Get me to the sunshine

I wanna see the water with my own eyes

You know I like that, yeah I like that

Get a taste to the good life

Go a little wild on the inside

I′ll never look back, you know I like that

Bright lights in the city

Gotta say it’s doing something to me

I′m so done with the lone lones

I’m about to let it go, run ’til I get free

Ooh, wanna see it on my face

Wanna feel it in my veins

Like ooh, that I can′t shake

Something that I can′t explain

I wanna feel, feel something good

Feel something good

The Final Stretch

The last months of high school felt both impossibly fast and agonizingly slow—a countdown to a life beyond the walls of San Sequoia High.

Chris was exhausted.

Between exams, college applications, and the lingering weight of Indie’s betrayal, there were nights he barely slept.

The pain of losing her had dulled, but it hadn’t vanished. Every time he opened his phone, scrolling mindlessly, he felt a phantom ache, a bitter reminder.

It wasn’t heartbreak anymore—it was something quieter, something resentful.

He had spent two years in a long-distance relationship that, in the end, had crushed him.

And now, he was standing at the edge of something new, something uncertain.

But before he could even step into his future, his past came barreling back.

Chris had barely processed his own personal disasters before life threw another one at him.

His great-grandparents—formerly vampiric, formerly dead—just walked back into existence one day, looking young, fanged, and perfectly comfortable with their resurrection.

And worse? They weren’t just any vampires.

His great-grandfather was Blaine Cameron.

The Blaine Cameron.

Flamboyant, loud, pottymouthed rock musician, a prankster, obscene, over-the-top, sexual innuendo spewing, a walking legend with more chart-toppers than most entire genres, and the producer behind some of the biggest names in history. And also impossible to ignore. He was back and the whole world knew it.

And then there was Scarlett—his great-grandmother, effortlessly hot and not in the GILF or MILF kinda way, the other way, effortlessly intimidating, the daughter of the leader of all vampires. Not at all what comes to mind in the same breath with the term great-grandmother.

Them coming back didn’t just shake their family.

Chris couldn’t outrun it—not when he had the same last name- Cameron – not when everyone knew who his great-grandparents were, they knew he was related to Blaine, not when the world expected him to embrace it.

Whenever people brought it up, his stomach twisted.

Whenever someone asked, pretending to be curious, he felt the heat rise to his face before he shut them down.

For now, the only thing that mattered was forgetting all of it.

Campus Visits & The Final University Decision

In between the chaos of finals, Chris and his parents took a few trips to potential universities—places that might define the next four years of his life.

Each one held possibilities, but none felt quite right.

Britchester University (Island Kingdom of Henfordshire )

The prestige, the history—it was all there. Towering gothic halls, ivy-covered stone, and an atmosphere rooted in centuries of academia. It was where scholars went to prove themselves among the world’s best. But Chris couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too old-world, too steeped in tradition. He wanted medicine, and medicine was about innovation, not just legacy.

San Myshuno Medical Institute

The energy was magnetic—fast-paced, urban, competitive. It sat in the heart of San Myshuno, offering endless hospital internships and hands-on research opportunities. It had everything he wanted for his future in medicine.

But then it hit him—Indie lived here now.

Instant non-starter.

He wasn’t about to spend four years constantly risking run-ins with the girl who shattered him, knowing she was somewhere in the same city, living her life like their two-year relationship had meant nothing.

No. Absolutely not.

The last one on his short-list of favorites was Foxbury Biomedical Institute (Near San Sequoia, Del Sol Valley and Oasis Springs)—where science and ambition met. A campus built for progressive medicine, research breakthroughs, and forward-thinking professionals. The facilities were top-tier, the professors were leaders in medical innovation, and the environment encouraged pushing boundaries rather than just following the past.

It was new enough to feel like a challenge, but close enough to home to keep him grounded.

Each acceptance held a different version of his future, but in the end, there was only one choice that truly felt right.

Chris sat at the kitchen table, the official enrollment form in front of him—the paper that would cement his next four years. His acceptance letter was beside it, crisp and pristine, filled with formal language congratulating him on his place in the next generation of medical professionals.

His parents, Connor and Keira Cameron, sat on either side of him, their presence steady, comforting, but expectant. His father had been exactly where Chris was now, years ago—sitting with his own parents, at a kitchen table in Brindleton Bay, deciding his future, choosing Foxbury Biomedical Institute.

It was the reason Connor had ended up in San Sequoia in the first place. After graduating, he built his career here, establishing himself in medicine while laying the foundation for his family.

Keira had arrived long before that, drawn to the city’s progressive, modern, yet deeply artistic energy—a place where creativity thrived and expression was limitless. As a painter turned gallerist, San Sequoia gave her everything she needed: inspiration, community, and the space to turn her passion into something real.

Eventually, even Chris’ grandparents followed. They sold their Brindleton Bay estate—a sprawling, old-money home—and moved west to be closer to their son and grandson, who had been born here.

By the time Chris was old enough to form memories, San Sequoia wasn’t just home—it was everything. He never wanted to leave. One day, he’d work alongside his dad at the medical institute—solving tough cases, performing surgeries, and pioneering revolutionary treatments—just like he always imagined.

So, in a way, Foxbury had already shaped Chris’ life long before he even set foot on campus.

This was it.

The pen felt heavier in his hand than it should have. This wasn’t like signing a test, a permission slip, or a summer job contract. This was him saying, yes, I’m going to Foxbury. I’m committing to this path.

He inhaled, then exhaled.

And signed.

Keira let out a quiet breath, one of those deep, proud exhales that carried both excitement and nostalgia, as if she was watching another chapter of her child’s life unfold right in front of her. Connor raised his coffee mug, then gave his shoulder a solid pat, the kind of silent approval that meant everything.

It was done. Foxbury Biomedical Institute was officially his future.

Now Came the Real Challenge—Living It

Stay at home and commute, or get a campus apartment?

Chris glanced at his parents, who were already exchanging looks—they knew the question was coming.

Living at home meant comfort, familiarity, stability, but it also meant driving constantly, balancing school with home life, and never fully separating himself from childhood expectations.

Getting a place near campus meant independence, a fresh start, but also responsibility, expenses, and figuring things out alone.

It wasn’t an easy decision. But then again, none of this was.

Senior Prom

Noelle had always been there—not just a friend but a constant, someone who had seen him through every awkward phase, every heartbreak, every bad decision.

When she showed up at his house in the middle of the night, he didn’t question it.

He let her in, pulled her into his room, and they talked.

She sobbed, voice breaking, hands twisting into the fabric of his sleeve like she was clinging to something solid for the first time in hours.

Chris listened.

He pieced it together slowly—her cheating idiot of a boyfriend, Malik, the lies, the betrayal.

Chris wasn’t in the mood to mope over his own past anymore.

So he comforted her.

She eventually fell asleep in his bed, curled up in the leftover warmth of their conversation.

Chris had meant to stay there, just until she settled, just until she was out cold enough not to spiral again.

But by the time his own exhaustion dragged him under, he had already relocated to the couch in the living room, barely awake enough to realize he wasn’t alone anymore.

Because sometime deep in the night, Noelle must have woken up, found him, and—without a word—squeezed herself next to him on the couch, curling up against his side like they were kids again, like she belonged there, like she knew he wouldn’t move away from her presence.

Chris never even registered the shift.

Never felt her warmth pressed into his shoulder, never realized he had unconsciously draped an arm around her, protective even in his sleep.

Not until morning.

Not until the dogs found them first, their cold noses nudging his face, tails thumping against the couch, their silent demands for attention waking him just enough to be aware of reality again.

Through half-lidded eyes, he registered Connor standing in the doorway, already geared up for his morning jog, leashes in hand, a knowing look on his face.

