"The Hero of Hell's Hall"
That's what the headline said.
"Avery Morgan at her finest despite a twisted knee."
Neil ran his thumb over the worn paper in his pocket, grinning. He'd read the story a hundred times. No, more, definitely more. He'd admired Avery since her first college game. But that night--leading a comeback while pushing through a knee injury--she became something else. Jordan's flu game didn't even compare in Neil's mind. She'd been in obvious pain as she raced up the basketball court to score another three pointer... and when she'd made that half-court shot in the dying seconds. His pulse pounded in his throat. Even now, just remembering, his breath caught. She'd been powerful, unstoppable, sensual.
She should have been in the NWBA by now, and a star even as a sophomore. Not here. Not trapped in this tiny little house, ignored by the world who once loved her. He knocked on the battered door.
He waited for a while, looking around the garden. The lawn was overgrown, the path had weeds coming from it, and the basketball hoop now hung by one nail on the wall. This wasn't right. She deserved so much better than what happened to her.
He knocked again.
"I'm coming, all right?!"
There was the sound of something falling over from inside the house followed by a curse. Her voice--harsh, impatient, still unmistakable even though he'd only heard her speak once in an interview. His hand found the second clipping, fingers pressing into the thin paper as if he could crush the memory itself.
"Hell Bursts Open!"
It had to be the tackiest headline he'd ever read. How could any respectable reporter ever report on the tragic car wreck that had damn near killed her like that? It was obscene!
It happened at night. She'd been riding with her parents to town to celebrate making the college ball finals when some drunken asshole had run them off the road. Neil knew he was drunk, he had to be. The cops said otherwise though and the piece of shit had got off without being charged. Just an unfortunate accident, they'd said. Nobody's fault.
Neil seethed at that. Avery had spent months in the hospital. Lost her legs. Lost her parents. And it was NOBODY'S FAULT!?
He forced himself to take a deep breath. There was nothing he could do about that idiot now but he could do something for Avery. She'd put an advert in the local papers looking for a live-in aid. The money wasn't great, but she offered free room and food at her house. A house, Neil now realized, that was nowhere near as good as she deserved even had it not fallen into neglect in the year since her accident.
The door opened slowly. There she was, sitting in a wheelchair before him. Her hair was matted, her clothes dirty. When she had last been able to shower he didn't know. She'd lost muscle definition too; her body looking softer, more rounded than before. But she was still there. His Hero of Hell's Hall who had faced a much bigger hell than any basketball game. And even through the exhaustion he knew she was still his Avery.
He pulled his hand from his pocket, forcing himself not to think about the other thing in there--the deepfake of her, bare and perfect, exactly how he wanted her.
"Hi, I'm Neil Calloway," he said, holding out his hand to her.
She didn't take it. She didn't even respond.
"Er... I came about the advert you placed for a live-in caregiver?"
It took her a moment before she sighed and turned away. "I suppose you better come in."
Neil stared at her back as she wheeled herself back into the house. This wasn't her. No, he thought, that wasn't right. It was her, he could see it was, but she looked... defeated. And his Hero was never defeated. She'd only lost one game in her career - and her next opponents suffered for it. She was never defeated, she was strengthened by adversity. Sure, she'd lost more than anyone could be expected to deal with in the wreck and it was obvious she didn't have anyone supporting her afterwards, but his Hero was unbeatable. No, she wasn't beaten; she was a wounded warrior. And he would make her stronger.
He shook himself out of his stupor and followed her into the house.
The scent hit him at once: rotting food and stale air freshener. Glancing around he saw the fast food cartons lying around on tables, counters, even the floor. The kitchen sink was overflowing with dishes and it looked like they had been there a long time. Furniture was in disarray and envelopes sat unopened on a desk. The blinds were closed and two bulbs in the overhead light were burned out.
