Our Playbooks

Chapter 2

Ellie

I walk right past him without another word and head down the stairs to the kitchen.

I grab everything I need to make four grilled cheese sandwiches, grateful for something to do with my hands. The butter sizzles in the pan, and I focus on that sound, on the smell of toasted bread, on anything that isn’t the ache sitting in my chest. I’m almost done when he comes down the stairs, now wearing my brother’s clothes. Something about seeing him in them makes my throat tighten, but I don’t let myself look too long. I set his two sandwiches in front of him, then finish making mine and set my plate down next to his.

“Would you like something to drink? We’ve got water, Gatorade, or Sprite?” I ask.

“I’ll take a Sprite,” he says. I hand him one and grab a bottle of water for myself.

I sit next to him at the counter, and we eat in silence — not uncomfortable, just quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling. Once he’s finished, he takes his plate to the sink, tosses the empty Sprite can in the trash, then leans against the counter across from me and just looks at me.

I finish chewing and look up at him. “What? Do I have food on my face or something?”

He cracks a smile, his gray eyes softening. “No. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, taking another bite of my grilled cheese, suddenly wary.

“It’s not a bad question,” Dayton says, half-shrugging as he looks down and tucks his hands into his pockets. “I just don’t know if you’ll answer.”

“I probably won’t,” I admit, and he looks up at me, almost disappointed. “But I’ll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine.”

He looks intrigued. “Okay. What’s your question?”

I think for a second. I could ask about the old bruises, the ones that are clearly shaped like fists and have no business being on someone his age. Or I could ask about tonight.

I go with the safer option. “How did you — the best middle linebacker at Hamilton High — get beaten up this badly?”

He lets out a low chuckle as I take another bite. “That’s not the question you really wanted to ask, is it?”

With my mouth full, I shake my head. He looks back down at his hands for a moment. Clears his throat. Meets my gaze.

“It was only supposed to be me against the two guys whose sisters won’t leave my sister alone. But the assholes had four other guys hiding in the woods. They jumped in when they started losing.” I can see the anger rolling off him in waves. “I was teaching them a lesson to keep their posse of girls away from my sister. Their sisters bullied Clem out of her private school last year.”

He seems to need to get this out because he keeps going. “I’ll be able to look out for her now that she’s coming back to the same school as me. But I wanted to send a message before school started. Make sure they wouldn’t dare try anything.” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “I’m hoping it worked. But if not, I’ll bring my own kind of backup next time.”

“I’m sorry your sister’s had such a rough time. Girls really are petty bitches.” That makes him laugh. “I’ll look out for her, though. She doesn’t deserve what she’s been through.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I can handle this.” The anger’s back in his voice. “She also doesn’t need you drawing attention to her.”

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Dayton.” I stand up and put my plate in the sink.

“I’m sorry. It’s just,” he pauses, jaw clenched, “I’ve got this.” His tone was clipped and mad.

“Okay.” I lean against the counter right in front of him. “Now. What was your question?”

“Who’s Caleb?” he asks quietly.

Even though I knew this was coming, it still takes me a second to find my voice. I can’t look him in the eyes, so I drop my gaze to my feet. “My brother.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and, thinking I was going to go on, stays silent.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Anger creeps back into his voice.

I look up at him. His arms are crossed over his chest, jaw tight — angry or annoyed, maybe even disappointed, all at once. I drop my gaze back to my feet, wondering if I’m about to let him in all the way. He didn’t have to give me all that detail about his sister, yet he did. I say, why the hell, as I take a steadying breath for the millionth time toslash. Letting him in can’t be all that bad; it’s not like I’ll see or hear from him after tonight anyway.

I keep my voice even as I start from the beginning. “He died last summer. Leukemia. My parents haven’t really accepted that he’s gone — they kept buying him clothes and toys while he was hospitalized, convinced he’d come out of it.” My fingers twitch at my sides. “So most things are brand new. The cleaning lady is the only one who’s been in his room since the funeral. And now me, I guess.”

My chest tightens. My breathing turns shallow, labored. I know the signs well enough by now — I’m on the edge of a panic attack. Five things I can see. I pull at each finger as I count them off. My hands. My feet. The floor…

Two large, warm hands wrap around my wrists.

Before I can react, Dayton slides my palms up under his shirt and presses them flat against his bare skin. He sucks in a sharp breath but holds my wrists steady, keeping me there. The heat of him grounds me instantly. I close my eyes and trace the line of his stomach — the ridges, the peaks and valleys of his ribs. Four things I can touch. His skin is warm, solid, real.

My breathing evens out as I trace slow patterns across his chest, his stomach. Keeping my hands busy helps — it always has. I keep my voice steady as I continue, talking about the hardest years of my life like I’m reading from a report. “No one talks about him. All I want is to remember the happy moments, to hold onto the house that used to be full of noise — but any mention of him and my dad shuts me down, while my mom just cries.”

I focus on the movement of my fingers against his skin. “My family’s broken. My grandfather had a heart attack at the funeral. He was in the hospital for a while before going back to Cincinnati, but he died in November.” The words come out clinical, practiced — even though I haven’t spoken them since he passed. “That’s why my parents are never here. My dad runs his law firm, and my mom’s a surgeon. She doesn’t like being far from him, so she goes where he goes. They come back sometimes. They stayed most of the summer because I was home, but now that school’s started again, they went back to Cincinnati today.”

My fingers keep moving, tracing his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach. “When my brother died, their ability to be parents died with him. They decided I was old enough to stay here alone.” I pause. “They keep the house stocked with food. They call every Friday to check in.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie.” His voice is low, rough. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”

I stop tracing patterns on his skin but keep my hands pressed against his stomach, anchoring myself.