And Noelle—still curled into him, still tucked under his arm, still asleep.

Connor didn’t say much.

Just a small nod, a quiet confirmation that he understood far more than he let on.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he gently nudged Noelle awake, told her to come with him, walking her home like a daughter, a fatherly arm wrapped around a girl sad from heartbreak, like she had always been part of their family, like the morning routine wouldn’t be complete without making sure she was safely back where she belonged.

Chris watched them go, dogs trotting at his father’s side, the image settling into something so familiar yet different now.

For a second, he thought that was the end of it.

That Noelle had just needed one night to process everything. That this was closure, nothing more. Except it wasn’t.

That same morning in school Chris wasn’t even thinking about revenge when he swung. He barely thought at all.

In his ears he was hearing Noelle’s shaky voice tell him the truth—how her boyfriend, Malik, had been cheating on her for months. The next second, he was watching Malik hit the ground, bleeding from a punch Chris hadn’t even registered throwing. Chris was built like the starting football player he was; Malik had no chance against the angry version of Chris.

Malik’s friends had been furious, throwing accusations as Malik groaned on the pavement, clutching his jaw.

“You think you’re some damn knight in shining armor? You just want in on her too! White boy wanting himself some hood pussy?!” They taunted, just before they went airborne or landed on their rear ends. Chris felt their words like a slap, anger rushing through his veins.

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t even close. He had grown up with Noelle. Their mothers had bathed them together as toddlers. She was like his sister, and now, here he was—the brother defending her honor the way he knew how.
Before too long, Chris’ friends trickled in and immediately came to help, then Noelle and some of the girls. Not long after, Malik and his friends ‘retreated’ really quickly, while Craig and Seth were high fiving behind Chris, who stood with his hands propped on his knees, breathing heavily from the adrenaline, anger and physical strain.

Noelle had loved that Chris fought for her. She never asked him to, but when he did, she never once doubted his loyalty. It finally made her smile again. And that made Chris feel good, even when she was dabbing peroxide into his busted lip.

And when she mentioned that Malik had been her senior prom date, that she had bought her dress for nothing now, Chris had felt something settle inside him—because he still had his tickets. Tickets meant for Indie and him. Tickets for a future that didn’t exist anymore.

“Go to prom with me,” he had told Noelle flashing the tickets. “As friends. I mean, we already spent the money on tickets and clothing and what not, might as well, right?”

It started innocently enough—dancing, joking, stealing extra desserts off plates that weren’t theirs. But something shifted halfway through the night.

Maybe it was the way Noelle looked at him—a flicker of something unsure but wanting. Maybe the way she smelled, the way she felt right in his arms. Not like a sister. Like a woman. Maybe it was the way he felt when she pulled him closer on the dance floor, their bodies moving together in a way that suddenly felt right, instead of just familiar. The song changed to “Havana” by Camila Caballo, the music picked up, as did their heartbeats.

By the time they left, something had already been decided—they didn’t even need to say it.

The night ended in the backseat of his jet black 2022 Dodge Charger, a gift from his parents when he got his acceptance letter to Foxbury. Sleek, fast, the kind of car that made people stare when it rolled past.

That’s where it happened, where their friendship changed to something different—the shift, the moment, the start of something neither of them had planned. Backseat windows fogging up, breathless whispers, fingers tangled in fabric and skin.

By the time they left the parking lot, something had already been decided—they didn’t even need to say it. It was the first of many moments like that which always ended in the backseat of someone’s car, in a utility closet, behind someone’s landscaping, in Chris’ old treehouse or eventually in whispers and tangled sheets, in something completely unexpected but impossible to regret.

They didn’t call it serious, and maybe that was the point. They were comfortable, maybe even happy, but their parents had concerns.

Noelle’s mom Janelle and Chris’ mom Keira, best friends since before either of the kids were born, Janelle had been Keira’s matron of honor.

Now the two bestie moms had long, worried conversations about the timing, the rebound factor, the fact that Noelle was heading off to a different university clear across the country. They didn’t forbid anything—they weren’t that kind of parents—but they watched carefully.

Chris knew why they worried. Indie had been a long-distance relationship, too, and it had ended in disaster. Maybe take two, featuring Noelle and Chris was gonna different. Maybe not.

He wasn’t even sure that what he and Noelle were doing was even a relationship. But for now, for right now, he was letting himself breathe.

The Parent Trap

The kitchen smelled like butter, coffee, and the lingering crispness of fried bacon—comforting scents that should have made the morning feel normal. Except normal had packed its bags and left the moment Noelle waltzed in, shoulders loose, unbothered, snatching a piece of toast off the counter like she hadn’t just spent the night breaking every unspoken rule in her parents’ house.

Janelle’s deep, drawn-out sigh hit the room first—the kind only a mother watching her daughter play with fire could produce. Slow, deliberate, like she was pulling it straight from her soul.

Laurent set his coffee down with a calculated pause. That was never good. He didn’t speak immediately, just darted Noelle a sideways glance dripping with suspicion. And then—like he had been waiting for the precise moment to make her squirm—he leaned forward, voice low but commanding.

“You are a young woman now, Noelle. You will be off at campus in San Myshuno soon. But let’s get one thing straight: you are not about to parade around here looking like this. At least put on that overpriced excuse for a robe your mother and I wasted our money on for Christmas. You wanted it, acted like you would die without it and now you aren’t even wearing it.”

Noelle barely spared her father a look as she took a bite of toast, chewing slowly, lazily, a smirk playing at her lips.

“Rich delivery, Dad. Saying all that while standing here in nothing but your boxers. And with a straight face. Mom ain’t any more covered. Lead by example, right?”

Laurent opened his mouth, but Janelle was already snapping back, hands planted firmly on her hips.

“You watch your mouth! Don’t you be talking to your daddy like that! And I AM wearing a robe, missy! I AM covered enough, because I am standing here with my husband of over twenty-two years, in my own damn kitchen! Not dressed like I lost a fight with my closet like you! You think you need to be showing your daddy your underwear like all that? What if someone walks by and looks in the window?”

Laurent nodded in affirmation, as if that somehow ended the conversation.

“Exactly. I am a grown man, middle-aged, married, fully established—not a barely eighteen-year-old girl walking around like she don’t know better. Who do you think I would fall prey to? But girls like you, dressing like that, away in San Myshuno? Nah. Nah! NAH!”

Laurent grumbled under his breath as he reached for more coffee, shaking his head like he was already imagining the worst.

And then came Chris.

Sweet, polite, unfortunate Chris.

He stepped inside with a hesitant smile—the kind that screamed “Please don’t kill me” in the most non-threatening way possible.

“Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Tallier.”

Silence.

Dead, air-sucked-out-the-room silence.

Janelle crossed her arms, shifting her weight deliberately, inhaling deep enough that the entire kitchen felt the moment before impact.

“Ah hell no! Well, Good morning, Chris. Y’know, I just find it so interesting that your morning started in my house. In my daughter’s room. After you snuck in last night, so Laurent and I legit assumed you’d have the decency to leave the way you came. Yes, Laurent and I heard and saw you, you two idiots! You think we were born yesterday?! You got some balls on you, kid, rolling up in here like all that. So, is this what we do now, children?”

Chris knew better than to speak. No oxygen necessary. Besides, there were no more words in his head. Only vacuum.

Noelle, naturally, was unfazed. She popped another bite of toast into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then—casually—raised a single finger.

“What relationship?”

Laurent squinted. So did Janelle. So did Chris.

Noelle grinned.

