,” she said, reaching up to grab the pack of cigarettes out of the bread container.

“Is he treating you right?” he asked.

“It’s none of your goddamn business if he’s treating me right, son.”

“Knox?” Jeremy flinched.

“I’m not having this conversation,” Jeremy whispered. He ignored how empty his voice sounded to his own ears.

“Knox–”

“No.” Rhemann sighed, his eyes turning slightly glassy.

“What caused that? It doesn’t look like just a punch,” Rhemann asked, gesturing to his collarbone. Jeremy wouldn’t answer if he didn’t want to. It was hard to resist the urge to isolate and fall back into his I’m-fine-on-my-own mindset after visiting his mother. Rhemann cared—Jeremy knew he did—and it meant the world to him.

“A water bottle or something. I don’t really remember.”

“How much damage?” he asked.

“Not the worst it’s ever been,” Jeremy said.

“That’s not very encouraging, kid.”

“Yeah, well, she usually doesn’t have any help,” he sniped.

“I’m sorry,” Rhemann said. Jeremy looked up, apologetic.

“Don’t be.”

“I just don’t like to see you hurt. I love you, kid,” Coach said, voice cracking the slightest bit at the end. Jeremy looked away, and for once, Rhemann didn’t call him on it. “You know if you ever need anything, you can call me, right? I’m not mad at you, but just know I would’ve driven my ass to Huron, middle of the night be damned. You know I’m up anyways.” Jeremy let out a light laugh.

“I know,” he said.

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want you to… see it. See me,” Jeremy whispered. It was true. He spent many nights at his lowest alone, and even telling Rhemann about it two weeks later, it still cut like a knife. Jeremy wasn’t at a place where he could ask for help at the moment.

“Next time,” Rhemann said. He sighed, wiping a few stray tears from his face that neither he nor Jeremy acknowledged. “Now, do you need a break, or can we talk about some team stuff?”

“Oh, Coach, I’m insulted. Have you ever met me?” Jeremy asked.

“Just because you have a never-ending well of time and energy for this team doesn’t mean you can’t take a break. A discussion today will still be a discussion tomorrow.” Jeremy waved him off. He was finally breathing normally. The Trojans, exy, his team—this was what Jeremy knew how to deal with.

“What’s up?” Rhemann sat up and rested his elbows on his keeps, locking eyes with Jeremy.

“A contract for a transfer was sent over today.” Jeremy sat up at that. Rhemann looked reverent, if not… scared? The Trojans were always open to the possibility of new players; Jeremy didn’t know why Coach seemed.

“Who is it?” he asked. “What team? What’s the problem?”

“He’s a great player. One of the best in the game, really, and definitely the best in his position,” Rhemann said. “I was told he’s injured, but ‘playable.’ I didn’t get many details, but he defected from the team due to a severe incident under the pretense that their ‘team environment is not suitable for his rehabilitation.’” Jeremy had no idea where this was going, but he was interested. “They didn’t tell me what the incident was or why he defected, but I’d bet my shit on mental health being at play too. I have a written guarantee, however, that he will recover to the quality player he was before. And, they predict that him being with us will allow him to become even better. If not, they said it will be ‘handled.’”

Rhemann used air-quotes, leaving Jeremy to assume he didn’t understand the situation any better than his coach did. They’ve had transfers before, yet they usually didn’t come with a written ‘warranty,’ which was weird for many reasons—one being the fact that warranties didn’t typically apply to… people.

With most transfers, also, they typically heard from the player before they got the official contract. The way Rhemann was describing it made it sound like they haven’t even talked to the player.

“He’s also from a team with an entirely different approach to exy than we do, especially when it comes to bending the rules. The transfer contract also ‘guaranteed’ that he would adapt and perform in the best interest of the team.”

This was all very interesting, but Jeremy really only had one question.

“Who?” he asked. Rhemann took a breath, his demeanor changing from scared and uncertain to almost intimidating.

“Jean Moreau.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened for a split second before a faint smile pulled across his face.

—

Nathaniel tried not to scoff as Katsu played Mario Kart on the big screen in Ichirou’s bedroom and pressed the phone up to his ear. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called someone, let alone with permission. Nathaniel ignored that and listened to the phone ring and ring.

And ring.

He didn’t have a clue as to what time it was on the west coast—hell, he didn’t even know what time it was outside the Nest—but if Knox didn’t answer his phone, Nathaniel would call again. Leaving a voicemail was out of the question, and he couldn’t care less if Jeremy was asleep or in class or playing exy or visiting family or at fucking church. He was going to answer his phone.

