Chapter 12 Viral
VIRAL (KIERAN)
The door slams behind me, muffling the echo of my own heartbeat. Outside, campus hums with laughter, music, a few stray shouts of my name, but in here it’s quieter. Almost too quiet.
Our house is a short walk off campus in Allston—four bedrooms, one shared disaster of a kitchen…but not tonight. The sink’s empty, counters wiped. I spot my own coffee mug washed and set upside down to dry.
Mason’s voice cuts through from the couch.
“O’Connor! The king returns.” He’s sprawled with a controller in hand, socked feet on the coffee table.
Riley is half lounging on the armrest, scrolling his phone with a grin that means trouble.
He turns his screen toward me. BU Confessions—me and Wren on the quad, fingers tangled.
“You’ve got the queen waiting in your room. ”
My jaw locks. “Isabelle?”
He nods. “Yep. Walked in about ten minutes ago. Said she’d wait.”
Mason adds from the sofa, barely looking up, “Try not to knock over your trophies.”
“You done?” I bite out. His smirk fades. The room goes still. “Hey, man,” he says finally, quieter now. “Just messing around.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, heading down the hall. “So was I.”
The stairway feels narrower than usual, air thick with detergent and the faint musk of hockey gear. My hand’s on the doorknob when I hear her voice.
“About time.”
Isabelle’s perched on my desk, one leg crossed over the other, phone glowing in her hand. She doesn’t look up yet, just scrolls, satisfaction playing at the corner of her mouth.
“Campus is obsessed,” she says finally. “You and the scholarship girl. It’s all anyone’s talking about. The golden boy and the nerd.”
I drop my jacket on the chair, keeping my voice even. “Wasn’t aware we had an appointment.”
Her heels click against the floor as she stands. “I never need an appointment with you, Kieran.” She moves closer, hips shifting in that practiced way that used to work on me. “I came to congratulate you. You’ve done exactly what I asked.”
Her hand slides down my chest.
“Tell me, did you enjoy it? Watching her blush? That little tremor in her voice when you leaned in?”
I stay silent.
The image hits hard: Wren’s face tilted toward mine, pulse fluttering at her throat, heat coming off her skin. I wanted to taste her, to hear that small, startled breath against my mouth.
There was fear in her eyes. Real fear.
For the first time in my life, I felt like the threat, not the temptation. So I forced myself to step back, to settle for her cheek instead.
That’s what a decent man does.
Isabelle tilts her head, reading my silence. “You’re quiet. That’s new.”
“Long day,” I say, voice flat.
She circles behind me, expensive perfume winding around my throat. “So,” she murmurs, close enough that her breath brushes my ear, “did you seal the deal with your little tutor? Or does she still not know what kind of man you are?”
The words land sharp. I step back, not enough for her to clock it, just enough to breathe. My jaw locks.
“She’s not ready.”
Isabelle pauses. Curiosity sharpens into something predatory. “Oh.” She draws it out, delighted. “Maybe she’s a virgin.”
She says it like she’s discovered a secret meant for her amusement alone.
Heat floods my chest—anger, protectiveness, a sharp, possessive spark. My hands curl into fists. Wren’s face flashes up—wide eyes, tense shoulders, that look of someone caught off guard. The fear. From me.
“She’s not ready,” I repeat.
Satisfaction spreads across Isabelle’s face. “Even better. A blank slate. You can write whatever you want on her.” She taps a manicured nail against my chest—small, cruel. “Don’t take too long, mon petit prince. Or I’ll be forced to crown another king.”
“That so?”
Her expression hardens. “What’s the matter, Kieran? Catching feelings?”
I stay silent, and her smile turns mean.
“Finish what you started, or I’ll make sure everyone hears about the bet.
About exactly what kind of man BU’s golden boy really is.
” Her finger drags down my sternum. “Your draft prospects, your reputation, your precious Defenders contract—it all depends on people believing you’re a good guy. Are you?”
The answer locks in my throat.
She leans in, voice dropping to silk. “Bring her to heel, and I’ll finally give you what you want.”
Six months ago, I would’ve jumped—Isabelle Merteuil, no strings, no limits, the ultimate validation.
Now the thought turns my stomach.
She glides to the door, glancing back once. “When it’s done, come to me.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
I stand there, hands shaking, staring at the empty space where she’d been. Her perfume clings—expensive, chemical—making me want to open a window.