“Look, Dad. Chris and I are having fun. Do you and Mom remember fun? I didn’t after Malik. I know you liked Malik, Dad, I know you were seeing yourself doing all the stuff you wanted to do with a son you never had, but the bastard cheated on me several times through several months and I feel like the biggest idiot now. He made me feel like trash. I legit forgot how to laugh. Guess what? Now I remember. Magical how that works, huh? Welcome to 2025, boomers.”

“Excuse me?” Janelle’s voice cut sharp, but Noelle was already talking over her.

“No offense, but y’all are so dramatic. This ain’t the old days. People have sex for fun now. You should try it sometime, very relaxing—you both are wound tight as hell.”

Chris wheezed.

Laurent looked deeply, profoundly distressed. Like his daughter was saying things that might literally kill him on the spot.

“Girl, if you get pregnant—”

Chris choked. He turned to leave, but Laurent pointed a lethal finger at him before he could recover.

“Where you think you are going, young man!?”

“Ah, … that way? This seemed like a family type of talk …” Chris mumbled, but Laurent Tallier was shaking his head.

“Son, the minute you start sleeping in my daughter’s bed and showing up to breakfast like all that, you ARE family. And listen to me now and listen good: If you knock my daughter up, now or in the future, you BETTER be prepared to sell that fancy car, ‘cause you’re gonna need diaper money. We ain’t about to be another cliché! You put a baby in my baby, and I will hold you and your parents personally responsible, son!”

Janelle groaned, massaging her temples. “Lord help this child. Good Lord have mercy on all of us. I raised you better than this, Noelle. And I know your momma raised you better than this too, Christian Cameron!”

Chris actively fought for his life in silence.
Laurent sighed, rubbing his face.

“What we are saying is that you both better be careful with all that, ‘cause from where I stand, this is a disaster waiting to happen. And then what!? HUH?!”

Noelle smirked, and oh, there was that look again—sharp, playful, unbothered.

“Quit worrying, Dad. No reason for a heart attack here. Just so y’all can actually sleep tonight, I’ll just say it: I always make sure Chris has everything well covered, if you know what I mean. I double-check it myself.”

Chris died. He literally had to lean against the doorframe or would have keeled over.
Janelle gasped—like someone had stabbed her with sheer disrespect—and promptly ran out of the kitchen.

But Laurent, oh, Laurent took one look at Chris and decided it was time.

Slapping a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, then grabbing his own half-finished one, wrapping an arm around his shoulders he pulled him along towards his home office.

“Let’s have a chat, son. Man to man.”

Chris saw his entire life flash before his eyes.

The Last Party

Chris barely had time to steady his plate before Craig’s hand slammed against his back.

“Cameron, you wet sack! I swear, I am gonna crush you in karaoke tonight,” Craig shouted over the music, throwing a wink at a group near the pool before taking a running leap straight into the water.

“Yeah, right on, Douglas. We all can’t wait for your usual rendition of ‘Freak’ like we haven’t heard the same song from you five million times before. And yet it still sounds like two cats fucking in a metal garbage can,” Chris called back.

The splash was enormous—water arcing high, drenching everyone within a five-foot radius, including Chris himself.

He blinked down at his plate, which had miraculously survived, though a few droplets now speckled his burger bun. Typical.

He was used to the faint chlorine taste on his food by now. Craig had been his best friend since elementary school, and he had always been just like this—loud, chaotic, unapologetically himself.

The party was in full swing, the way they always were at the Cameron house.

His parents, Connor and Keira, had been throwing huge gatherings for years, celebrating everything from birthdays to summer solstices to ‘just because’ nights that turned into legendary events.

Chris had practically grown up in a house where the doors were always open, where there was always music playing, laughter ringing out, people coming and going as if the place belonged to everyone.

He had inherited the habit. He had a lot of friends, and they were usually at his house.

Today was no different. The backyard was packed, the pool glowing under string lights, the hot tub bubbling with conversation.

The ancient treehouse, built many, many years ago with splintered wood and childhood ambition, still stood proudly in its corner—though now, instead of being a “secret club headquarters,” it was the perfect spot for sneaking drinks and heartfelt talks. And the occasional covert make out session.

And somehow, between bites of food and splashes of water, it hit Chris all at once—this was probably the last time they’d all be together like this.

Their futures were pulling them in different directions, some close, some far, some uncertain.

Craig Was Staying. Thank God.

Chris had spent too many nights worrying that his best friend would leave, but in the end, Foxbury Biomedical Institute won him over too—though not for medicine.

Environmental science.

Craig had always been into eco-technology and conservation, even if he never talked about it much. Now, he was leaning into it fully, and Chris was relieved to have someone familiar at his side in this new chapter.

Juliette Was Going Big.

Juliette, Craig’s sister, was already itching for something bigger. She didn’t want small-town familiarity or comfortable choices—she wanted something fast, bold, and unpredictable.

She had been accepted to Del Sol Valley University, where she planned to dive headfirst into film production, dreaming of directing movies and TV shows.

Chris respected it. Juliette always knew what she wanted and chased it head-on.

Noelle Was Leaving.

Ugh. Chris had known it before she even said it, but hearing her lay it out so clearly still stung a little.

They had fun. A lot of fun.

And in her words, they could have more—whenever, wherever—but she wasn’t tying herself down to anything. Or anyone. All he needed to do was show up and he could have it again.

She was heading to San Myshuno University, diving deep into Fine Art & Fashion Design, preparing for a future in the high-fashion scene.

The city had always been calling her, and she wouldn’t resist it.

Chris wasn’t surprised. But the fact that San Myshuno was where Indie lived now—well, that was something he wasn’t eager to dwell on.

Craig would drag him there eventually. Noelle was too good at convincing them both to visit.

It was only a matter of time before Chris found himself in a place he wasn’t sure he wanted to be, risking the chance of running into someone he’d rather forget.

Zara Was Already Ahead.

Zara, Noelle’s older sister, had already graduated a few years back, almost done with college too. She was building a career as a public relations consultant in Del Sol Valley, managing digital campaigns, celebrity partnerships, and branding for influencers.

She had always been sharp, calculated—her ability to craft an image and control a narrative made her invaluable in the digital marketing world.

Chris admired her hustle, even if he wouldn’t last a second in her industry.

Penny’s Future Was… Complicated.

College wasn’t in the cards for Penelope McIntyre, but she had landed a job at a café and art space in San Sequoia—hosting local music and art events, surrounded by creatives and free spirits.

It fit her. She was never one to conform, never one to follow a traditional path. She had been raised in chaos, learning early on that stability wasn’t guaranteed. As the oldest, she carried more weight than anyone else in the family. She had seen her mother stumble, had watched one father after another disappear, leaving her mom with bills, broken promises, and too many kids to raise alone.

Chris’ parents, Connor and Keira, had helped where they could—offering groceries, watching the younger kids when things got tough—but there was only so much they could do.

Penny learned to survive. She had taken on the mother role for her younger siblings too many times, watched them get picked up and returned by Child Protective Services and it shaped her. She never wanted to be tied down—to a job she hated, to a life she didn’t choose, to anyone who might trap her in a cycle she had spent her whole childhood running from.

Chris wasn’t sure if Penny was lost or liberated. If he should pity her or envy her. Maybe she wasn’t sure either. But something he did know about her was that she wouldn’t accept help until she asked for it. If she asked, Chris and Craig would be there.

And all his other friends, he watched them now having fun like this was just another party of another summer break, not like it was their last one like this. Maybe the last one ever with all of them together.

Seth Collins had been signed by a football major league team. He would be the first to go, leaving in a few days as he’d be spending his summer preparing for the next season.

Chris saw Cayla, Seth’s sister. She was gonna study oversees for a semester or two, then come back to one of the other colleges, but unwilling to put everything in stone, more like playing it by ear. Not sure when he would see her next, let alone at a party like this one. Sigh.

