Chapter 1: Midnight Texts and Old Debts

Past midnight, just me and another editor—a beautiful woman with long hair—were left in the office, racing to finish a draft, minutes away from a text that would force me to choose where my loyalties really lived.

The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting long shadows across the conference table strewn with coffee cups and half-eaten takeout. Outside, COTA buses huffed past and, if you angled just right, you could catch the LeVeque Tower lit up against the skyline. I glanced over at her, noting the way she twisted her hair into a messy bun as she read through a printout, her brow furrowed with concentration; her jaw flexed, she rubbed her temples, then stretched her fingers like a pianist between edits. The city outside was hushed, Columbus slowed to a crawl, save for the distant rumble of a freight train and the faint echo of an OSU cheer somewhere across the river.

She packed up her things and asked, “Eli, when you’re done, want to grab a drink at Buckeye Bar when you wrap?”

Her voice was casual, but there was a hint of fatigue and hope in her smile—the kind that comes after a long day, when the world seems softer, and the neon glow from High Street promises a little escape. Buckeye Bar was a local haunt, known for its cheap pitchers and sticky floors, the jukebox that never died, football murals, Buckeye memorabilia, and game-day specials. The idea almost tempted me.

“Rain check? I’m wiped—gotta pass tonight,” I said.

I forced a smile, tucking away the urge to say yes. The night air, sharp with the scent of distant rain, pressed against the windows. My phone vibrated on the desk, the screen flaring to life in the half-dark.

Just then, my phone lit up. The lock screen flashed: “Travis — Big Bro.” His iMessage popped in a clean blue bubble: “Eli, Savannah brought Grace to Columbus for treatment. Can you look after them? Please.”

His message came with that understated urgency I knew too well—Travis never said more than he needed, but the subtext was always heavier than the words. The screen showed “Delivered,” and the weight of it sat in my chest.

My thumbs hovered over the glass. I replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everything’s taken care of,” feeling the responsibility click into place even as a shard of doubt caught in my throat.

I hesitated a second, then sent another text: “Tell Savannah I’ll meet her at Nationwide Children’s Hospital.” It was the right place—just south of downtown, near German Village.

Travis—my big brother from middle school, not by blood but by the kind of older-mentor loyalty that keeps you breathing.

We’d grown up together, always looking out for each other even when we barely understood what the world expected of us. He was the one who took the hits and the blame when things got messy, who stepped between me and fights, who told teachers it was his phone just so mine wouldn’t get confiscated, and I was the one he dragged along for the ride, whether I wanted it or not.

Because he got hooked on gambling, starting last year, he went down to Biloxi to make money and pay off his debts.

Biloxi had a reputation—mini-Vegas on the Gulf, with the Beau Rivage and Hard Rock Biloxi glowing over craps tables and poker rooms. Slot machine jingles, the haze of cigarettes, comped drinks—you went there chasing something you couldn’t quite name.

Savannah is his wife—the it-girl from our middle school, and honestly, still my goddess to this day.

She had that effortless charm, the kind that made you feel seen even in a crowded hallway. She led the debate team, crushed Mock Trial, volunteered at a legal aid clinic, and when she laughed, everyone noticed. I guess I still saw her with the same wide-eyed awe as I did back then, when everything felt possible.

Anything he asks of me, I do my best. After all, half the reason I’m able to sit in an office building off High Street in downtown Columbus is thanks to him—like covering my SAT prep when I couldn’t afford it and spotting me a month of rent after a layoff.

I still remember those late-night talks, Travis passing me advice with a slap on the back and a half-smile, saying, “Don’t screw this up, Eli. You’re meant for bigger things.” Sometimes I wondered if he believed it more than I did.

Back in senior year of high school, the day I got into trouble, he slapped me silly in the restroom:

“Listen up. I’m going to the principal’s office. You’re meant to study and take the SATs. I’m meant to fight it out in the real world. If I get expelled, I won’t have to take the exam—I'd wake up laughing. Stay in the restroom for thirty minutes. If you walk out early, I’ll break your legs.” The words echoed off tile; the hand dryers roared, and his dare sounded like a verdict.

I could still feel the sting from his palm, the echo of his words in the tiled walls. Travis always had a way of making everything sound like a dare, as if the world was just waiting for him to bend it to his will.

I closed my laptop and called Savannah. She’d be arriving in Columbus tomorrow, with an appointment at Nationwide Children’s Hospital, just south of downtown near German Village.

The phone rang twice before she picked up, her voice tired but determined. We worked out the details—the appointment, where I’d meet them, what Grace needed. I closed the blinds, tossed my cold coffee in the trash, rubbed my temple, and stared at the darkened window, city lights reflecting against my own uncertain face.

After I hung up, I found myself lost in thought.

The hum of the air conditioner blended with the soft clatter of keys, but my mind spun in circles. It always came back to Savannah—the way she’d walk with her head high, even when things got hard. I wondered, not for the first time, if I’d ever really understood her.

All these years, I still can’t figure it out—Savannah was the it-girl. Why did she marry Travis, a gambler? My stomach dipped; I bit my lip, hating how personal the question felt.

If she knew the truth about that incident, would she have chosen me instead? Blood on my knuckles, the weight of a brick-filled sack, somewhere a siren in the distance—that night lived under my skin, and regret pressed against my chest, heavy and cold.