33. The Cost of Being a Name （Kieran）
THE COST OF BEING A NAME (KIERAN)
The drive up to Tarrytown feels like punishment I volunteered for. Rain slicks the highway into a ribbon of smeared headlights and brake lights. My knee throbs every time I move it from gas to brake. The split in my lip keeps catching when I swallow. Copper. Regret. Stale heat from the vents.
I keep seeing her on the quad.
Not the accusation.
The confession.
I love you.
And it still doesn’t save me.
That should have meant something. Proof I mattered. Instead it’s proof I broke something real with my own hands.
I pull into Liam’s building garage and sit with the engine running, hands locked on the wheel, trying not to float apart. A Defenders decal is stenciled onto a concrete pillar near the reserved spots. Clean lines. Corporate. Untouchable.
That logo was supposed to be waiting for me.
Now it feels like a door that might not open anymore.
I kill the engine and climb out. My body is stiff from not skating, and I welcome the discomfort. Pain doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t look at you and wonder how you made a bet about a girl, and still had the nerve to call it love.
The elevator ride is silent. I catch my reflection in the steel panel. Bruised. Empty.
I deserve both.
The front door opens before I knock. Liam’s apartment is washed in warm light from floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson. Clean lines. Quietly expensive. Food simmering on the stove. Garlic, butter, something steady.
Home.
It tightens my chest because I know this feeling. I grew up with it. I was trusted with it. And I still set fire to it.
Liam fills the doorway in sweats and a Defenders hoodie. He takes one look at me and his expression goes flat—captain face. The one he wears when he’s trying not to explode on national television.
“Kieran.”
“Hey.”
He doesn’t step aside right away. Just looks me over. The lip. The knee. The way I’m barely holding myself upright.
Finally, “Come in.”
I step inside. The warmth wraps around me. Silence stretches.
Then a small voice chirps from down the hall. “Uncle Kieran!”
Footsteps. Pajamas. A blur of curls launches into the room.
Dmitri’s daughter, Amneris, skids to a stop in front of me, arms already wide.
I freeze.
I don’t feel safe to be touched. Not after what I did. Not after what I agreed to become.
But she’s already hugging my waist, small and trusting, rosemary shampoo and warmth where I don’t deserve any.
My throat burns.
I bend carefully and return the hug, measured and light, as if too much pressure might contaminate her. As if holding on too tightly would make me something worse.
“Hey, kid,” I say, and my voice cracks anyway.
She tilts her head back, studying my face. “You look sad.”
I swallow. “Do I?”
She nods solemnly. “Papa says when people look sad, you give them snacks.”
“Smart man.”
Dmitri appears in the hallway, tall and unreadable in black sweats. His gaze lands on me. No smile. No judgment. Just that steady, unflinching presence.
“Privet.”
“Hey.”
He scoops Amneris up, kisses the top of her head. She whispers something in his ear.
“She says you need snacks,” he translates flatly.
“Sounds right,” Liam mutters.
Sophie appears with a medical textbook tucked against her chest. Her expression shifts when she sees me—concern and something sharper beneath it.
“Oh, Kieran.”
I flinch anyway.
She stops a few feet away. Doesn’t touch me. Just looks straight at my face.
“You look like you got run over.”
“Feels like it.”
“Sit down,” Liam says.
I do. A leather chair by the windows. The Hudson stretches out in front of me like it might explain my life if I stare long enough.
Dmitri adjusts Amneris on his hip. “Time to go, Amnushka. Erin’s practicing for her concert tomorrow. We’ll be quiet when we get home, da?”
She pouts, then nods. “Yes, Papa.”
They’re gone moments later. Sophie waves her textbook once. “Quiz Monday. Good seeing you, Kieran.”
Then the door closes.
Liam doesn’t sit. He paces, slow and controlled. Coach McCarthy energy. Just better lighting.
“You should’ve called.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s funny,” he deadpans. “I hear you had plenty to say on the quad.”
The words burn.
“I know.”
He stops pacing. Faces me.
“Tell me you didn’t do this to her.”
