Chapter Text
“You can tap or swipe,” the cashier told him, and fuck if Neil had an answer for that. He swallowed, wondering if they would chase him very far if he just grabbed his purchases and ran. He’d already set the package of cigarettes next to a stale sandwich. He could snatch them and be out the door before anyone had realized what had happened. But there were fewer people here than in New York, and he was trying not to draw attention to himself. He pulled out his cash and, thankfully, the cashier took it without arguing; Neil had discovered that some places didn’t take anything but credit cards, and that they would become angry if you tried. Neil had been too numb to do anything but blink sluggishly when he’d been screamed at for it, on what he was now calling Day One. Day One without a roof over his head. Day One without Andrew. Day One of him deciding that he would rather live.
It was taking the cashier a while to count out his change. Long enough for Neil to spot the rack of pocketknives behind him. “One of those, too,” he said, pointing at one with a black handle. This seemed to annoy him, but he dutifully grabbed one and set it down next to the cigarettes. Neil shoved his purchases and his change back into his duffle bag and left, keeping his shoulders hunched and his eyes down. Just like he had once a day, every day, since he left.
Neil had also learned in the past week that most hotels wanted you to pay with a credit card. And that they wouldn’t let him rent a room without showing his driver’s license. He’d tried three in this town before breaking down and asking the clerk if he knew of one that didn’t require identification and took cash–and had been pointed toward the edge of town, to a building with ten of the most disgusting rooms Neil had ever seen. Now, at least, he knew what to look for. He would take the scratchy, smoke-scented bedspreads to the soft linens of the Aman any day. The wind whistling through the gaps in the windows to Ichirou’s hands on his hips. Because for the very first time in his life, Neil was able to sleep as a free man.
“You won’t die with his tags on you,” his father had told him, and in the moment Neil had only understood that he was in pain, and that he was going to die regardless. Now, as he pulled his stolen flannel around his chest, felt the cold air pierce his lungs, he understood.
He hadn’t died. He hadn’t expected to get far, not really. He’d expected to be caught and dragged back to Ichirou that very night, the night he’d left Andrew in the motel room. But Day One turned into Two. Then Three and Four, and then suddenly Neil had bigger problems to worry about.
Like how cold it got at night, and his ever empty stomach. The hunger came and went, regardless of what he ate or how often, disappearing for hours at a time only to come back when he least expected it to. In the nest, even deprivation had a schedule to it. Neil would eat, and then he would not eat, the day planned down to the minute. He knew that hunger was worse after practice, and that it would eventually disappear if he waited long enough. Now it was like everything else in his life: unmoored.
Neil wolfed three-quarters of his sandwich down, wrapping the rest of it carefully for later. He checked his burner phone, which had been mostly silent. Once, he’d received a text from Andrew. A single period, which he replied to immediately. And then nothing. Nothing even from Jean. During the moments when Neil was learning to adapt to this new world, he knew it was likely because they were afraid for him, and trying to keep him safe. Neil hadn’t tried to call them for the same reason–he had already put them in so much danger, calling at the wrong moment could cost Andrew his life.
But during the moments where Neil paced his hotel room, when the night was so still that Neil wanted to scream–he knew that they were done with him. He would spend the night waiting for the door to be swung open, revealing Tabe, Hisashi, Ichirou himself–and yet, he was unable to lock it, certain that the door would somehow seal from the outside.
Neil already felt on-edge, and the sun had not even gone down yet. He decided to try offering to pay double for the person at the front desk to take a photo of their own driver's license, and was relieved when it worked. Andrew’s money was easily the heaviest thing in the duffle bag, but Neil knew he couldn’t afford to waste it, not with no way to replace it as it was slowly traded for a place to stay, food to eat. His existence like this had a deadline, even if he wasn’t found.
This city was close to the ocean; he could smell the salt on the air as he shut himself inside and dropped his bag to the floor. He threw the lock and lapped the small room, making sure that he was alone. He still wasn’t used to seeing himself with brown hair; the mirror made him startle when he made eye contact with himself, so he forced himself to look.
Bright blue eyes. Cheeks smeared with concealer that changed the color, but not the texture, of his face. Dark brown hair that looked like it belonged to someone else. A stolen shirt. Yellowing bruises.