Luckily, three calls later, Knox answered the phone.

“Knox,” Nathaniel said.

“Who is this?” Jeremy asked, words fumbling out over a yawn. Part of Nathaniel wanted to be glad that he made him wake up.

“Nathaniel Wesninski.” He contemplated adding a ‘sir’ or ‘captain’ to the end of that, but Nathaniel figured that level of… superiority only came within the Nest.

And Jeremy Knox better pray to whatever God he believes in that his team isn’t like that in the slightest.

“Ah, Nathaniel. Nice to hear from you,” Knox said. There was a small hesitation over the phone, and Nathaniel chose to stay quiet. This was a losing battle for Knox. “You’re calling about Jean, I’d imagine?”

“Are you going to take him?” he asked. There wasn’t much of a choice, but Jeremy didn’t know that. Also, in the few interactions Nathaniel had with the USC captain, he doubted he’d let this opportunity slip by.

“There’s been no formal decision. I’m not really at liberty to say,” Knox responded. “I’m sure Moreau will tell you when he receives a response.” The comment stung, but with the Rainbow Road theme song in the background, the feeling disappeared quickly.

Nathaniel was apparently quiet long enough for Knox to start talking again.

“He’s a phenomenal player, as you know. We’d be privileged to have him on the team. I’m not legally allowed to disclose our decision until it’s in writing.” There was a slight pause and Jeremy’s voice sounded a tad less ‘captain’ when he started speaking again. “I’m sure you’ll be one of the first he tells.”

Nathaniel knew the comment came from a kind place. He didn’t care much, but he was sure many fans and players alike thought Jean and him were in some sort of a relationship. They weren’t necessarily wrong; it just wasn’t romantic.

“Can–” Nathaniel stopped himself. “I’m not here to talk player-to-player. I want to know because I care about him and I care where he is going.” He assumed, before he started the call, that he’d have to let some things slip to get a genuine response out of Jeremy. Luckily, those words didn’t hurt much.

“Okay,” Jeremy said, much softer than before, but his voice still carried a hard edge. “I still can’t tell you if the team will acce–”

“I’m not asking if the team will take him. I’m asking if you will,” Nathaniel said.

“Why?” he asked. “I think you and I, Nathaniel, have talked once in our entire collegiate career. If we do take Moreau, it will be a private team decision, and it’ll be up to him to decide if we can talk about him without him present.”

Nathaniel wanted to smile—genuine and full of relief. He had a feeling Jeremy was the right choice for Jean, but that one sentence sealed it.

That wasn’t going to stop Nathaniel from prying, obviously.

“Fine. I need you to listen, Jeremy, because I need to know if you will be there for him.”

“I– um. I take care of everyone on my team. What are you asking me?”

“He doesn’t need taking care of. Hell, the last person in the world who needs protection is that French bastard.” Nathaniel thought he heard Jeremy choke on something over the line. “I need someone to be there for him because I can’t.”

“Wait– he’s not with you?” Nathaniel sighed, wondering how to spin the truth that would have Jeremy understand without him hating the Ravens. Maybe, at some point, Jeremy would know the truth without coming after the team.

“I forced him out of the Nest,” Nathaniel said. “I had a very good reason, Knox. Something very… bad would’ve happened if he stayed.”

“What– excuse me?” Jeremy asked. He sounded much more awake.

“Jean didn’t want to leave. I need some blind trust, Jeremy, for you to believe me when I say his life was on the line. The Ravens are a fucking dedicated team—bordering on a cult. Jean, being a stubborn arsehole, will try to come back.” Nathaniel didn’t think he was explaining this very well, but there weren’t many details he could hand out. “I can guarantee that if he comes back, he won’t make it back out.”

“What is happening over there, Nathaniel?” he asked. Knox sounded less scared and more angry. Nathaniel didn’t know what he was expecting from Mr. Sunshine Captain (because if anyone knew how well pain could be hidden, it was him), but anger wasn’t his first guess.

“I can’t tell you. There’s nothing you could ever take to the NCAA or court. Please, Knox,” Nathaniel said. There was a long pause over the line where Nathaniel listened to Jeremy’s breathing. It seemed ragged, with intentional inhales and exhales, but not desperate.

From a young age, Nathaniel learned how to read people. Their breathing was always particularly telling.