Scattered, like leaves in the fall.

Chris would still have Craig right beside him, and Noelle just a drive away in San Myshuno.

But everything was changing, and Chris knew it would only be a matter of time before those changes forced him to confront things he’d been trying to leave behind.

Move-In Day

Chris’ First Semester at Foxbury

The moment Chris stepped onto Foxbury’s campus, it felt different. Not bad—just new, a kind of unfamiliar that sat in his chest like a weight.

Connor and Keira had insisted on driving him up themselves, their SUV packed with more stuff than one guy could possibly need. Craig, tagging along in his own family’s car, was equally overprepared, thanks to his mom’s belief that he needed “three different kinds of first-aid kits” just in case.

They had both decided to live on campus for at least a couple semesters, figuring they could commute later once classes weren’t an everyday thing.

Unfortunately had both already been assigned roommates and change wasn’t possible.

Chris got a random roommate—Jordan Reese, a mechanical engineering major from Newcrest, who had way too many opinions about car mods and protein shakes. For the most time Chris pretended to listen when he went into one of his long lectures about either or both.

Craig landed with a guy named Leo Vasquez, who barely unpacked before running off to a campus party, making Craig declare, “I respect the hustle.”

Chris and Craig didn’t room together, but they visited each other constantly, bouncing between their dorms like they were still attached at the hip.

The Slow Start

The semester started quiet, at first. Classes were straightforward, professors were decent, and the social scene felt a little too structured for Chris’ taste.

He wasn’t used to planned events—his childhood had been pure chaos, where people just showed up, music played, and things happened, whenever, wherever.

So he and Craig started seeking out something better.

They quickly learned that the best parties weren’t the official ones—they were the ones you had to hear about through whispers, from texts that just said an address and a time.

And that’s where things shifted.

The Party Phase

It started out simple—a few parties here, a couple of nights drinking, talking to random people they barely knew.

Then it became their whole thing. A game.
Invited or not, they went.

If a party was happening, they found it.

Chris got really good at playing the field, and Craig was right there beside him—equally reckless but way less smooth. That became a competition. Who could get the most numbers. Then it was who could end up making out first. Then it was conquests per party. Then week. Then month.

At first, Chris wasn’t keeping track of names, just chasing the next thrill, the next party, the next blurry night, the next win against his best friend. But eventually, it all started blending together—a blur of first-year excitement, reckless affairs, and impulsive choices.

Maya Patel lasted a couple of weeks, their affair burning fast before Chris lost interest. They met at a rager in the Bio Department, ended up tangled together against a shelf of botany textbooks, doing the deed until then got kicked out of the building, laughing like they were invincible.

Emma Raines had a wild streak—political science major, known for stealing beer bottles and leading reckless adventures. They hooked up for a few nights, mostly in chaotic, impulsive settings, until she wanted something more stable, and Chris refused to pretend he could give her that.

Talia Brooks had a habit of leaving marks—not just figuratively. Sharp-witted, too smart for her own good, she dragged Chris into a graffiti project behind the dorms, made him feel like they were rebels, and then left him with a smirk before disappearing into the night. He liked her, but only briefly. The first time he went home for a weekend and had to explain the deep fingernail scratch marks on his back to his mother, he was done with Talia.

Veronica Kim was different—in control, dangerous in a way Chris wasn’t used to. She showed up at his dorm like she belonged there, whispered things that made him forget everything outside the moment and walked away like it had been a business transaction. She was damn hot to Chris until she left a bridal magazine in his dorm. He barely spoke to her again. Hell no!

Delaney Moore was the first girl Craig actually recognized on sight, solely because she left behind a sweater in Chris’ room that Craig turned into a joke overnight. Delaney lasted a week before Chris got bored, and then another two weeks before she stopped texting him altogether.

Craig never bothered with names. All his conquests were numbers in a running sheet on his phone, which he liked to slam into Chris’ face after another successful night.

And then came the bad moments.

There was Alina, who ran into them at a campus event, at first the boys didn’t even know which of them had slept with her until she started expecting Craig to say something sweet, something familiar—only for him to blink like she was a stranger. He really couldn’t remember her at all. It ended with Craig on his knees after she kicked him where it really hurt.

Then there was the girl who suddenly stood in front of Chris at a coffee shop, arms folded, eyes flashing with hurt.
Before he could even react, her hand came down in a slap—sharp, fast, not enough to hurt but enough to humiliate him instantly. He stared, stunned, reaching up like the answer might be etched onto his skin.

“What the hell?”

She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking her head.

“You said you’d call me. Asshole!”

Chris frowned, trying to place her, but nothing came. The silence stretched, tension heavy in the air, until her expression hardened.

“Sorry?” he tried to at least say something. Anything.

“That was five weeks ago.”

Chris opened his mouth, some empty excuse forming, but she was already stomping off, shaking her head like she regretted every second she had ever wasted on him.

Craig, standing a few feet away, let out a slow whistle, watching her disappear into the crowd.

“Bro… that was painful to witness. Damn Cameron! You are one rogue motherfucker! HA!” he laughed.

“Well, at least she didn’t go for my balls.” he snarled back, making Craig laugh harder.

“Touche! You got me there, brother.”

“Not as good as what’s-her-face got you.” Chris retorted, rubbing his still reddened cheek.

Still, as humiliating and in some cases painful as this was, the boys hadn’t learned their lessons yet.

But when Connor and Keira arrived for an unscheduled visit, it all started to come crashing down for Chris.

They had barely stepped into his dorm hallway and knocked on his door before a girl scrambled out of his room, clearly caught in the middle of a rough morning-after situation. Clearly hungover. And Chris didn’t look any different. His roommate’s bed was completely untouched, so the situation was undeniable. Worse yet, it hadn’t been the first time. One of the times before it was two girls.

Connor exhaled sharply, hands on his hips.

Keira just stared, like she was mentally calculating every bad decision her son had made in the last six months. Chris felt it then—the weight of their disappointment, heavier than any hangover.

It wasn’t about fear of unwanted pregnancies or diseases—Chris was too smart, too careful for any of that.

But when he saw the disappointment in his parents’ faces, something deep in his chest tightened. He had always loved them. Always respected them.

Their relationship had always been close, almost friendly, but they could be strict when it mattered, when something needed to be said. But his entire childhood felt protected, yet free, cos they were fun people and they were having so much fun as a little family. Travels, adventures, laughter.

And now?

Now, as his mom Keira stood in his dorm, arms folded, shaking her head, and Connor just let out a long, measured sigh, Chris felt like every choice he’d made since the breakup with Indie was flashing before his eyes.

He could practically hear the unspoken words—the things Keira wouldn’t say outright, the way Connor wouldn’t lecture but would let his silence do the talking.

Chris didn’t know what hit harder—the silent judgment or the quiet hope in their eyes that maybe, just maybe, he’d figure himself out before this spiral got worse.

They spent a few hours catching up, listened to Chris give his sanitized version of college life, nodded at Craig, who inevitably showed up and joined, giving his own rundown, highly censored, like he wasn’t clearly just as bad as Chris, then left for the drive home.

Keira didn’t speak for a while, just pressed her fingers against her temples like she was fighting off a headache.

Finally, she sighed.

“How did we end up raising us a manwhore, Con-Bear?! And sweet Craig is no better! Eeew! They were such cute babies, and as kids they were so polite and sweet. And now? Yuck! I wanna disinfect my entire body just from being in our son’s dorm room. Blech!”

Connor barely blinked, just shrugged, eyes still focused on the road.