The sound of his phone vibrating caused him to flinch, but once he realized what was happening, he dove for it, ripping it out of the bag and staring at the screen, a mixture of panic and excitement causing him to shake so badly he nearly couldn’t accept the call.
Jean.
“J-Jean?” he asked, barely able to breathe.
“Neil.” The sheer relief that flooded Neil, upon hearing Jean speak to him, was only matched by what came down the line at him. Neil collapsed onto the bed, making the worn out springs groan in protest. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Are you…alright?” Jean finally asked, and Neil blinked, unsure of how to answer the question. It was like whiplash, trying to find himself in the mirror, and now being expected to know how Neil was.
“Too much. Alright. Let us start here, are you injured?”
“No,” Neil said, touching his fingertips to the bruising that would be gone in another week or so. “I’m fine.”
“I am sorry I did not try to call sooner. Renee forbade it.”
Neil let out a weak huff of laughter. “I don’t blame her.”
“It was wrong of her,” Jean said baldly. “I should have called anyway. But it took some time to calm her down. Allison is here, Allison Reynolds. The four of us are working–”
“I’m sorry,” Neil blurted, and Jean’s words trailed off.
“Why are you sorry, Neil?”
“I–”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I–I don’t–”
“You do not have to tell me if you do not want to.”
“I couldn’t do it. Anymore, I mean. I just…couldn’t,” he finished lamely, aware of how weak it sounded. He’d played the final moments in his apartment over and over in his head, like a game replaying on tape. Rewinding, categorizing every movement, trying to justify his inability to give Ichirou what he wanted. He couldn’t pinpoint what had caused him to panic. In hindsight, it hadn’t been anything. Nothing close to his worst night. And now he was here, and Jean was there, and they were both without protection.
“It wasn’t anything,” Neil said. The pain in his stomach now was worse than what he’d felt that night, even with Ichirou’s fists raining down on him. But he needed to explain, he couldn’t allow Jean to think that it had been something he was forced to do. “It wasn’t even bad–”
“Neil,” Jean cut him off. “You do not have to justify your actions to me. I am happy that you left, do you understand me?”
“You won’t be when they come for you,” Neil snapped, getting to his feet. “If they haven’t come after you yet, they will. They’re going to kill you for what I did. Ichirou’s deal was clear, for my–for me. And I–I fought him, Jean.”
He didn’t know how to interpret the sound Jean made.
“I just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m not supposed to be here. When Andrew–when I called Andrew…” Neil looped the strap of the duffle bag around his palm and tugged on it, so the nylon bit into his skin. “He said I had a choice. That I could choose.”
“And you chose to leave.”
“I chose to leave, and he helped me.” Neil couldn't quite get himself to voice the other option Andrew had given him. A part of him was ashamed for ever admitting that he’d been brought so low. Another part of him, a part larger than he wanted to admit, told him to hide it. Because if no one knew it was there, it could not be taken away. And Neil wasn’t sure that he’d made the right choice.
Jean was quiet for a moment. “You might be right, they could decide that the best punishment for this would be to kill me. So what do you want to do, Neil?”
“I could–” Neil began, but cut himself off.
“You could what, Neil?” Jean asked softly. “Go back?”
It felt like he’d swallowed something that clung to the lining of his throat, when he nodded mutely. He knew Jean couldn’t see him, but the silence spoke for itself.
“Walk me through it,” Jean said, his voice neutral. “You would get on a bus.”
“I would get on a bus, yeah,” Neil said, when he was finally able to speak. Just allowing the thoughts that had nipped at his heels these past few days felt like lead in his stomach. “And I would go–”
“You would go. Where?”
Neil swallowed.
“Where would you go, Neil?” Jean’s voice had a level of steel in it that Neil was unaccustomed to. A measure of threat. Not that he would hurt Neil, he never would. But enough force that Neil knew he wouldn’t allow him to end the conversation.
“I would go to his penthouse,” Neil said, knowing that his voice was barely a whisper. “I would go there, and apologize.”
“You would apologize,” Jean repeated. “And then what?”