Jeremy wasn’t trying to control panic over the line—no. He was controlling his anger.

“What do you need from me?” he asked. Maybe… just maybe, Nathaniel could tell why Jean had a crush on Jeremy. Not by looks, but because of this.

“He can’t come back here. He needs to be with you and alive. And, to do both those things, he can’t know that I was the reason he left. Don’t let him call this number,” Nathaniel said.

“I won’t control him.”

“I don’t want you to. For the first few weeks, just… try to keep me as far from his mind as possible. It needs to be impossible for him to get back here.” Nathaniel heard a small ‘oh’ across the phone.

“You’re the reason he’ll go back,” Jeremy said. Nathaniel didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

“I’m trusting that your team lives up to its sportsmanship bullshit because that’s why I sent him to you.”

“We do. It’s not bull–”

“I know,” Nathaniel said, a little too quick to be believable.

“They’re my team, Wesninski. They’re my life. Don’t question my word on how I treat them.”

“Knox,” Nathaniel started, bracing himself, “I can’t explain to you what he means to me. I can, however, give you a detailed explanation of how I will tear that team of yours apart, limb by fucking limb, if he gets hurt. I don’t care if he’s hurt on the court, but if he gets hurt by the team, I can and will wipe the Trojans from Class 1. I know how to flay you like a fish, Knox, and I won’t hesitate to pull the skin from your body if you damage him after the Hell he’s been through.”

Nathaniel wondered if Jeremy was going to hang up right then and there. He didn’t know what was going through the captain’s mind, nor did he care too much.

“I– I would never hurt someone,” Jeremy said, quietly. “I wouldn’t– I can’t do that.”

“Good.”

“But you don’t get to threaten or accuse my team again. Back down, Wesninski. You can do it to me, fine, but they are off-limits.”

“I won’t if you don’t give me a reason to.” The ragged breathing was back. “Jean can handle himself, but he’s never been out of the Nest. I just needed to know that you’d be there.”

“What’s the Nest?” he asked.

“It’s what we call the court and where we train.” Jeremy hummed and was silent for a few moments.

“Wesninski,” Jeremy said. “Would you like to transfer, too?”

Nathaniel’s mind went blank. He– what?

“No,” Nathaniel said. That was usually a good answer to most questions.

“If you’re unsafe, Nathaniel, we can get you out of there.” Nathaniel let out a bitter laugh. Jeremy had a level of kindness that Nathaniel couldn’t understand.

“You can’t get me out.”

“It’s unsafe.”

“It is,” Nathaniel agreed. “I had the option. I chose Jean.” Jeremy didn’t respond to that. “I appreciate it, I guess. I wouldn’t fit in with your team, though.”

“Well… you could adapt,” Knox said. It was lighthearted, and Nathaniel was thankful for that.

“I’m an arsehole. Ask Jean. I’m sure he’ll tell you I was a pain in his arse.”

“You two seem great,” he said, almost fondly. “It’s almost 3am here… is that all?”

“Sure,” Nathaniel said. “Thank you, Knox.” Nathaniel always bent his rules when it came to Jean.

“Take care, Wesninski. Remember that my offer always stands,” he said.

“I look forward to crushing you and Moreau in the Spring.”

“Hah. We’ll see how the cards play out. I’m sure it’ll be a good fight,” Knox said. It was going to take Jean awhile to get used to that flavor of shit-talking. Nathaniel remembered something, right before Knox hung up.

“Oh, Knox?”

“What’s up?”

“Jean and I aren’t dating, by the way. Just for future reference,” he said. Nathaniel had to set his partner up for success. He hung up before Jeremy could respond.

Nathaniel stared at the phone. He sometimes forgot how mean he could be—and how cruel he wanted to be. Everything with Jeremy seemed to be unfolding as well as it could be.

But Nathaniel… he felt violent.

He wanted to be violent.

He wanted hurt. Whether towards him or someone else, he wasn’t sure. Worst of all, Nathaniel didn’t think he cared which answer it was.

If everything truly went according to plan, the next time he’d talk to Jean would be during a game. He wanted it that way, right? That had been the whole point, hadn’t it? Right. Yes.

He glanced up when Katsu released an impressive string of profanity. On the TV, a weird, green dinosaur driving a red car fell off the side of a dirt road that circled some sort of dotted egg.