“It was the breakup from Indie that fucked him up. Then the weird whatever with Noelle. I think it messed him up a little, he started having real feels for her and she just told him friendship and booty calls is all she’s willing to give him. We both know that’s not what Chris wanted. And Craig just copies everything Chris does like a parrot on speed. Hopefully, it’s temporary.”

“Has to be. I mean, they are still only 18. How much nookie could an 18-year-old boy want till it becomes boring?” Keira wondered, earning a glance from Connor that said it all before his words could.

“Seriously, Keke? At 18 boys are testosterone-driven sperm-fountains. They won’t get bored of nookie, babe. Their sparrow brains have to kick into gear, or this won’t stop anytime soon.”

Keira muttered something about “men are disgusting,” then leaned her head back against the seat, leaving Connor to shrug.

Chris had always been a good kid. But now?

Chris stood in the middle of his dorm, staring at the door his parents had just walked out of, the tension in the air slowly fading but still heavy in his chest.

Craig was lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone like nothing was changing—like none of this mattered.

And maybe it didn’t.

Maybe this was just a phase, just something Chris had to burn through before he came out the other side whole again.

But when he sat down, head in his hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—that one day, maybe sooner than he expected, he was going to wake up and not recognize himself anymore.

For now, though?

For now, he was just going to keep moving.

The Rude Awakening

The party was chaos—booze, music, people packed wall to wall. Nothing unusual.

Chris wasn’t paying attention until Craig yanked his arm.

“Bro. Outside. Now.”

Chris barely had time to register the urgency before they were shoving past bodies, stepping into the cold night air—where everything changed.

A girl stood on the dorm rooftop, silhouetted against the skyline. Arms spread. Teetering between two choices.

Jump. Stay.

Chris stopped breathing. He knew the girl. She was in some of his classes.

Someone was on the phone with 911. Someone was screaming. Someone else was crying.

It took hours to talk her down. She kept screaming about some boy who broke her heart and now he life was over for reasons Chris didn’t even register. No, at least this wasn’t about him, he knew he hadn’t slept with that one, but … he knew it theoretically could be. What he and Craig had been doing, the competition about who could get the most girls in a week, a month, a semester, yeah, that could well end right here with one of those girls thinking about jumping, because of them. Looking at Craig Chris could tell he was thinking along the same lines.

But the police shrink finally managed to calm the girl, voice steady, careful, guiding her step by step away from the edge.

And when she finally backed away, a collective breath of relief went through the crowd—like the whole world had been holding its breath, waiting.

By the time Chris sat in the police station to give his statement, along with Craig, who was unusually quiet and pale, as were the other students who had seen it all, cold and silent, waiting, he barely registered the exhaustion.

And when Connor and Keira finally arrived to pick him up, as the college had placed all students present for the incident on a mandatory two-week mental health leave to process the event, when he saw his dad’s familiar stance, when his mom rushed forward, Chris didn’t even think.

He just hugged them, too hard, too desperate, like he was a scared little kid who had lost them in a mall and was finally found again. He felt Craig being pulled in next to him. His parents hadn’t arrived yet, until then, they would share Chris’. Just like they they always had.

He barely registered that he was crying.

Sobbing.

Keira whispered something, but Chris barely heard it.

All he knew was he wanted to go home.

Reckoning

Chris hadn’t planned on going to San Myshuno. None of them had. But after everything that happened on campus—the attempted suicide, the weight of it still pressing into their thoughts even after classes were paused—Craig had insisted.

“We need to get out of here, man,” he’d said. “My parents are fully on board with it, they are ready to buy us tickets right now. And Noelle’s been wanting us to visit anyway. We go for a few days, clear our heads, then come back and deal with reality.”

Chris had hesitated, but in the end, Craig won.

Their parents hadn’t let them leave without a lecture.

Connor kept his eyes on the road as he drove the boys to the airport, but his voice was firm. “This trip is about unwinding—not losing your damn minds. I don’t want to hear about you getting arrested or pulling something stupid.”

Craig’s mom Carolina Douglas was just as relentless before they left the house. “You two—behave. And don’t think I won’t call Noelle if I feel like you need checking up on and she better answer and you better be right there to take the phone from her. BOTH of you.”

Chris and Craig had nodded through the warnings, promised to check in, assured them they weren’t complete degenerates.

West Coast Menaces, East Coast Chaos

Once they were through airport security—away from hovering parents and parental concerns—something flipped.

They weren’t two guys coming off a rough couple of weeks.

They were two almost 19-year-olds about to tear through San Myshuno—their best friend waiting, a city at their feet, and the kind of reckless freedom only a trip like this could bring.

Chris and Craig practically whooped as they spotted an airport merch shop, immediately beelining for the racks of overpriced gear.

Craig shoved a San Sequoia baseball cap onto Chris’ head before pulling a San Sequoia fisherman’s hat down over his own.

“We look like tourists.”

Chris adjusted his cap backward. “We are tourists, dumbass.”

“Yeah, not yet! We’re still in our hometown. But we’re getting this shit, representin’ some West Coast pride over on the East Coast. Get some hoodie for Noelle too, so she doesn’t forget where she comes from!”

Then came the cologne experiments—spraying samples onto each other instead of the paper strips, stacking scents just to see how bad they could get.

“I smell like a hedge fund manager,” Craig muttered after five sprays.

Chris sniffed him, gagged dramatically. “Nah, man. You smell like a midlife crisis.”

The saleswoman frowned at them, already half a second away from booting them out. “Can I help you find something?”

Craig, naturally, took this as a challenge.

“Nah, we got this.”

Before Chris could react, Craig grabbed a lipstick tester and swiped it across his lips in one bold stroke.

Chris lost it.

“Oh, nah. You did not just do that.” He wheezed, laughing so loud other travelers turned to stare.

Craig grinned, lips tinted a questionable shade of red.

“What? You don’t think it brings out my eyes?”

Chris doubled over, tears in his eyes.

“You—you look like you just survived a divorce and are about to start a podcast. After driving the kids to soccer.”

The saleswoman had officially reached her limit.

“Out. Now.”

Craig grabbed Chris’ wrist—then bolted.

They tore down the terminal hallway, laughing so obnoxiously loud that other travelers turned their heads.

“You still got the lipstick on, man!” Chris hollered, jogging beside him.

Craig smirked, pressed his lips together like women do after applying lipstick, then winked.

“Gotta make sure it sets, babe.”

Chris gasped for air, struggling to breathe from laughter.

“BRO, STOP. You know way too much about lipstick, dude.”

“Yeah, I got a mom, don’t you? And a sister and I had girlfriends, I like my chicks looking straight in the city, not like fresh off the farm. Duh.” Craig wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you smell like a whorehouse.”

Chris shoved his shoulder. “Bro, YOU made me smell like this! And you stink the same, just ten times worse, cos my aim is better.”

Craig only cackled, somehow managing to snatch up someone’s abandoned neck pillow off a chair as they whizzed past.

“What the hell are you gonna do with that?” Chris panted, shaking his head.

Craig threw it at him.

Chris caught it right before it hit his face, spun around, and launched it back—just in time for it to bounce off Craig’s chest. Craig tossed it back towards where he found it.

An airport employee eyed them suspiciously, so they ducked into a convenience shop, barely containing their laughter.

Craig grabbed a pack of adult diapers, chucked it at Chris.

Chris caught it, stared at it, then looked up, horrified.

“Bro. Why?”

Craig shrugged. “You never know when turbulence hits different.”

Chris threw it back at him, hard. “You NEED HELP.”

Craig cackled, dodging just in time, before grabbing a ridiculously oversized bottle of Tums and waving it like a trophy.

“For your weak stomach, old man!”

Chris snatched a neck pillow off the shelf and smacked him with it.