I swallow. “I can’t.”
“A bet.”
I nod once.
He laughs, sharp and humorless. “Jesus Christ, Kie.”
“I know.”
“You knew better.”
“I did.”
“Then why?”
Because my pride got wounded. Because I wanted to win. Because I liked being the guy people bet on. Because I didn’t think it would matter.
Ugly. All of it.
“Because she said no and everyone watched,” I say. “And my ego couldn’t take it.”
He stares at me like I’ve spoken another language.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Unfortunately.”
“This is entitlement.”
The word lands clean. Surgical.
Liam’s jaw tightens. “McCarthy called me.”
“I told him everything.”
“After you lied the first time.”
I recoil.
“Do you know how this looks?” Liam snaps. “It looks like you got caught. Not like you came clean.”
“I know. But I did go in. I did tell him.”
“And you accepted suspension.”
“Yes.”
“And no contact.”
“Yes.”
“You know what else you accepted?” He holds my gaze. “You accepted me losing credibility with my team.”
My chest caves.
“You think this doesn’t touch me? Or the organization?” His voice sharpens. “They don’t shrug at this. They avoid it.”
I can’t argue.
“Rowan called. Head of PR.”
My chest checks hard left. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘We’re aware. We’re monitoring. This isn’t the brand we’re looking for.’” The room tilts. “And then she asked if you’re coming in as a player,” Liam says quietly, “or as a liability.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in. “Right now.”
He braces his hands on the island, shoulders tight. “They were going to bring you to development camp this summer.”
My breath stutters.
“They pulled it. Quietly.”
“What?”
“Not officially. But it’s pulled. Until this resolves. Until you’re not radioactive.”
Radioactive.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t unfuck it,” Liam says evenly. “This is what the real world does. It closes doors quietly.”
I stare at the floor.
“Do you understand what you did to her?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“No,” he says sharply. “You understand what you did to you. Now you’re hurting. Now it matters.”
My breath shakes.
“Answer me.”
“I engineered it,” I force out. “I used my status. The team. Everything. And she had none of it. Just herself.”
Silence stretches. Rain drums against the glass.
“Jesus,” Liam whispers.
“I didn’t know she’d become…her.”
“That’s the point,” he snaps. “You didn’t think she was a person until she mattered to you.”
I have nothing. He’s right.
“You’re not skating until BU clears it.”
“I know.”
“You’re not contacting her.”
“I know.”
“You’re not explaining it away. Or making yourself the victim.”
“I won’t.”
“And you’re not hiding behind me.”
“I didn’t come here to—”
“You came because you finally understand what you lost,” he says. “Good. Sit in it.” He exhales. “I love you. That doesn’t mean I protect you from consequences.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He studies me. Then nods once.
“Mom knows.”
My head jerks up. “She does?”
“She got a call. She was crying.”
Shame hits hard and fast.
“You’re going to Brooklyn,” Liam says. “You tell her everything. Yourself.”
“Okay.”
“And then you’re coming with us to Erin’s concert.” His gaze sharpens. “You behave. You make yourself small in the right ways.”
A broken laugh slips out of me.
“You’re not a monster,” he says quietly. “But you did something monstrous.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to feel like you’re dying,” he continues. “That’s your ego bleeding out. Let it.” Then, softer, “And if you’re thinking of grand gestures—don’t.”
I look down.
“You don’t get to perform remorse. You don’t get to turn her pain into your redemption arc.” That lands dead center. “You want to deserve her?” he asks. “Then do the thing that doesn’t make you feel better.”
“What’s that?”
“Leave her alone. Tell the truth when it costs you. Take consequences without applause.”
My throat closes. I nod.
“You hungry?”
The normalcy almost breaks me.
“No.”
“You need to eat anyway.”
He turns back to the stove. Garlic fills the room again.
“Do not waste a second chance,” he says quietly. “If you’re given one.”
“I won’t.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Good.”
I sit by the windows, river beyond them, the logo below, the empty space where Wren used to be.
And I finally understand with brutal clarity that this will cost me everything I thought I was owed.