“What is that?” he asked Katsu, who looked over his shoulder. His eyes traced across Nathaniel’s face before his own lips pressed into a thin line.

“You look like shit,” Katsu said.

“Thanks. Would you like an award?” Nathaniel asked. Katsu laughed.

“It’s called Mario Kart. You pick a character and race to see who finishes three laps first. There are a few different tracks. Come play.” Katsu knocked his head to the side, inviting Nathaniel to join him on the couch.

“No thanks. I think I’m going to go back to the Nest,” he said. It had been almost two days, and Nathaniel would prefer if Riko didn’t get more pissy than he already would be. Katsu paused the game at his words despite looking reluctant to do it. Nathaniel, not for the first time, wondered if Katsu had a childhood… because it didn’t seem like it.

Who was he to judge, though?

“You sure?” he asked. “Why don’t you stay here another night? They’ll live without you. I’m sure they’ll be happy about it.” Nathaniel flipped him off.

“I miss exy,” he said.

“Really,” Katsu said.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. What’s your problem?” Katsu shook his head.

“You sacrifice a lot for that sport.” Nathaniel shrugged.

“It’s the only thing I have left.” Katsu nodded, then held up a finger. He went towards the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Katsu pulled out a pack of gummy bears and tossed them at Nathaniel.

“Riko will kill me,” Nathaniel said. Katsu actually looked disgusted by the thought. Nathaniel figured it had more to do with Riko than it did his death.

“You're not his anymore. He can deal,” Katsu said.

“Good luck telling him that.”

“If he tries anything, you call me.”

“You can’t be serious,” Nathaniel whispered.

“Deadass.” What? “I’m serious. One, you’re not his. Two, Ichirou would be pissed. Three, I prefer to hang out with you when you’re conscious. You ignored my funny jokes when you were bleeding out.”

“You fucking wanker,” Nathaniel said. “I don’t have a phone.” Katsu pointed to the one in his hand.
“That’s yours,” he said. “Really. Do with it what you please.”

Nathaniel slowly nodded, and left with the phone and the gummy bears.

He left the room, making his way to the elevator as if on auto-pilot. He got in and let the doors close without pressing the ‘down’ button. Nathaniel rested his head against the cold metal of the wall, pulling in even, steady breaths. At least, that was what he told himself. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck and felt over the distinct bumps and ridges of his new burn.

His other hand was moving before he registered it, too busy trying not to hyperventilate.

Too much change. His entire reality shifted. It wasn’t that he liked his life—but it was familiar. He knew what to do with Riko’s tantrums, the Master threatening him with Nathan, the senior Ravens using him for a good fuck. It was sick, but he knew what to do. He didn’t know what to do now. Part of him wanted to believe that it was better. He wanted to think that Ichirou was a savior, rather than another person holding a leash that tightened and tightened.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

Nathaniel wasn’t a thing.

He was.

He was.

He was.

“In and out, Abram. Imagine the rebound-drill we used to do. Follow the repetition. In and out. Again and again.”

Nathaniel pictured the ball hitting the plex-glass and him catching it in his net on the rebound.

He swung.

It hit the plexi, rebounded. He caught it.

Again.

He swung.

Then someone caught it. Someone, in his mind, had blond hair, an apathetic expression, and daring eyes. Nathaniel breathed.

“In and out, Abram,” Andrew said. Nathaniel wasn’t sure how he got on the phone, but he would have collapsed in relief. A number was sent to his burner phone a day or two ago yet he hadn’t meant to use it now.

The doors opened with a ‘ding’ and Nathaniel took steady breaths as he headed into the Nest.

“Drew,” he said. They both ignored how it sounded more like a prayer than a name.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, Junkie?’’

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he said. Andrew hmm-ed over the line as Nathaniel made his way through the Red Hall, keeping his eyes down as he passed Riko’s door. It was closed, so Nathaniel didn’t know why he bothered. “Shit happened with Lord Moriyama.”

“‘Shit’ I’m assuming you can’t tell me about,” Andrew responded. Nathaniel knew he wanted to know… but he also knew that Andrew likely put his safety above his own (among other things). He wasn’t stupid. If telling him something about the Moriyamas would pose a greater risk to Nathaniel than a benefit to him, he wouldn’t pry.

“No,” he responded, walking into his room and pausing in the middle. Nathaniel didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to sit on Jean’s bed, and the last thing he wanted to do was go near his own. “At least, not yet. How’s Jean?”

“He’s a stubborn asshole,” Andrew said.