“He would–he would accept.”
Silence.
“He would accept that I–I came back,” Neil finished lamely, knowing before Jean opened his mouth that it wouldn’t be accepted. He expected for Jean to lose his temper with him, as he had in the past. But if anything, Jean’s voice had softened.
“This is important, Neil. Go back. What would he do to you? Before he accepted?”
“He would hurt me,” Neil answered. “He would hurt me, for running away.”
Jean let it stand for long enough that Neil’s body had begun to shiver uncontrollably. He thought Jean might be able to hear his teeth chattering.
“Neil, I need you to listen to me very, very carefully. You know that I love you. You know that I could not love you any more than if we were born brothers.”
“I love you too, Jean.”
“He would kill you.”
Neil made some sort of noise, in the back of his throat, not a protest, but not an acknowledgement either.
“He will kill you. Or he will make it so that you can never leave again. You know what Riko was like when Kevin left. If he had gotten him to return? For a single night? He would never have allowed him to live. Men like that, when they own people, there isn’t a world in which you can exist with them otherwise. The power breaks them. You will not survive going back, Neil.” Jean took a rattling breath, and Neil realized that he was on the verge of tears. “Is that what you want?”
Neil should have known that Jean, of all people, would hear what he had not said. He collapsed back onto the bed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, closing his eyes.
“Then let me tell you what I want, Neil. I want you a thousand miles from Ichirou Moriyama. I want to go to sleep without worrying about wether you’re halfway across the world getting raped or not. I want to be finished with the Moriyamas.”
“Jean–”
“Ichirou used me to bind you. He used my life as a leash to force your good behavior, and you did not stop and think for a single moment that you were doing the same for me. So long as you were in arm’s reach, there was a limit to how far my tether would allow me to stray.”
“You have a family,” Neil choked out. “Jeremy. Renee.”
“I do have a family,” Jean agreed. “Jeremy. Renee. You. Kevin. Ten years ago, I would have thought not even this was possible. And now it’s not enough.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am not a thing. I am not going to live and die as a thing to be passed around and used. I am a man. A man who has chosen his own partners to share his life with, and I will not meet them as anything less. I am done being afraid. I am done being owned.” His voice had built as he spoke, and Neil could imagine him pacing, allowing himself to fill the room in a way they were taught never to do. He wondered if his partners were watching. He hoped so.
“I have had years to think about this. And I am sorry that you have only had days to figure this out, all alone. And I am sorry that I have to push you right now. But you cannot go back, and I will not allow you to think that anything they do to me is your fault. Do you understand? That’s what they do. That is what they have always done to us. And we spend so much time trying to spare the other harm that we allow them everything.”
“Jean–”
“Let them come for me. My only asset is my anger. And now that they no longer have you, there is nothing that they can–”
”Don’t be stupid,” Neil snapped, his own fear making his words sharp. “They know where you are. They’ll come for you.”
“That is likely,” Jean said, with far too little waiver in his voice. “But it will not be because of you. It will be because of the decisions I have made. Do you understand, Neil? The difference in making this choice myself, and leaving my life in their hands?”
He did understand. “You want me to promise you. Not to go back on my own.”
“Yes.”
It would have been the easiest way. It wouldn’t have even been that much of a surprise; he’d expected them to drag him back anyway. Andrew would have been angry, yes, but he would not have been shocked, if Neil had lost. Neil couldn’t see what he would be in a year, like this. But he could see himself kneeing with a gun pressed to his temple, clear as day.
The problem was that he could see Jean, like that. He’d spent hours imagining it. Jean, free. Jean, surrounded by the people he loves, unafraid. It had been what he’d clung to, while Ichirou remade him.
“I promise,” he said finally. Jean didn’t ask him to repeat it, probably because it sounded so wet. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed, staring up at the water stained ceiling. To his surprise, Jean laughed. A real, honest laugh that almost made him want to join in.
“And you think that I did?” Jean asked incredulously. “I was a complete disaster. I had nothing. I wanted to die. My only friend in the world had cast me out–”
“Are you ever going to get over that?”
“Non.”
Neil huffed out a small laugh, that was nearly a sob.
“Listen to me. Would I lie to you?”
