Softly, We Fight

Wren Gallagher's apartment ceiling caved in late one Tuesday night. Her only option was to crash temporarily at her brother Theo's row house in South Philly. She was prepared for the inconvenience—what she wasn't prepared for was Theo's roommate. Nico Valetti, 25, six foot three, an auto mechanic. Covered in tattoos, with blue eyes as cold as the Delaware River in January. The first thing he said when he saw her was, "Theo didn't mention a roommate situation." Then he headed upstairs. This wasn't shyness, it was genuine hostility. His space had been invaded, the secret he'd hidden for three years was on the verge of being exposed at any moment, and this redheaded woman was like a walking X-ray machine—seeing too much, asking too many questions, sticking around far too long. Wren didn't owe him a thing either—what started as a fight over hot water escalated into Red Sox retaliation, then head-on clashes, leaving a caught-in-the-middle Theo on the verge of a breakdown. Everyone assumed the two would hate each other forever. Until one 3 a.m.—Wren jolted awake to noise from the next room. She pushed open Nico's door, and for the first time, saw what lay behind his armor: a soul being crushed by the shadows and secrets of his past. She didn't leave. From that moment on, every "I hate you" started to take on a different meaning. And the secret of him coming back injured every late Friday night was already counting down to its end...