Chapter 5 Chapter Five: The Deal

WREN

Eli picks up on the first ring.

"So," he says. "You and the Butcher."

"It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like he's about to kiss you."

"He wasn't."

"It looks like you're about to let him."

"I slapped him, Eli."

A pause. "Before or after the photo?"

"Before."

"Huh." I can hear him shifting in bed, the creak of the frame. "Did he touch you? Like, not okay touch you?"

"No."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"Okay."

"Okay?" I sit up so fast Dani drops her coffee. "That's it? The guy who put you in the hospital is in a viral photo with your sister, and you say okay?"

"What do you want me to say, Wrennie? That I'll drive over and beat him up?" He laughs, but there's nothing in it. "I can't drive. I can't even read a text without my head splitting in half. So yeah. If you're okay, I'm okay."

My throat closes. "I'm okay."

"Liar," he says softly. "But fine."

---

By noon, Dad has texted me once:

Dad: Tell me that photo is not what it looks like.

Me: It's not.

Dad: Good.

That's it. That's the whole conversation. Very Castellano of us.

By two, I have forty-one DMs, a hundred new followers, and a Reddit thread titled Northbridge coach's daughter DATING the guy who ended her brother's career??? (links inside).

By three, there's a woman in a camel coat sitting in the athletic department conference room, waiting for me.

---

"Wren. Thank you for coming. I'm Lena Voss."

She's maybe forty, sleek blond bob, pearl earrings. She stands to shake my hand like we're closing a merger.

Knox is in the chair beside her. He looks like he hasn't slept. The slap mark is gone, but I can still see where it was. I know where it was.

"Why am I here?" I ask.

"Sit, please."

"I'll stand."

"Of course." Lena sits and folds her hands. "I represent Knox. As you probably know, his NHL rights are held by Boston. They're very excited about his talent and very concerned about his reputation."

"The Butcher thing."

"The Butcher thing." She taps her tablet. "Last night's photo has been shared three million times. Do you know what the top comments say?"

"That I'm a traitor?"

"Some. But the most-liked comment on every platform is some version of this." She turns the tablet toward me.

If HER family can forgive him, maybe we should too.

I stare at it. My skin goes hot.

"No," I say.

"I haven't asked anything yet."

"You're going to ask me to pretend to date him."

Lena smiles like I passed a test. "Three months. Public appearances. Games, a few campus events, some social posts. Nothing physical beyond what's comfortable for you. In January, you part as friends. Boston sees a man who's been forgiven by the family he hurt. Knox gets his career."

"And I get what? A thank-you card?"

"Lena," Knox says. "Don't."

"I told you, I'm handling it."

"And I told you not to bring her into this."

"Well, the internet brought her into this." Lena doesn't take her eyes off me. "I also advise a small charitable foundation. It funds treatment for traumatic brain injury. There's a program in Denver called Front Range Neurological Recovery Institute."

My heart stops.

"The foundation is prepared to fund a full year for your brother," she says. "All costs. Travel included."

The room tilts. I grip the back of the chair so I don't fall.

"How do you know about Front Range?"

"It's my job to know things."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

I look at Knox. He isn't looking at me. He's staring at the table, his jaw locked so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek.

"Did you know about this?" I ask him.

"Wren." He finally lifts his head. "You don't have to do this. Say no."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'm not. I'm telling you that you can say no, and it won't—" He stops. Glances at Lena. "Nothing bad happens if you say no."

"Right. Nothing bad happens. Eli just stays in his bedroom with the curtains closed for the rest of his life."

"That's not what I—"

"You don't get to buy my brother," I say. My voice is shaking. "You don't get to fix what you broke by writing a check and taking me to a football game."

"Hockey," Lena says mildly.

"I know what sport it is!"

Knox stands. "Wren. Please. Just listen—"

"No." I grab my bag. "I'd rather sell a kidney."

I'm out the door before either of them can stop me.

In the hallway, I shove my hands in my hoodie pocket. My fingers brush folded paper.

The Front Range brochure. It's been there since Monday.

I don't take it out.

---

Dad's at a late film session. Dani's at the library. So I go home, to the house, to Eli.

We watch a dumb baking show with the brightness turned all the way down and the sound on three. He likes the British one. Everyone's nice.

"You're quiet," he says.

"I'm always quiet."

"You've never been quiet a day in your life." He tosses a piece of popcorn at me. "What happened today?"

"Nothing."

"Wren."

"Some agent wanted me to fake-date Knox Hollis for his PR."

Eli chokes on his popcorn. "What?"

"I said no."

"Obviously you said no. Jesus." He rubs his forehead. "What was the pitch? What'd they offer?"

I don't answer.

"Wren. What'd they offer?"

"It doesn't matter. I said no."

He's quiet for a long time. On the TV, someone's cake is collapsing.

"In that photo," he finally says, "he didn't look like he was about to kiss you."

"No?"

"No. He looked scared of you." Eli frowns at the screen. "Like you were the only thing in the world that could—"

He stops.

"Eli?"

His hand is twitching against the blanket.

"Eli. Hey. Look at me."

His eyes go wide, then blank, then roll back. His whole body goes rigid and arches off the couch.

"Eli!"

My training takes over before my panic can.

Time it. I hit the stopwatch on my phone. I shove the coffee table away and ease him to the floor. I cushion his head with a pillow and turn him on his side. Nothing in his mouth. Don't hold him down. Don't hold him down. Don't hold him down.

His body jerks and jerks and jerks.

"You're okay. You're okay, I'm here, I'm right here."

One minute.

Two.

Three.

His lips are turning gray.

Four.

"Come on, come on, come on—"

Five minutes.

I dial 911 with hands that won't stop shaking.

---

The emergency room smells like bleach and burned coffee.

Eli is stable. They say that word four times, stable, like repeating it makes it more true. The seizure lasted seven minutes. The neurologist on call is young and kind and says things like breakthrough activity and progressive and we need to talk about next steps.

"There are specialized programs," she tells Dad and me. "Places that do intensive neuro rehab. They've had real success with post-traumatic cases like his. Front Range in Denver is one of the best in the country. If there's any way you can get him in…"

Dad nods too many times.

After she leaves, he says he's going to get us coffee.

He doesn't come back for twenty minutes.

When I go looking, I find him at the end of the hallway, in front of the vending machine, not buying anything. His forehead is pressed to the glass. His shoulders are shaking.

My father doesn't cry. Not at the rink, not at the hospital three years ago, not when Mom walked out with one suitcase.

He's crying now.

I back away before he sees me.

In the bathroom, I lock the stall and sit on the lid of the toilet, and I pull the brochure out of my pocket. The mountain on the cover is creased down the middle now.

Then I pull out Lena Voss's business card. On the back, in blue ink, she wrote a phone number and a name.

Knox.

I stare at it.

Then I open a new message and type with my thumbs shaking so hard I have to fix every other word.

Three months. Nobody touches me for real. And my father never finds out it's fake.

I press send.

Delivered.

Three seconds later:

Read.