Legacy & Cameron – Blue Horizon

The flight to Sulani felt longer than rehab.

Not because of the hours — but because of the silence.

No music. No movies. No distractions.

Just Blaine, a window, and the endless stretch of ocean below him.
Blue on blue on blue. A color that should have felt peaceful, but instead made his stomach twist.

He wasn’t flying toward comfort.
He wasn’t flying toward family.
He wasn’t flying toward forgiveness.

He was flying toward the man he’d hurt.

The man who’d left with bruises Blaine had put there.

The man who’d once been his closest friend.
His only real friend in a sea of faces who were his friend because of all he could do for them.
Or they thought he could do.

The man who had every right to slam a door in his face.
The exact reason Blaine hadn’t called or texted him. He was hoping the surprise might work in his favor and Channing would be stunned enough to see him that he would listen to him. Hopefully he could sell this.

The plane descended, cutting through clouds like a blade. The water below glittered — too bright, too honest. Sulani always looked like paradise from above. Today it looked like judgment.

When the wheels touched down, Blaine’s pulse jumped. His palms were damp. His throat felt tight.

He stepped off the plane.

And the heat hit him like a wall.

Sulani heat wasn’t like Del Sol Valley heat. It wasn’t dry. It wasn’t polite. It wrapped around you — thick, humid, heavy — like the island wanted to feel your heartbeat.

He inhaled. Salt. Flowers. Sun‑warmed sand. A faint sweetness — frangipani, maybe — drifting on the breeze.

It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

He walked through the tiny airport, past tourists in floral shirts and honeymooners holding hands. Everyone looked happy. Everyone looked light.

He felt like a storm cloud moving through a postcard.

Hoodie up. Baseball cap low. Sunglasses on.

Incognito celeb mode.

No one recognized him. No one cared.

Good.

Outside, he followed the road down toward the main town area — a cluster of pastel-painted shops, food stands selling grilled pineapple and fresh fish, and the docks where locals and visitors caught boats to the outer islands. The air smelled like ocean and hibiscus and something smoky from a nearby beach grill.

A few locals lounged near the water taxis, chatting lazily, their voices carrying that soft, melodic Sulani cadence — vowels stretched like waves, consonants softened like sand.

Blaine approached one of them.

“Cameron estate,” he said quietly.

The driver nodded — everyone on Sulani knew the Cameron family’s old property — and motioned him aboard.

The boat pulled away from the dock, cutting across turquoise water. Spray misted his face. The wind tugged at his hoodie. The ocean stretched endlessly around him, glittering like molten glass.

The ride was short but felt eternal.

They passed smaller islands, palm trees swaying, beaches glowing gold in the late afternoon sun. Children splashed in the shallows. A fisherman in a small outrigger canoe lifted a hand in greeting, his net glinting with silver fish.

Blaine didn’t wave back.

His stomach twisted tighter with every passing minute.

Finally, the boat curved toward the northern island group — where the Cameron estate sat right on the water, a long, low island‑style home with white walls and tan straw accents. Wide deck. Open shutters. Lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The kind of place meant for barefoot mornings and laughter.

Today it looked like a place where apologies went to die.

The boat nudged the private dock.

Blaine stepped off.

The ocean was so intense he could hear it breathing — waves rolling, pulling, rolling again. The air tasted like salt. His shirt stuck to his back. A seabird cried overhead, circling lazily before diving into the water.

He stood there undecided, afraid of his own courage for a while, before he started walking. Across the dock, through the sand, sinking in deep with every step. Towards the estate that seemed to grow larger the closer he got.

He walked up the steps.

Each one felt heavier than the last.

He reached the door. Lifted his hand. Knocked.

Silence.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

He exhaled, shaky and uneven.

“Channing,” he mumbled, low enough only he could hear. “Please.”

Footsteps inside.

Slow. Barefoot. Unhurried.

The door opened.

Channing stood there — hair damp, swim trunks, towel slung over his shoulder. No sunglasses. No smirk. Just a face that still carried the bruises, yellow and purple along the cheekbone.

He froze.