For the first time since this started, I don’t want to win.
I just want to be someone Wren wouldn’t run from.
But the bet is still there. The lie is still there. And every real moment between us is built on it.
My phone buzzes. For a second, I hope it’s Wren.
It’s not.
Liam.
“Hey,” I answer, voice rough.
“Caught your game last week,” he says, skipping hello. “You’re sharp, Kie. GM’s happy. Keep this up, and you’ll come into camp with a real shot at the second line.”
“Not bad for the little brother,” I force myself to joke.
He laughs. “Cocky as ever. Just keep your head clear.” A pause.
“Some of the guys rented a cabin upstate, halfway to Boston. A quick reset. Everyone’s bringing their girlfriends.
I’m going with Sophie, Erin will be there with Dmitri, Finn and Jessica, plus Nate with his girl. You should come, blow off steam.”
I stare at the ceiling, Isabelle’s threat still ringing in my ears. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
“You bringing anyone?”
I hesitate. Bringing someone to meet my siblings isn’t casual.
“I might.”
Liam hums, knowing. “Oh? Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Just...someone.”
He laughs outright. “Right. And you’re just a forward. Come on, Kieran. You don’t bring ‘just someone’ anywhere near me and Erin. Must be special.”
My throat tightens. Special. If he only knew. She’s not even really mine.
“Something like that.”
He softens. “Good. You deserve someone decent, kid. Tell Mom I said hi when she calls—you know she’s still keeping score between us.”
I laugh quietly. “She’d better be betting on her baby boy.”
“She’s betting on both of us,” he says. “Get some rest. We’ll see you next weekend. I’ll text you the details.”
The line clicks off. The room’s too quiet again.
I open Instagram. A photo of me and Wren on the dorm steps fills the screen. Her face tilted up, eyes soft. My hand still half visible at her back.
Before I can think better of it, I text her.
KIERAN
You good?
Saw the posts. Whole campus needs a hobby
It takes a minute before she replies.
WREN
I’m fine. Just weird seeing your face on my feed every five seconds
KIERAN
Technically it’s our faces
We look cute together
WREN
Does your ego even fit in that house you live in?
Despite everything, I find myself almost smiling.
KIERAN
Barely. I’m thinking of adding a wing
You fooled them
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
WREN
That’s what it’ll take to get Theo, right?
I stare at the words until they blur.
Of course. That’s why she agreed to tutor and fake date me. Typing the next message feels like swallowing glass.
KIERAN
You want to back out?
The three dots blink. My chest tightens.
WREN
No. I want Theo
My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Fuck.
KIERAN
Then I’ll get him for you
I send it before I can delete it, before I can tell her that I don’t want her to have Theo. I don’t want her to have anyone else.
I want her to have me.
Three dots appear, vanish, return.
WREN
Goodnight, Kieran
KIERAN
Night, Rules
I set my phone down, but her name keeps flashing in my head.
The house is quiet now—Mason’s game muted, Dax’s door shut, Riley’s music a dull pulse through the wall. I should sleep. Morning skate at seven. Stretch after. Keep the routine. Sign the Defenders contract. Stay sharp.
I turn onto my side, arm draped over my eyes. Underneath Isabelle’s lingering chemical perfume, I can still smell Wren—citrus, soap, paper. Clean. Real.
Isabelle’s world is edges and spectacle. Wren’s is quiet, unpolished, steady.
Everything I don’t deserve.
My phone buzzes again.
LIAM
Cabin’s booked. You in?
Don’t flake, rookie
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering.
KIERAN
I’m in
A few seconds later:
LIAM
Bring your girl. Let’s see if she can handle the circus
I don’t think. I just type.
KIERAN
She can handle it
I send it before I can talk myself out of it.
Then my screen lights up with one more notification.
ISABELLE
Clock’s ticking, mon petit prince. Don’t disappoint me. xo
I shut off the phone and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Liam wants to meet her. Isabelle wants me to destroy her. And I’m the idiot in the middle who just promised to help Wren fall for someone else.
Friday, she’ll be here to tutor me. I’ll pretend I’m helping her get Theo to keep her close to me. Pretend the bet doesn’t exist and Isabelle isn’t watching, waiting for me to finish what I started.
I’m not controlling the game anymore.
And I have no idea how to stop what I’ve started.