“I literally hope they lose your luggage.” Chris said, looking around before spraying hand-sanitizer all over himself, hoping to mask the strong cologne stench.

“No problem, I just wear your shit then.” Craig countered, coughing dramatically at the santizer-fresh cloud surrounding them, making the stench worse yet.

Chris grabbed a pair of sunglasses, shoved them onto Craig’s face.

“Nice. You look like you do fraudulent tax work.”

Craig posed, adjusting them like he was modeling for a business magazine cover.

“And you still stink, by the way. Making my eyes tear. Can’t say it often enough.”

Chris flicked Craig’s cap, sending it lopsided, then glanced up at the boarding screen—noticing their gate was doing final calls.

“Oh—shit.”

Craig turned, saw and bolted.

Chris ran after him.

Another employee sighed heavily. “Security’s gonna love these two.”

Both boys sprinted toward the gate, practically skidding to a stop as the flight attendant gave them a deadpan look as both held out their boarding cards on their phones at her.

“You two almost missed boarding.”

Chris, out of breath, pointed at Craig.

“He had to reapply his lipstick.”

Craig, still laughing, nudged him forward.

“And he had to make sure he smells like a brothel. Let us on, please.”

Chaos, Altitude, and East Coast Bound

A couple of hours into the flight, they’d both given up on pretending to sleep.

Craig had built a tower out of peanut packets and tiny plastic cups on his tray table.

Chris had already knocked it down twice, just because he could.

Craig threatened violence, but honestly—he was too comfortable in his seat to deliver.

“I swear to God, bro. Knock it over one more time and I will tell the flight attendant you’re smuggling rare spiders in your carry-on.”

Chris smirked. “Bet.”

Craig squinted, debating if he had the energy to stop him before Chris knocked it over for the third time.

“You are actually the worst. When I get back home I need to find a new best friend.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. You’ll need it.”

Chris leaned back, grinning like he’d won something important.

Somewhere between turbulence and an in-flight movie neither of them were actually watching, Craig went full gremlin mode, deciding to try and open three snacks at once—dropping pretzels all over himself.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You need help with basic human functions?”

Craig flipped him off, mouth full of pretzels.

“Shut up. I’m thriving. Living my best life over here, you human fun-stopper.”

Chris shook his head, laughing softly.

After hours of mindless entertainment, the captain announced the descent into San Myshuno.

They both peered out the window—city lights sprawling beneath them, glittering in the dark like an open invitation.

Chris stretched, rolling his neck. “Alright. Time to find Noelle.”

Craig smirked, buckling his seatbelt properly. “Time for her to find us.”

Welcome to Chaos

Once the plane landed, once they stepped off onto East Coast ground, Noelle was waiting at the airport—arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.

“Took y’all long enough.”

Chris and Craig shared a look.

Chris shrugged. “We almost got arrested.”

Craig adjusted his cap. “And I definitely traumatized some TSA agents.”

Noelle sighed. “I don’t wanna know.”

Chris grinned. “Oh, but you will.”

As soon as she looked them over, she grinned, shaking her head at their ridiculousness—the baseball cap and hat, the lingering smell of every cologne tester in existence, and Craig still wiping traces of lipstick off his mouth while placing his hat on her waterfall of black curls.

“You two are so embarrassing. And you both will take showers at my place. Like the minute you get through the door, I don’t even care. And what’s with the lipstick. Don’t tell me that idiot joined the mile high club on your way over,” she muttered, even as she pulled them into a hug.

Chris smirked, nudging Craig. “Nah, he put it on just for you. Told you the lipstick was a bad move.”

Craig shoved him, then planted a big wet kiss on Noelle’s cheek, grinning satisfied at the red mark it left. “At least we know ‘all-day-wear’ and ‘smudgeproof’ are really not just empty claims, cos I wiped that shit so hard I almost rubbed my lips off. Besides, you smell worse than I look. And everyone knows you are with us, girl, I marked you as mine now.”

Noelle rolled her eyes, looping an arm through Craig’s.

Chris huffed, throwing his hands up. “Am I chopped liver or something?”

“No,” Noelle shot back, “but you reek like a cheap dive bar that refuses to mop its floors, so stay a few steps behind us, please.”

Craig snickered, nudging her. “Nah, he smells like a rejected contestant from a reality show that gives free makeovers to former hookers.”

Chris shoved Craig, laughing. “And you look like I smell. Like a dude who is in too close touch with his feminine side.”

Noelle groaned. “Great. I get to drag two absolute morons through the city.”

Craig threw an arm around her, grinning. “Yeah, love you back, bitch.”

Chris side-eyed them. “You know, I was gonna buy you dinner, but now I’m reconsidering.”

Noelle smirked. “Oh, you think I trust you to pick a restaurant? Please. Craig, you’re in charge.”

Craig gasped dramatically. “The power. The responsibility.” he leaned in and kissed Noelle’s cheek, glaring back gleefully at Chris trailing behind them.

Chris muttered, “We’re definitely eating somewhere awful.”

And just like that, they were off to the subway, still roasting each other as the city stretched out ahead of them.

Her apartment was tiny—one bedroom, barely enough space in the living room for two guys crashing on the pull-out couch, but they didn’t care.

It was her space, her new world, the life she had built for herself since moving to San Myshuno.

And for the first time in weeks, they weren’t thinking about everything they had left behind.

They were living.

They explored the city like tourists, despite Noelle insisting she wasn’t dragging them to all the obvious spots—though they still ended up at the Stone Park Fountain at midnight, tossing coins into the water like idiots.

They ate late-night street food, sat on the steps of Noelle’s building, laughing about absolutely nothing, watching the city hum around them.

They squeezed into packed subway cars, found a rooftop bar with a perfect skyline view, and spent the next hour arguing about which borough had the worst drivers like they had any right to judge.

And by the time the weekend rolled in, the club scene called.

Music. Drinks. Neon lights.

The city had them.

Maybe distraction was exactly what they needed.

The plan was simple—spend a few days with Noelle, shake off the heaviness, breathe.

At least, that was the plan.

Until Chris ended up alone during a night out on the town with them, club hopping, bar crawling.

He hadn’t meant to wander off, but somehow, he found himself weaving through unfamiliar streets, his phone buzzing in his pocket with texts from Craig asking where the hell he had gone.

Chris ignored them, lost in thought.

And then, out of nowhere, his brain pulled up something he hadn’t thought about in months—a text.

Indie had sent it to him the last time they ran into each other, back when she was pregnant but not even showing. He hadn’t asked for her address, but she had texted it anyway, maybe thinking he’d visit, maybe just as a passing gesture.

At the time, he’d saved it without thinking.

Now, standing on the streets of San Myshuno, he remembered it.

And when he looked at the name of the street, something clicked—because Noelle had mentioned it when they passed by here before, talking about the trashy neighborhood down some alley, mentioning it’s the type of ‘hood females don’t go near after dark.

Chris checked the text, matched the street name, and realized he was standing on Indigo Blu’s street. All that was left was finding the right number.

That was how he ended up in front of the run-down apartment complex, staring at cheap brick, a broken intercom, and a door that stuck when he pulled it open.

He found her apartment quickly, inhaled, knocked.

Indie answered after a pause—hesitant, thinner than he remembered, dark circles under tired eyes, hair unwashed, messy, clothes hanging on her frame like they used to fit better once upon a time.

She sucked in a breath, stunned. “Chris?”

He forced a smile. “Hey.”

Her expression wavered—shock morphing into excitement, then embarrassment as she swept a quick glance over herself, her hand tugging at the hem of an old hoodie.