“Yes,” Neil said, immediately, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.
“Well, then it is going to be alright,” Jean said, and Neil could hear the humor in his voice. “We are both going to be just fine. Try to get through one day at a time. Do not worry about the long term right now. Just focus on being safe. We can figure everything else out later. And Neil?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to watch the games,” Jean said softly. “You won’t be able to, but try anyway.”
_____________
Neil tried. He did. But the following night he found himself in a hotel early, well ahead of the coin toss.
Neil thought he was ready for the ache in his heart, seeing the Barons sweep onto the court without him. He was unprepared to see the consequences of his choices painted on Andrew Minyard’s skin, the violence etched there. The way his steps were altered, taut from pain. The way his eyes never settled or focused, as he shut the other team out. Neil made himself watch every single second, knowing that it was his fault. Jean tried to call twice, once during the game and once after, but Neil couldn’t move to answer it. Instead, he’d crawled into the dusty sheets of the motel and slept for so long they tried to break the door down the following day. He’d slipped out of the bathroom window and walked along the highway until someone stopped.
Neil hadn't even asked where she was headed, or who she was, and any time the stranger asked him a question, he stared out the window until she turned the radio on. Hours later when she stopped for gas, Neil slid out without so much as a thank you, and kept walking.
________________________________
“Name?” asked the barista, flicking their eyes up at him expectantly. Neil hesitated, his brain freezing. He couldn’t use his name. He couldn’t leave any trace of himself, not even his first name written on the side of a paper cup. Not if he wanted to live. The barista’s eyebrows climbed into their hairline as Neil stammered, and he knew he was hesitating too long. He should run. He should bolt for the door and hope that they forgot his face.
“Allison,” he finally stammered, the first name that came to him that wasn’t his own. To his enormous surprise, the barista’s eyes softened, and they took his name down diligently. They even gave him an extra pastry on his way out, which would be welcome for the long ride.
Neil was in Atlantic City; if he meant to keep his word to Jean, he needed to be much farther from New York. The streets were packed with commuters, even at such an early hour, bumping into Neil and making him stumble as he entered the station. He needed a fake driver’s license, with a name he could repeat over and over until he could make it his own. He would need a car, eventually.
Neil couldn’t have named what caused him to freeze, entering the station, but some long-buried instinct ripped his gaze from the departure schedule and landed on Stewart Hatford’s profile as he made his way through the crowd, his back to him. Neil ducked left, into the restroom, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He made for a stall and then changed his mind, instead ignoring the bewildered look from a man washing his hands to put a foot on the radiator and rip open the window. He counted the seconds between when he’d had to shove his bag through first, until the strap was safely across his chest again. He couldn’t believe they’d caught his trail not a single day after he’d promised they wouldn’t. He made himself walk slowly, not drawing attention to himself, until he could duck behind a sandwich shop and use the fire escape to crawl as far upward as he could.
When he finally reached the rooftop, he crawled on his stomach over the rough gravel, daring to peer out above the lip of the building. Stewart Hatford was outside now, lighting a cigarette, joined by the man Neil had seen only a handful of times, Lucas Atwell. No Moriyamas, at least, not yet. He wondered if they were hunting him for themselves, or if they would turn him over to Ichirou, if they caught him. He pressed himself down flat as the harsh ocean wind whipped through his hair, and closed his eyes.
They didn’t find him.
Neil stayed on the roof for hours, until he could no longer feel his face, or the rocks digging into his hips. Over the course of the morning he’d seen Jamie as well, but no Moriyama men. Not yet, anyway. He knew that it was best to stay put, but his brain would try to force him up, to move, certain that he had been spotted at least once every hour. He wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he needed to leave, but going anywhere now was a risk.
It didn’t rain in the night, but Neil decided very quickly that if he was going to sleep outside, he needed to steal a better jacket. His collar had frost from his breath when dawn finally came, and only the rabbit fur gloves had saved his hands from becoming useless. He hoped that they’d decided he wasn’t here, and had moved on. Neil had meant to be down at the ticketing booth as soon as it opened, but when he had tried to stand, his legs had been both asleep and too cold for too long. It had taken almost an hour of panting through trying to straighten them to get them to work, and he still limped as he made it back down to the ground.