“Blaine?” as if having the say the name out loud to be able to believe what he was seeing.

Blaine swallowed. “Yeah.”

Channing blinked once. Twice. His expression didn’t shift — not anger, not surprise, just… guarded.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Blaine’s throat tightened. “I came to talk.”

Channing leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You flew all the way out here to talk?”

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

Channing huffed out a breath — not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. “You’re an idiot. Why are you not with your wife?”

“She said in her letter not to come after her. I feel like if I ignored that, she would definitely slap those divorce papers in my face again. She still might but, for now, I’ll cling to what little hope is left. And hey, I figured it out. Where it never rains. Yay me.”

“Yeah, yay you. Sheer brilliance, considering my family has lived in Sulani for generations and I was born and raised here. You deserve a cookie, man. Disappointed I didn’t go to hell?”

“No. I was there, don’t recommend. Turns you into an asshole.”

A long silence stretched between them — heavy, humid, filled with the sound of waves and everything they hadn’t said.

Channing looked away first, toward the ocean. His jaw flexed. His shoulders dropped a fraction.

“You look like shit,” he muttered.

“I feel like shit.”

Another silence.

Then — quietly, reluctantly — Channing stepped back from the doorway.

“Fine,” he said. “Come in. But don’t expect me to pretend nothing happened.”

Blaine nodded. “I don’t want that.”

Channing’s voice softened, barely. “Good. Because I’m not ready to be your friend again yet.”

Blaine swallowed hard. “I know.”

“But…” Channing added, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking away, “I’m not ready to hate you either. I guess we are friends, you know how they always say you can love someone but might not like them? I really don’t like you right now, bro, but I still love you, you ass.”

Something in Blaine’s chest cracked — not painfully, but like a window opening after days in a sealed room.

He flung himself against Channing’s bare chest, arms gripping the blond, tan man tightly as Blaine couldn’t keep it together. He fell apart in the most unmanly way imaginable, until Channing pulled him off, pulled him inside and shut the door.

“Okay, okay, relax brother! Let’s not make this a scene here, someone might see this out of context and start some rumors. I don’t want you to ruin my chances with the local ladies. Have you seen the women here? Hard to pick just one! I want a girl in my life again, but I cannot stay focused long enough. Maybe you can be my wingman.”

“Sure. I just want one woman and need to figure out how to convince her to want me again.”

“Come with me, you need to hydrate. And trust me, that girl loves you. If she didn’t want you anymore, you’d be researching divorce lawyers right now. You need to help me find a girl like Lauren. I don’t care what complexion, what haircolor or color of her eyes, I like them all. Just needs to be a good one.”

The air smelled like ocean and sunscreen and something familiar — something that felt like the ghost of their old friendship.

Awkward. Distant. Unsteady.

But not broken.

Not completely.

***

The good thing about male friendships is that forgiveness doesn’t arrive with speeches or ceremonies. It just… happens. Quietly. Gradually. Like the tide smoothing over footprints in the sand.

The first couple of days were rough — stiff silences, clipped answers, Channing keeping his distance like Blaine carried a contagion. But Sulani had a way of softening edges. By the third day, Channing shoved Blaine straight into the ocean without warning.

Blaine surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead.

“You absolute menace!” he coughed. “What was that for?”

Channing stood on the dock, hands on his hips, grinning arrogantly like they were in a battle he just randomly won. “You looked like you needed baptizing.”

“By drowning me?!”

“By Sulani – well, and me. So, go forth, my son, you are now cured of all evil doing and shall be the old Blaine again,” Channing corrected, then dove in after him.

They wrestled in the water — not angry this time, not desperate, just two idiots splashing around like they used to. Sunlight glittered off the waves. Warm water wrapped around them. The world felt lighter.

Later, they sat on the deck with sodas — glass bottles sweating in the heat. Normally it would’ve been beer or cocktails, but Channing refused to drink around him.

“Solidarity, bro,” he said, clinking his soda against Blaine’s. “If you’re dry, I’m dry.”

Blaine stared at him, throat tight. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get mushy,” Channing warned. “I’ll change my mind and get wasted right here next to you.”

