Page 108 of A Mistake of Worth
They circled the names, dismissing them one by one. The anchor from LA, too corporate. The blogger out of Sydney, too reckless. The Montreal team, too slow. Nothing fit.
Henri finally lifted his head from Michael’s chest. His voice was ragged but certain. “Jaheel Sabato.”
Ellis frowned. “Who?”
Henri swallowed hard, his hand trembling against Michael’s chest. “He was with us at university. We had a group project together in our final year. Jaheel suggested we meet at this diner to work on it.”
His voice grew quiet. “I remembered what happened when I was seventeen, so I told Jaheel no. Said we should work in the library instead. But Jaheel was charming. Persistent in that harmless way.”
Gabriel leaned forward, something dangerous entering his expression. “What happened when you were seventeen?”
Henri’s eyes widened, surprised he’d mentioned it. “Nothing. It’s not—it doesn’t matter.”
“Henri,” Gabriel’s voice carried weight.
Henri tried to wave it off. “Really, it was just—”
Michael’s voice was gentle but firm. “Tell him.”
When Henri shook his head, Michael looked directly at Gabriel. “Henri was invited to coffee with some classmates. Marc said no, but Henri went anyway. Marc was supposed to be out of town, but found out.”
Henri pressed his face against Michael’s shoulder. “Marc tied my arms behind my back when I came home,” he whispered. “When he pulled too hard, my shoulder dislocated.”
Gabriel’s face went white. “That injury... You said you were thrown from one of your horses—”
“I couldn’t tell you the real reason.” Henri’s voice was barely audible.
Gabriel’s voice came out strangled. “You missed the rest of that season. The tryouts for the National Youth Tournament Series. You were practically guaranteed a spot.” His voice cracked. “Your coach kept calling. You told me maybe polo wasn’t your future anymore, that you wanted to focus on academics.”
Henri nodded against Michael’s chest. “I went back eventually. Took months of physical therapy. But it was never the same.”
Gabriel stood abruptly, hands shaking. For a moment, Michael thought he might put his fist through the wall. “He took everything from you,” Gabriel said, his voice barely controlled. “Your future, your passion, your freedom. Everything that made you happy.”
Henri pressed into Michael’s arms, and Michael held him tighter, his own rage a living thing in his chest at what Marc had stolen. Not just Henri’s shoulder, not just months of recovery, but years of dreams, a future that had been ripped away.
Henri’s voice came muffled against Michael’s shirt. “So at university, I told Jaheel we should work in the library. But he kept asking. I never encouraged it, never flirted back. But Marc saw Jaheel as competition.”
His voice turned bitter. “Marc made sure Jaheel was frozen out of social circles. Invitations stopped. Study groups excluded him. Marc destroyed his university social life because he dared to find me attractive.”
“But Jaheel survived,” Henri said, voice hoarse but gaining strength. “He rebuilt after university. He’s independent now. An investigative reporter. Podcasts, feeds, long-form pieces. Half the time, his work gets picked up by international networks.”
His voice lowered, carrying guilt and hope. “He’ll talk to you. He won’t pass up a chance to bury Marc.”
Michael felt it settle over the room. Not just a name. An opening.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Jean shifted against Lucas, sniffling. Ellis stood and touched his hair gently.
“Come on. Let’s go swimming.”
Peter glanced toward Jean. “Do you need to change first?”
Jean sighed and lifted the hem of the sweater, revealing the glitter-slick strap of his top and, beneath, a flash of small swim trunks already clinging to his thighs.
Michael’s mouth twitched despite the knot in his chest.
Jean caught it, gave a damp little smile. “See? Already dressed.”
Lucas rose with him, one arm firm around his waist, Ellis following with his towel draped loose over his shoulders. Peter shadowed them to the hall, watchful as ever.