This time, he spotted the Hatfords before he’d even entered the station, and changed direction, trying to think.
Neil couldn’t quite place the feeling that went through him, when he first saw the Armenian, when they locked eyes across the street and he saw the recognition dawn in those dark eyes. The way the older man’s face came alight with excitement. Fear, yes, he felt fear, ground down into the bottom of his belly like it had been waiting for him, but it took him a few precious seconds to name the rest of it. Those seconds, the Armenian spent closing the distance between them, the bulk of his body sliding past clueless strangers, cutting through the bodies slowly, deliberately.
It was betrayal. Neil felt betrayed, some part of him unable to process that Ichirou had sent this man to hunt him down. This man, whose left hand bore the reminder that Lord Moriyama had once mutilated him for touching what was his. Neil had once been protected from this man. Before Neil had spat in the face of Ichirou’s protection, he would have been untouchable. But now the Armenian had been sent to fetch him, his owner unconcerned with what would happen to Neil between the time that he was found, and the time what was left was presented to him. He’d known, yes, that he had irrevocably altered what lay between them when he sank his teeth into Ichirou’s leg, but somehow being faced with the proof that Lord Moriyama would see him fucked and torn apart before he saw him free was not something he was able to understand, not fully, until right here, right now. Even Jean telling him that he would die, should he go back, felt more like a bet against what he could withstand rather than intentional truth.
He had wasted too much time. The Armenian was almost within reach, almost close enough that if he ran forward, Neil would have no time to react. He remembered the way Lola’s hand had slid so sweetly into his own when she took him. He knew this would be different. He wondered if the Armenian would wait until they were alone to sink his teeth into his neck.
Neil ran, and worse, he knew as he finally forced his legs to move, that he’d been allowed to flee. The look of hunger was too overshadowed by satisfaction; he believed he had Neil, that there was nowhere for him to go.
In front of him was a Moriyama man, one Neil only vaguely recognized. He was too slow to stop him from slipping through the door of the station. There were police there, already looking their direction, taking in the way he lunged for Neil, already making their way toward them. Neil sprinted, abandoning any hope of not being recognized, and did the only thing he could do–threw himself out the far doors and into the back of a taxi, slamming the door behind him. He scrambled for the lock, knowing he only had seconds. Knowing that in all likelihood the driver would simply unlock the door, and then Neil would have to take his chances. Would the police help him, if he threw himself at their mercy? One of them was speaking to the yakuza member, but the Arminian was descending on the taxi as if he meant to rip the door off of it himself.
“Where–”
“Drive,” Neil said, his voice breaking as the man grew closer.
“Ey. Where do you want to go, ya hmar?” the man asked in broken English, irritated.
“Drive!” Neil screamed. The Armenian was almost close enough to touch the taxi when it finally lurched out into traffic, the man speaking under his breath in a language he didn’t know.
Neil’s heart was pounding as he watched the scene behind him. No one seemed to be unnerved about his getaway, and a second later it was clear why–another man behind the wheel of a black Lexus brought the car forward. In a matter of seconds for the Armenian and the other man slid in, and now Neil was being followed, his delay of the inevitable only a matter of minutes.
Neil felt helplessness, true helplessness, wash over him as he clutched his duffle, the realization that he had no control seeped through to his bones. It was so strange, to feel this way without Jean there. He’d never had control, not really. But he only felt it this acutely when they were hurting Jean. He wondered if maybe it was because he’d promised Jean that he wouldn’t go back. But it was more than that–Neil didn’t want to, either.
As if in slow motion, Neil saw the culvert. The drain pipe. His body moved smoothly, as if it had already decided upon the course of action and Neil’s mind just hadn’t caught up. He ignored the panicked voice of the driver as he unlocked the door, ignored the way the cold, salty-tinged wind rushed in, and watched the pavement as it rushed upward to greet him.
Horns blared, tires squealed; Neil held onto his duffle and clutched it to his chest, hoping that it would not rip. He shoved all of the physical sensations down somewhere far away–the pain that crashed over him, his empty lungs, the hot, wet blood that coated his skin. He shoved himself to his feet, running, sprinting as fast as he’d ever chased a ball down the court. As if his father himself were on his heels, and barely slowed as the blackness of the storm drain enveloped him.