“You’re one to talk.” Andrew didn’t respond. Nathaniel eventually heard Andrew cough a few times over the line. “Are you sick?”

“No,” he said, voice ragged in a way that stirred way too many emotions in Nathaniel’s mind. “Happy pills.” Then it was Nathaniel’s turn to try and control his breathing.

“Do you– do you want to be on them?” he asked, tentatively. The Andrew he knew four years ago would’ve hated the idea, but a lot could change.

“No,” Andrew said. “Didn’t you read? ‘Court-mandated.’” Nathaniel scoffed. He’d read the papers and thought it was still just as stupid now as it was then.

“That’s so–”

The door opened with a crash, making Nathaniel flinch so hard he almost dropped the phone.

An angry-looking Riko was seething in the doorway, one hand still pressed against the black frame. He looked a little worse-for-wear and Nathaniel was enjoying every minute of it.

Enjoy first, panic second. That was always his motto.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, Wesninski?” Riko asked.

“None of your goddamn business,” he spat, just because he could. Except, with Ichirou, his insults were no longer empty threats.

Riko started towards him, but Nathaniel felt no urge to move. For once in his life, his words would actually mean something.

They actually held weight.

The sadistic fuck grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back. Nathaniel looked into those eyes, so filled with rage, and felt the overwhelming urge to smile.

“I suggest you back off, Riko,” Nathaniel said, enunciating every sound in his name just to piss the bastard off. And boy did that work. Nathaniel couldn't remember the last time he hadn’t called him ‘king’ to his face.

“You’re going to have a long fucking night, Wesninski. Who are you talking to?” Riko spat on his face and Nathaniel bared his teeth.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. Riko went to grab the phone, but Nathaniel slipped it in his pocket before he could. He was glad his mother’s paranoia prevented him from assigning Andrew’s name to the number. These little acts of defiance were what made Riko flip his lid. He had all of his priorities in the wrong spots.

“Get on your knees,” Riko said, deadly quiet. Nathaniel almost laughed

“You can’t fucking touch me, Riko,” he said. Riko was a power-bent, idiotic person; he was harmless, though, compared to the real dangers in Nathaniel’s life. He wasn’t denying that Riko knew how to cause pain and make his life a living Hell—but it wasn’t true fear he associated with him.

Riko leaned in close and Nathaniel’s body locked up without his permission. His lips brushed Nathaniel’s ears, but the words rang loud and true.

“I have before, Nate, and I will again,” Riko purred.

“Take a good, long look at the back of my neck before you do anything stupid enough to actually give your brother a reason to talk to you.” Riko started shaking. He pulled back, staring at Nathaniel with wide, deranged eyes. He seemed to be searching Nathaniel’s face for something he didn’t want to find.

“Is– is that where you’ve been?” he asked. Nathaniel smiled the moment Riko’s eyes registered the raised scars peeking over the side of his neck.

“Something wrong?” he asked, innocent. “Or have you finally got it through your thick skull that I’m ranked higher than you are?”

“Wh– what does he want with you?” Riko asked. Nathaniel shrugged. He already got what he wanted. Riko seemed to snap back to himself a moment later, too many emotions flashing behind his eyes. “I might not be able to touch you, Nate, but God knows Johnson can. And Baustin.”

Nathaniel stopped breathing, and Riko—the little fucker—noticed.

“Do you really think they’ve done their worst?” Riko laughed like Nathaniel was a small child that didn’t understand the real world; like he reveled in being the one to take any remaining innocence left within him. “There are so many ways they can touch you, Nate. So many ways you can be breached. If you’re really whoring yourself to my brother—because, let’s face it, you’re only good at being tied down and used, and I can’t think of any other reason he’d want someone as defiled as you—then I would say the games are just getting started.”

Riko pushed off of him before he could respond.

Nathaniel didn’t know Riko could dig that deep.

He hadn’t thought.

And the worst part of all? Riko wasn’t wrong.

When the door to his room slammed shut, Nathaniel snapped back to the present.

Fuck.

He pulled out his phone, wondering how much of that Andrew heard, but the screen only said one thing.

Call failed.

—

Andrew’s hand continued to curl around the device. Shards from the screen dug into his palm, creating a mosaic of tiny lacerations.

I have before, Nate.

He let the crushed phone fall to the roof.

Get on your knees.

He needed to get a new one.

And I will again.

He needed to get Abram out.

---