Chapter Three: The Jacket

# LENA

The jacket is navy wool with gold stitching and it weighs about as much as the decision I made to put it on.

Priya watches me pull it over my shoulders in the corridor outside the gymnasium and says nothing for four full seconds. From Priya that is the equivalent of a very long speech.

"When," she says.

"Recently."

"How recently."

"This week."

"Lena." She steps closer and drops her voice. "Three days ago you told me Landon Cross was the reason the orchestra got moved to the parking garage."

"People change their minds."

"About someone they have actively disliked for three years?"

"Priya." I look at her steady. "I need you to trust me right now. I cannot explain everything and I need you to let it be what it looks like for a while."

She studies my face. I know what she is doing. She has known me long enough to find every seam in every story I have ever told her. She is looking for one now.

"Is this about Leo," she says quietly.

I do not answer.

That is its own kind of answer and we both know it.

She exhales and links her arm through mine. "If he does anything to hurt you I will be creative about it."

"He will not hurt me."

I say it with the confidence of someone who has a contract and a plan. Not with the confidence of someone who actually knows.

The game is loud and packed the way Westbrook games always are. Priya and I sit third row. I watch warmup and I tell myself I am watching because I am supposed to be visible, because that is the job, because it is line four of the terms.

Before the game starts Landon finds me in the stands. Not a wave. Not a performance. He just looks at where I am sitting and then looks away and gets back to warmup.

I tell myself the thing in my chest is irrelevant.

The game stays close until the third quarter when Landon throws a pass so precise it looks unfair. Westbrook pulls ahead and does not look back. When the final buzzer goes the corridor fills immediately, loud and chaotic, everyone moving at once.

Landon comes straight to me through it. Past teammates, past coaches calling his name, past the people waiting near the doors. He stops in front of me and looks at the jacket on my shoulders. Then he reaches out and straightens the collar where it has folded over.

Three seconds of contact. Then his hand drops.

"Good game," I say.

"Walk with me."

We take the side corridor away from the noise. I have been thinking about Cassidy Hale since I put the jacket on this morning. About the fact that he waited until I had already signed to say her name out loud.

"Has Cassidy seen us yet," I say.

He does not break stride. "Her people have."

"Her people."

"Her father's associates. They watch things. It is already back to him."

"So it is working."

"Phase one."

I glance at him. "What is phase two."

"Homecoming. Eight weeks out. If we are still solid by then it sends a different message. Something harder to ignore."

"And your father."

"He called this morning." Something tightens along his jaw. "He is not happy."

"Good."

Landon looks at me. Something in his expression I was not expecting, close to surprised.

"You wanted him unhappy," he says.

"I want this to work. For it to work it needs to cost something. If your father is already calling then it is costing something."

He goes quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is a little different, less careful. "Leo's surgery is Wednesday."

I stop walking.

He stops too and turns to face me. "I know it is not in the contract," he says before I can get a word out. "I know it is not a scheduled appearance. I am not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know that I know."

I stand in the corridor with the game noise still bleeding through the walls behind us and I look at him and I think about what a person means when they say that. I wanted you to know that I know. Not I will be there. Not let me know if you need something. Just an acknowledgment, quiet and plain, that Wednesday exists and that it matters.

There is no clean answer for what that is.

"I will see you Monday," I say.

I walk back toward Priya.

She does not ask what we talked about. She just hands me my bag and we leave together through the side doors into the cold, and the night is clear and the parking lot is bright and loud with people still celebrating.

In the car on the way home I watch the streets pass and I think about Wednesday. About the way he said it. About the fact that nothing in the contract required him to say anything at all, and he said it anyway, and he said it like it cost him something small to do it.

I am already spending too much time thinking about things the contract does not cover.

That is the part I did not plan for. Not Cassidy Hale, not his father's phone calls, not the eight weeks until homecoming. I planned for a transaction. Something clean and bounded with a start date and an end date and a dollar amount in between.

I did not plan for a boy who straightens a collar without thinking and says your brother's surgery is Wednesday like he just needed you to know he was paying attention.

That is the part I need to be careful about.

I look out the window and I do not let myself think about it anymore. Leo's surgery is in five days. The deposit cleared. That is what matters. That is the whole point of this.

I keep my eyes on the road ahead and I let the rest of it go.

For now.