His feet alternated between splashing through puddles and thudding on dry metal. The light came in and out, sometimes leaving him in total darkness, and other times lightening to allow him to see corners just in time to throw an arm up and prevent himself from running headlong into a wall. He chose directions at random. Left, right. Right again. He did not stop to listen for anyone following him. He did not care about being lost. Neil had nowhere to go; he was already lost.
When he finally slowed to a walk, allowing his shaking body a chance to rest, it was only long enough to fish his pocket knife out, freeing the blade and clutching it tightly in his fist. He listened for the sound of pursuit, but could hear nothing but his own ragged panting. It was twisted, Neil knew, that the pain in his body and the darkness surrounding him made his thoughts quiet and his doubts dissolve as if they’d never been there at all. It was difficult to tell how far away sounds were, but when the gunfire started, Neil began jogging again, more certain than he’d been since he’d known safety in Andrew’s arms.
After all of this, he was not going to die underground.
_____________________________
“Welcome to ESPN Exy, the only network bringing you live coverage of USEC Exy. Tonight, we are not just the best, but the only show in town!” a blonde woman was chirping. “We’ve just gotten word that the game between the Portland Warriors and the New York Barons will not proceed tonight.
“USEC made the announcement a few minutes ago, making the Seattle Serpents versus the Dallas Aces the only game in town. We don’t have any details as to what kind of circumstance have prompted the cancellation, but with their missing striker, number 10, Neil Josten, and their recent acquisition number two, Kevin Day, who was out for part of last season with mental health issues, we can only speculate that it’s a player issue.”
“They had to reschedule last season for riots,” her cohost cut in.
“Portland is saying that their facilities are ready to go, and the first notice they got that the game would not be moving forward was the charter showing up empty.”
“Yikes. Will it be a forfeit?”
“It will show up as a forfeit, yes. We’ve seen some real inconsistency from the Barons so far this season; their goalie number three, Andrew Minyard, made headlines for a perfect shut-out last week, but the rest of the team didn’t seem to have themselves together. They’re still trying to rebuild their front line after the disappearance of Neil Josten–who still hasn’t turned up–”
Neil winced as his photo appeared onscreen, his blue eyes gazing steadily at him, as if to ask what the hell he was doing in a dive bar instead of where he belonged. Philadelphia was where they would look next, but it was all Neil had been able to manage since dragging himself out of the storm drain. He hadn’t found a hotel yet, but he had found a laundromat to dry his clothing and a bathroom to stitch his skin closed where he needed to. He’d also stolen another flannel and a pair of thick socks, in case he needed to sleep on a roof again.
“Do you have any ideas as to what's going on, behind the scenes?” Neil tuned back in just in time to see them both share a laugh. As if this was somehow amusing, watching everything he’d ever known fall apart.
“I can imagine that having a player go missing takes a toll. I’ll leave the speculation to the fans, but we can all hope that Josten turns up in time for next Saturday. I’m excited to see if Knox performs tonight.”
“Which one?”
The blonde rolled her eyes. “ Number three, Jean Knox. We’ve also seen some inconsistency from him. He was out with a medial patellar tear and seems to have recovered, but he’s still not seeing very much game time.”
The photo they showed of Jean was old. They’d been using the same one since he graduated, his hair severely parted and his face determinedly blank. Neil stared at it while he tried to catch up with what was being said–that the Barons entire team was going to miss a game tonight. His first thought was that their coaching line had been executed. He would not have put it past Ichirou to blame them for allowing things to go so far, but he couldn’t help but remember the bruises on Andrew’s face. The way the goalie’s anger radiated across the court, for all to see. Had Lord Moriyama done that? Were other players just as injured? Was it a punishment for losing him, or a message to him, to come home? He had to fight to get his next breath, as the thought of what was going to happen tonight pressed against him, the weight of the decision Jean was about to make.