“He’d been sick since I was in seventh grade. Mom homeschooled him until he was strong enough to go back, but after I gave him bone marrow, he got better for a while and decided he wanted to stay home anyway.” I keep my tone even, reciting the facts like I’ve rehearsed them. “He was pale and bald — he knew people would stare. But it wasn’t the staring that got to him. It was the pity. He was used to it from strangers, but he couldn’t stand it from his friends.”

My hand starts to move again, needing something to do. “He was their favorite. So they let him stay home, kept him homeschooled, while I went to school. I loved school, so I told myself I didn’t mind. I wanted to be a pediatric surgeon someday — I needed the grades.” My fingers twitch slightly against his skin before I force them still. “But they never once asked if I wanted to be homeschooled, too. And I know why.” The mask slips just a fraction. “They had me so I could give my brother parts of me. It was lucky we were an HLA match — otherwise they would’ve kept trying. I don’t think it would have mattered how many kids they had, as long as they got a donor.”

“What — Ellie, that’s not —” Dayton’s hand comes up, brushing my hair back behind my ear. His palm lingers on my cheek, his thumb sweeping gently across my skin to catch the tears I didn’t realize were falling.

“It is true.” My voice breaks on the last word. “I asked them once why they didn’t love me like they loved Caleb. And they told me the truth.” I lean into his touch without meaning to. “It was a bad day. I knew I wouldn’t like the answer, but I needed to know. They’d just found out the bone marrow had helped, but that the cancer had already started spreading fast.” The memory claws at me. “He felt better for a while — and then he got really sick again. So when I asked, after they’d gotten all that news, they just… said it. That they had me to save him.”

I start gently running my fingertips over his stomach again, tracing the outlines of his ribs.

He tries not to react, but I feel goosebumps rise on his stomach and his muscles tense when I hit a ticklish or sore spot. When he flinches, I try to pull my hands back — but his hands wrap around my wrists again, stopping me. That’s when I notice the cuts on his knuckles. I must have missed them before, too focused on his face.

“It’s okay. It just tickles a little bit, and that spot you ran your fingers across is a little tender, but you don’t have to stop. I know it’s helping your panic attack.”

“How’d you know it was a panic attack?” I ask. Then I glance pointedly at his knuckles. “I should look at those cuts.” He smiles and shakes his head.

“The cuts can wait.”

I start retracing the contours of his stomach, more gently this time. I look up at him, and he releases my wrists to wipe away a few

tears still falling from my eyes.

“My sister has panic attacks too, and I’m the only one who can snap her out of it,” he says, rubbing his thumbs against my cheeks.

I look up at him with a mischievous smile. “You let your sister trace your abs to stop her panic attacks?”

That gets a loud, beautiful laugh out of him — before he cuts it short because it hurts too much. He settles for his signature smug

smirk instead. “No, but it’s something similar. I just give her hands and her mind something to do. A switchboard of buttons she has to flip before the light goes out, or a puzzle game on my phone.”

He pulls out his phone and shows me — a light switchboard and an app full of puzzle games. I memorize the name quietly, filing it away for the next time the panic comes. It’d probably work better and faster than the 5-4-3-2-1 method my therapist gave me.

“Thank you.” I stop tracing his stomach. “Weird way to keep someone’s hands and mind busy, but thank you.”

He’s still gently rubbing my cheek. He nods slightly. “You’re welcome.”

We both drop our hands at the sound of a knock at the door. I pull my phone from my back pocket — our group chat has blown up with messages. I open it and scroll through.

Meg: Ellie is bailing on tonight because of the abandoners. We will reschedule movie night for tomorrow night at the same time.

Cammy: Lies, I watched them leave. Did their flight get canceled?

Meg: I don’t know. Ellie was very clipped OTP.

Cammy: She’s always clipped unless it’s IRL.

Meg: Well, when I stopped by her house, all the lights were out except for her parents’ and Ellie’s bedroom.

Cammy: Same, that’s what I see too. We’ll check in on her in the morning, relax, Meg.

Meg: Fine.

Cammy: I love you, Ellie. I love you, Meg.

Meg: I love you, Ellie. I love you too, Cammy.

Me: I love you, both too. Sorry about movie night.

“It’s not my friends,” I say, already moving toward the door. “They always text before coming over.”

“Stay here, I’ll get it,” he says, going all macho on me.

“No, go back upstairs. I’ve got this.” I grab his arm. “I know where to hit you to make it hurt, just do as I ask. Okay?”

He puts his hands up in surrender. We head toward the front door together, and he peels off upstairs.

I look through the peephole and let out a breath of relief. It’s Meg’s mom, Jacquelyn. I check my watch - 8 o’clock on the dot. I

unlock and open the door.

“Evening, Jacquelyn,” I say.

“Evening, sweetheart,” she says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Just checking in on you. Meg told me you couldn’t do movie

night because your parents had come back, but they just texted to ask if I’d check in on you. Is everything okay? Meg also doesn’t know I’m here, so don’t worry.”

“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry — I had to lie, which means now you do too.” I give her an apologetic smile. “I just needed the night to myself.”

“Oh, I bet she would have understood, sweetheart. But I get it. Do you need anything? I’m just doing my nightly check on you,” she says, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll stop by in the morning for breakfast.” I lean against the doorframe. “I’m heading to bed now. Thank you for checking on me. Goodnight, Jacquelyn.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she says before turning around and heading back towards her car.

I close the door, lock it, and set the alarm. Then I make my way to the back door and lock that too, pulling the blinds closed as I go — most of them are already shut, except the ones in the living room.