Factory Settings

CHASE

**C:** Are you coming to Dalton?

I typed the message and stared at it for a second before hitting send. It was after eleven, but I knew she’d still be up. Sloane didn’t sleep when her brain was spinning.

Her reply came faster than I expected.

**S:** I haven’t decided.

**C:** Right. Journalism. Hedging your bets.

**S:** It’s a big decision, Chase.

**C:** I know. Just… let me know when you know.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

**S:** Lol. Actually, thanks for giving me space throughout Thanksgiving. I really needed it. Mostly time to heal after you turned me upside-down to fuck me. I’m sure none of your puck bunnies would agree to that death sentence. Lucky me, I’m different.

I smiled despite myself. There she was.

**C:** You’re mad about the multiple girls I fucked, admit it.

**S:** You’re delusional if you think my worth is tied to how many “multiple” low-effort warm-ups you had while we were apart.

**C:** I’m not saying your worth is tied to it. I’m saying you’re jealous. Your thumbs probably shook while you typed that “lucky me” line.

**S:** My thumbs are fine, Hartley.

**C:** Liar.

**S:** I wasn’t jealous. It just bothers me that you’re reckless. You weren’t reckless at the beginning of the semester. It’s just sad to hear that you’re back to factory settings.

*Factory settings.*

I stared at the words and actually laughed out loud, the sound sharp in the quiet dorm room. She was savage when she wanted to be.

**C:** Factory setting? That’s what you’re calling it. 😂

**S:** It’s a polite way of saying you’re predictable. It’s kinda boring, though. Well, what more can I expect from a hockey jock?

**C:** Boring? You didn’t seem bored at Miller’s Overlook. Pretty sure you were making sounds that implied I was anything but predictable.

**S:** That was adrenaline. And survival.

**C:** Funny, I remember it being more like a surrender.

**S:** Well, try that with your puck bunnies and see if you don’t get arrested for murder. Anyway, goodnight.

I smiled at the screen, thumb hovering. I wanted to push. Instead I tossed the phone onto my bed and paced the small carpeted square like a caged animal. My heart was hammering in a rhythm that had nothing to do with practice and everything to do with the string of black text burning in my mind.

*Founders Scholarship. $28k.*

She got it. Not just admission—she got the elite money. The kind they only gave to the top sliver of the incoming class. She’d walked into the Dalton admissions process and absolutely demolished it, just like she demolished my focus during every interview we ever did.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to drive three hours south, find her in that newsroom, and spin her around until we were both dizzy.

“You’re vibrating, Hartley. Who died?”

I stiffened. Marcus was sprawled on his bed, a bag of chips in one hand and a gaming controller in the other. He hadn’t looked up from the screen, but Marcus had a sixth sense for high-stakes energy.

“Nobody,” I said, my voice coming out too sharp. “Sloane got into Dalton.”

Marcus paused the game. He sat up, genuine surprise cutting through his usual chill. “Your stepsister? No shit! That’s actually big time, man. Didn’t you say she was aiming for the journalism program here? It’s one of the hardest to get into.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, heading for my desk to avoid his eyes. “She got the Founders Scholarship too.”

Marcus whistled, long and low. “Damn. Brains *and* beauty. Your dad really hit the jackpot with your new family.” He grinned, completely oblivious to the way my jaw tightened at the word *family*. “So, is she coming? Is she gonna be around campus next year? I could finally get her to finish that conversation about the Titans’ forecheck without you breathing down my neck like a paranoid hall monitor.”

I forced a shrug, fingers tracing the edge of my laptop. “She says she hasn’t decided. She’s probably got other offers.”

“True,” Marcus said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But Dalton is the best fit for sports media. You should tell her to commit. It’d be cool having her around. Plus, you two finally stopped trying to murder each other over Thanksgiving, right? Maybe you’ll actually enjoy having a sister on campus.”

*Sister.*

The word landed like a body check into the boards.

“It’s her choice,” I said, voice flat. “I’m staying out of it.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes at me. “Since when do you stay out of anything? You were acting like a jealous boyfriend at the pool party this summer just because I was talking to her. Now you’re acting like you don’t care if she goes to school four states away?”

My pulse spiked. I hadn’t realized how much Marcus had picked up on back then. “I was being protective. New family dynamics are weird. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Whatever you say, Hartley.” Marcus hit play on his game again. “I’m just saying, if she shows up here, the press box is gonna get a lot more interesting.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I sat down and pulled up my messages. I wanted to tell her to come. I wanted to tell her that the thought of seeing her every day was the only thing making the pressure of the draft feel bearable. But I knew Sloane. If she felt for one second that I was trying to influence her, she’d recoil. She needed this to be hers.

She needed Dalton to be about her career, not our chaos.

**CHASE:** Whatever you decide, you earned that money. Don’t let anyone—especially yourself—tell you otherwise.

I hit send and stared at the dark screen.

I was ecstatic.

I was terrified.

And I had to keep a poker face on, because if my best friend ever found out that the girl he was calling my “sister” was the one I was losing my mind over, the whole deck of cards would come crashing down.