Neil could still stop this. Neil could call Jean and hope that he answered, or at the very least checked his messages at halftime. He could tell him “I’m going back”, and Jean would know that he meant it. That Neil wouldn’t take this away from him for anything less. But the longer Neil sat on the hard, wooden stool, and the more he watched Jean play, the more abhorrent those thoughts became. When the serpents retreated into their locker room for halftime, Neil sent him a single text.
Neil: You’re sure?
Jean: I am.
And that was it, then. There was nothing that Neil could do to change his mind. He watched Jean play the back half and wondered if it was his imagination that he seemed taller. That his body was more sure of itself than it had been, that he made eye contact with the other players more frequently. Jeremy was always paired with him, working in tandem to lengthen their lead right up until the final buzzer. And then there was nothing to do but wait. The hosts came back in for commentary, but Neil tuned them out, waiting.
The excited murmurs of the press room died down as Jeremy Knox stepped into view, flashing a broad smile. His hair was still wet from his post-game shower, his body still loose. He’d played so well tonight, his familiar golden energy shining brightly. Jeremy had always been this way, self-assured, confident, likable. It had tormented Riko and fascinated Kevin even when he was a freshman, and now years down the line, he was as he had always been. Neil couldn’t understand why the media had ever thought them Perfect, with Jeremy in contention.
Soon enough, Serpent’s leadership and several people Neil didn’t recognize lined the room. Renee followed him out, and then, accompanied by a recurrence of the excited muttering, Jean. The nerves were back, apparent in his hunched shoulders, and Renee took his hand as they made their way across the room. They arranged themselves with Jean in the middle, Renee and Jeremy on either side.
“Who’s the father, Miss Walker?” a reporter shouted over the din, and Renee smiled. Jeremy, however, groaned, fishing his wallet from his pants and handing her a hundred across Jean’s back. It was several more moments before the room grew quiet enough for Jean to lean forward into the microphone and begin to speak.
“My name is Jean Knox ne Moreau,” he began. “I am in a relationship with Jeremy Knox and Renee Walker. I am currently a starting backliner for the Seattle Serpents. I am twenty-four years old.”
He paused.
“When I was ten, I was sold to the Moriyama crime family–” the rest of his words were cut off as the noise in the room began again, people screaming questions, murmurs. Cameras flashing. Jean waited patiently as the noise died down again. Neil could see the strain on his face, how desperately he was keeping himself in control. “When I was ten years old, my family sold me to the Moriyama crime family, for the purpose of playing exy. This was done in order to use my salary as a source of income, and allow the Moriyamas continued access to exy as a whole. Since graduating, I have been forced to give the majority of my earnings as a professional player away. I will no longer be doing this.”
Jean’s hands twitched, and Jeremy took ahold of his palm, lacing their fingers together. On his other side, Renee did the same.
“I suffered physical, emotional, and sexual abuse as both a child and adult at the hands of Riko and Tetsuji Moriyama. The survivors of my previous exy program who have come forward in the last year have my full support and sorrow for what they have endured. Edgar Allan has my full and total fury, for what they have allowed and continue to allow.”
When Jean paused, there was no rush of questions. It seemed as if the entire press room held its breath. Around Neil, the bar was likewise silent.
“I will be publishing a book through independent channels that details some of this–” he cut himself off, looking at Jeremy. “Do I read the link? Out loud?”
“No, we’ll post it,” he said.
“We will post the link, later,” Jean agreed. “I would like to thank my partners and the Serpents for allowing me this time. I will not be taking questions.”
They stood, chairs scraping, and the crowd of reporters exploded, their questions so loud and so numerous that even though he tried, Neil couldn’t pick out any individual words. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed that the mob was going to rush the players, their coaches trying to form a wall to protect them, Jean towering head and shoulders over those surrounding him. Someone knocked into Jeremy, who fell into Jean, whose arm shot out to steady him.
It took one of the coaches blowing his whistle, repeatedly, several times, to get the crowd somewhat back under control.
“Will you hold another press conference?” someone asked into the microphone Jean had been using, finally getting their voice across the crowd. Jean’s dark eyes whipped his direction, and he opened his mouth to answer. At once, they fell quiet.
“If I want to,” he said, and then left, ducking out of the room before anyone could argue.