The apartment was small, cluttered with baby supplies but emptier than he expected—as if she had once tried to make it a home but had run out of energy before she could finish.

She gestured him inside.

Chris hesitated, eyes flicking toward the dim space behind her.

“What about—?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Indie cut him off, too fast, too dismissive.

Chris studied her a beat longer before stepping in.

They sat across from each other on an old sofa which Chris could feel every spring of poking him in the rear—Indie curled around a mug she barely touched, her shoulders tight, guarded.

Slowly, she cracked open.

She told him everything—the fights with her parents, the husband who had gone back to his ex, the abandonment, the sheer loneliness of realizing no one was coming to save her.

She had no idea how to fix it.

No clue how to reach out without feeling like an unwelcome stranger to her own family.

Chris listened.
For the first time, he just listened.

At some point, without thinking about it, he had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his presence inching closer.
And when she finally broke—eyes shimmering, breath hitching, shoulders curling in like she was trying to make herself small—Chris didn’t hesitate.
He closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around her, holding her through the mess, the regret, the exhaustion.

Indie had spent months begging for forgiveness.

Now, Chris was ready to give it.
Not because it fixed anything, but because it was time.
Not because he wanted her back. That wasn’t gonna happen.
But for the first time in nearly a year, Chris felt lighter.
When they separated, he looked at her for a few beats.

“How can I help?” was all he said. Simple.

Indie barely had time to react before she started sobbing—hard, desperate, like she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear those words until now.
She collapsed into his arms, holding onto him like he was an anchor, like the world was too much, like she was so exhausted from carrying it alone.

Chris wasn’t made of stone, so he held her, waited it out, let her cry until she had nothing left—until another, smaller sound broke through the room.

The baby.

A sharp, needy cry, muffled by the bedroom door but undeniable. The baby he never met. Last time he had seen or spoken to Indie, she was still pregnant and not even showing.

Chris stood first. “I got it. I have several nieces and nephews; I can handle a baby. Plus, I wanna be a doctor, so I better know what I am doing, right. You relax, think about what you want. What you really want, and no, the answer cannot be ‘me‘. That’s off the table. But we gotta fix this, Indie. Something’s gotta give here or you will end up like your dad. I am not letting that happen, I don’t know how, but I am not flying back home till this is fixed.”

Indie stiffened, hesitated, before finally nodding.

Following the crying, Chris stepped into the small bedroom, movements natural, practiced.

The crib was shoved in the corner, piled with stuffed animals and blankets that shouldn’t be there. He frowned, clearing them out as he lifted the baby, holding him secure, firm.

Indie had crept into the doorway, watching.

“If only…” she murmured.

Chris looked up.

She shook her head, waving her words off like she had just said something she regretted. Chris didn’t ask. Didn’t force her to explain. But he knew what she meant.

If only he were the dad.
If only things had gone differently.
If only she hadn’t made that choice. That mistake. That one-night stand that broke everything, including both of them.

If only …

The weight of it sat between them, heavy, real.
Then, casually, Indie spoke.

“A little boy. His name is Chris.”

Chris froze, fingers tightening slightly on the baby’s onesie.

Slowly, he turned his head, brows raising.

Indie met his gaze and smiled awkwardly, shrugging like she could just brush past the weight of it all.

“Short for Christopher, not Christian. I didn’t go full psycho stalker chick… just … a little. His father didn’t care. He wasn’t even at the hospital. And I was hoping for a girl. So, I chose a name I will always love. One that will always be special to me.”

Chris let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head, the moment too bizarre to fully process.

Named after him. Obviously. After everything. And somehow, the irony of it didn’t feel angry. It just felt sad. Chris swallowed, looking down at the baby, watching as he blinked up at him.

“Good name. Indie, let’s have a talk. This here … it’s not working.” Chris said, heading to the living room with the baby and Indie.

With A Little Help From Your Friends

Later, when Chris got back to Noelle’s place, the beer was flowing, the banter was sharp, and his two closest friends were waiting to pounce. He had texted them about where he had gone so they wouldn’t worry.

Craig wasted no time. “So? Did you nail her?”

Chris snorted. “NO.”

Noelle giggled, lounging back with a lazy smirk. “Are you sure?”

“YES.”

Craig squinted, skeptical. “So, you literally just sat there and talked? And we’re supposed to buy that?”

Chris stole Noelle’s beer bottle and took a casual sip. “Yup.”

“Wow, that’s… uneventful.” Noelle shrugged.

Chris let the moment hang just long enough before muttering—way too casually—

“Found out her baby is mine, though.”

Noelle froze.

Craig choked, spraying beer everywhere before spiraling into a coughing fit, eyes watering in sheer panic.

Chris grinned, triumphant. “Oh my GOD, your faces! Worth it!”

Craig let out a wheezy, betrayed gasp realizing Chris was just messing with them before tackling him onto the couch with Noelle piling on. It took a full minute for the wrestling match to end before Craig flopped onto the floor, utterly wrecked.

“You’re an ass, Cameron.”

Chris, still laughing, shrugged. “What can I say? Gotta keep life interesting. You two should know me better. I am not type who would risk making a baby. Especially after seeing how that went for Indie. No thanks!”

But once the chaos settled, once the laughter faded, Chris sat up, rubbing his face.

“Joking aside, the baby’s name is actually Chris. I am dead-serious now, I just about shat myself when she told me. Short for Christopher, like that made anything less awkward. You would not believe what kinda mess I walked in there. Her fucking husband just up and left her, went back to his ex. Indie is seriously struggling and about to go under. I need your help, guys. We need to do something quick or this will be disaster.”

Noelle and Craig exchanged a glance before focusing in.

“Okay, whatcha need brother? Name it, No’ and I are here for it.”

Noelle set her beer down. “How bad?”

Chris exhaled. “Really bad. She actually lives right on that street you warned us about, Noelle. Eviction notice, stacks of late bills, barely eating. She blocked her family, moved without telling them where, and thinks she can’t go back. She’s going down a bad road here. I can’t just walk away like I didn’t know what was happening or where this will end. I mean, she had blankets and toys in that crib. I thought everyone knew that was a suffocation risk. She just about fell apart when I told her.”

Craig cursed under his breath. “Damn.”

“She needs guidance. And help. I know I can’t help her.” Chris ran a hand through his hair. “But her parents would, in a heartbeat. I know them. I know they are worried sick, and I know Indie is all wrong about them being disappointed in her and resenting her. I just know them better than that, they’re good people, especially her mom is like a mother hen. No way would she turn her back on her daughter, Sophie stuck it out with Stryker, Indie’s dad, and he put her through hell several times. So, I want to take her to her parents in Newcrest. Big house. They’d take her in. Fix everything. And make sure that baby is okay, cos clearly, Indie needs to learn how to handle a baby.”

Noelle nodded slowly. “That actually makes sense. Okay. I am on board.”

Craig frowned. “So how we getting her there? I know Newcrest is suburbia for San Myshuno, but a little far for a brisk walk. We need a ride to get her, that kid and her shit there, assuming you don’t happen to have her parents’ phone number handy. Can’t just shove her plus baby in an Uber.”

Chris opened his mouth, then frowned. “I do not have their number or I would have called already, but I remember just about where they live, right by Avalon Park. We could rent a car.”

Craig snorted. “Bro, you gotta be twenty-five.”

“You’re lying.”

Noelle grabbed her phone and started scrolling. “Nope. Craig’s right. We can’t rent shit without an actual adult. Unless you wanna go for motorized bicycles.”

“Yeah, sure, I can see us on the highway with those, each of us holding boxes and bags of Indie’s crap, plus a baby in the bicycle basket. Great plan, Tallier.” Craig grumbled, before being buried under a barrage of decorative pillows by Noelle.

Chris muttered something foul before shaking his head, lips pursing like he was considering something else entirely.

Noelle caught the look immediately. “…Chris. What are you thinking? I can see those wheels turning …”

Chris only smirked, standing up, stretching, reaching for his phone. “I have an idea. One of the many banes of my existence might come in handy here.”

“Share.” Craig demanded, while flinging the pillows back on the couch.

“What has fangs and can teleport and never passes up a chance to play savior? Yup, my daddy dearest has connections that can vampirically ‘beam’ his ass over here real quick, and once here, he’s over 25 and can definitely rent us that car, he has a credit card without limits, plus he is strong. And he can talk sense into a trashcan, just in case I was wrong about Stryker and Sophie.” he explained while stepping into Noelle’s tiny kitchen to make the phone call.

“Does he not realize he is exactly like his dad?” Noelle whispered at Craig, slightly amused.

“In denial, our goodie two shoes here. I am pleasantly surprised he didn’t come back telling us he took Indie back and wants to play house with her now. Hate to admit it though, he’s right. We can’t just walk away from Indie and her baby like that. And you might wanna give this whole no strings, booty calls only rule with Chris a second glance. I mean, I am sure he takes whatever you offer him, which guy wouldn’t, but that’s not what he really wants, especially not after what’s been going down on campus of late. You sure you wanna let a guy like that go? Just sayin’ girl, he still got the hots for you, but he’s got game. Just food for thought, I get you don’t wanna settle down, none of us do, but you might wanna call dips on that guy before he loses interest in you and some other chick grabs him. At least slap some relationship status on it to give old Chris there something to keep him warm in the lonely nights, thinking he has a girlfriend waiting for him. Cos we both know, he will wait. He stuck it out with Indie and still helps her even though she really did him dirty. Think about it, while Saint Chris and I are still in town. And I gotta break the seal, gotta take a leak or you’ll be repainting your apartment next cos my bladder exploded.” Craig told Noelle, raising up to head to her bathroom.

Second Chances and Cool Rides

A few days later, after everything was handled—after Indie was safely settled in her parents’ home, after her debts were quietly erased, her eviction canceled, and her future rebuilt—Chris, Craig, Noelle, and Connor stepped out onto the quiet suburban street.

Behind them, Indie’s childhood home stood strong. A fresh start. A second chance. Its neatly trimmed lawn, wind chimes swaying in the breeze, and welcoming front porch held the promise of stability—something Indie had needed more than she’d ever admitted.

Connor, ever effortless, flicked his wrist—sending the keys to a sleek, powerful rental SUV sailing through the air.

“Drive us to the airport, kid.”

Craig snatched them mid-air, blinking, staring at them like they were a grand gift.

“Wait. You’re actually letting me drive?”

Chris exhaled dramatically, throwing Noelle a look.

“We are gonna die. Either in an accident or because that idiot gets us lost so bad even the military can’t find us anymore. Thanks dad, but you do remember we are not all immortal here like you are, right?” Chris sighed dramatically.

Craig flipped him off before sliding into the driver’s seat, hands gliding over the leather steering wheel like it was some kind of divine artifact.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he cooed, admiring the car like it was the only good thing that had ever happened to him.

Chris snorted, shaking his head. “Dork!”

Connor threw an arm around Chris and Noelle, pulling them close, warmth anchoring them in the moment. “Relax, I helped teach that idiot to drive, when his parents were on business trips, so I am just as confident in his skills as I am in yours, Chris.”

And then—Stryker came running.

The man moved fast for someone in his fifties with a lot of life behind him, breath uneven, emotion breaking through his carefully held composure. When he reached Connor, his entire frame trembled—the kind of relief that hit like a tidal wave.

His eyes were glossy, gratitude spilling out unchecked.

“Connor. Man, I—” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head, voice raw. “You don’t understand. You saved my kid. I don’t know how to thank you. I thought you were done saving me, but you just did it again.”

Connor frowned. “Stryker—”

“No. No, listen.” His voice cracked. “Soph and I lost Indie. We tried everything. Her siblings, all of us—but she made herself disappear. We thought giving her breathing room would help, but it only made things worse. She vanished, man.”

Stryker swallowed hard, shaking his head, hands pressing together like he was holding all of his regrets at once.

“If she had kept going like this, God knows what would’ve happened. And that baby—my first grandchild—she’s so overwhelmed trying to be a mom, despite having a mother who is the prototype of all mothers. That’s ironic and sad.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “She had no one. No real way out. And I almost killed myself with the things I did. And now—now, I don’t have to watch her make the same mistakes. She gets to have a different life. Sophie and I’ll make sure of it. Thank you, thank you!”

Connor’s expression was kind but steady. “Don’t thank me. I was just the muscle and the credit card. That was all these kiddos here.”

Stryker’s throat bobbed, eyes darting to Chris, Noelle, and Craig. His expression cracked into something deeper. Real.

“Then—thank you. All of you.”

His gaze settled on Chris, something heavy and unspoken lingering there.

“Especially you, Chris. After all that happened between you two, that you would be the one helping her is … I don’t even know the right word for it. She really loved you, still does. This just all went down so wrong. And I’m sorry, I know it is my fault all this happened. Had Sophie and I picked up on just how desperate she was, we could have kept her from making that mistake with Harry in the first place and then you and her … well …”

Noelle, eyebrows raised, glanced at Chris. “Who’s Harry?”

Chris’ jaw tightened. “The baby daddy. Indie’s husband.”

Craig winced, calling out of the open window of the SUV. “Oof. How old is that fucker? Sounds sixty. Who’s named Harry nowadays?”

“He’s in his twenties. And soon-to-be ex-husband.” Stryker’s voice hardened, resolve settling deep in his chest. “I’m calling your cousin Nick, Connor. I know his law firm is pricey, but he’s the best. I need that guy gone. Away from my daughter. Away from my grandson. Just leaving her like that—that guy better not cross my path, or I can’t guarantee a damn thing!”

Chris nodded, tight-lipped but firm. “It’s all good. I’d like to check in on her in a few weeks, if you don’t mind.”

Stryker let out a sad chuckle, his voice turned quieter, softer.

“Kid, you could move in here and I’d be fine with it. And maybe—maybe one day, you forgive her. Maybe even give her another chance… she still loves you, you know that, right? She didn’t care about that Harry. Never has and never will.”

Noelle, ever unbothered, smoothly cut in—before the conversation could even attempt to go in that direction.

“Ah, yeah, thanks Mister Hayes, but Chris has moved on. Sorry, he’s taken.”

“What? I am?” Chris mumbled.

Then, in one swift motion—Noelle grabbed Chris’ face and planted a kiss on his lips so deep that every guy’s toes curled involuntarily.

Chris definitely forgot how breathing worked for a second.

Wide-eyed, Connor cleared his throat.

“Ah, yeah—on that lovely note, gotta get these kids back to where they belong.” He gestured lazily. “Noelle back to her dorm, and these two bozos to the airport. I’ll be in touch, Stryker—especially since Keke and I went back to the fanged life. So, I travel a little easier these days—no need for a plane ticket, if you know what I mean.”

Stryker huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a hell of a perk. You’re always welcome here, you know that. I owe you a lot. Even more now.”

Connor winked. “Perks of being undead. Damn, that sounds stupid out loud.”

Craig honked the horn. “Let’s gooooooooo!”

Chris groaned. “And this is how we die.”

Lucky for Chris, he didn’t get around to worrying too much about his best friend’s driving and navigation skills, as Noelle pulled him into the backseat with her, where they made out the entire way back to her apartment, while Connor kept diverting Craig’s eyes back to the road instead of the rearview mirror.