Reacquainted

Progress was slow, but it was happening. They went out to eat together, and Channing was enough of a showstopper that nobody cared enough about Blaine to recognize him. It was like a spotlight shone only on Channing, leaving Blaine invisible in the dark.

They rented jetskis, which reminded Blaine of the last vacation here with Lauren’s family — Nate awkwardly trying to impress his new girlfriend, Lauren laughing so hard she nearly fell off her seat. Blaine felt the memory like a bruise and a balm at the same time.

Whether it was the renewed friendship grounding him, or the sun and the water and the slower island rhythm, Blaine’s mind finally began to unclench. His thoughts stopped racing. His chest stopped tightening. He slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

With each passing day their old friendship grew stronger. At some point they went out to one of those beach dance clubs, just to let loose for the night. Meet some girls. For Channing, not Blaine.

Channing ended up hooking up with one of them, so Blaine went home alone.

The house felt eerie in its quiet. Every creak, every gust of wind made him wince. He walked from room to room, touching things without meaning to — the back of a chair, the cool marble counter, the railing of the staircase — reliving moments, good ones and bad ones he had here, all the way back when he was still little and his parents took him here to see Blaine, Reed and Cassidy and their only son, Channing, who has about Blaine Jr.’s age and an instant bestie, even then. Back then, Blaine’s family still showed up in force for every holiday, always at the Cameron Mansion in Del Sol Valley. But all that died with Blaine and Scarlett.

He grabbed a soda and stepped outside, all the way to the edge of the back deck. The night sky was a velvet sprawl of stars. The ocean lapped against the pillars below, steady and ancient.

“Been living it up, huh?” a rough voice said behind him.

Blaine jerked so hard he stepped where there was no more deck and plunged into the ocean with a loud splash.

He broke the surface, sputtering. “Dad, what the fuck!”

Blaine Sr. smirked down at him. “You’re lucky your mother couldn’t come. She’d wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know you two separated… Since when is she bothered by anyone named Blaine cursing around her?”

“Ha ha – good one kid. Nah, she’s just tone-deaf to me cursing, now that we have no kids around anymore. I purposely curse around Caelan’s kid, hoping to teach well. Like I need help for him hating me, but it amuses me. Not much else fun to do in good ole Forgotten Hollow. Or as I like to call it, Forgotten Hellhole! Man kid, you have no idea how lucky you are not to have fangs these days. Used to be hella fun, now we’re kept under lock and key by our dungeon master Cesare. No wonder vampires are always depicted as some grumpy ass bitches. I am just about there myself and we all know what a cheery happy motherfucker I normally am. Ha – motherfucker, that’s unintentionally accurate, cos your mother and I ….”

“Dad, please stop talking!” Blaine begged, treading water.

His father grinned, not even bothering to hide the fangs, held out a hand — superhumanly strong — and hauled Blaine back onto the deck like he weighed nothing.

Dripping, Blaine pulled out his wallet and phone. “Seriously, Dad…”

Blaine Sr. took both, vanished in a blur, then reappeared. “Put it in rice.”

“My wallet too? I think that’s for phones only.”

“Probably – but can’t hurt.”

He leaned against the railing. “So, what have you been up to, baby boy?”

“You already know,” Blaine muttered.

“Of course. But if you don’t want small talk, let’s go straight to the ‘what the fuck, kid?!’”

“Dad…” Blaine sighed.

“Yeah, no. Nothing ‘Dad.’ So, we’re doing coke now?”

“Wasn’t coke. Was heroin.”

“Oh, thank God,” Blaine Sr. deadpanned. “That’s so much better. Kid, do you have dementia? I’m the immortal one here, not you.”

“Could’ve fooled me, seeing how you and Mom are dead — officially. Dead enough to never be there when I need you.”

“How were we supposed to know you needed us? I’m not Spiderfang. I don’t have ESP. Neither does your mother.”

“Well, I would’ve called or emailed, but guess what — you’re too dead for that too. Maybe you should turn the TV to something other than porn every once in a while and you would have known.”

“As if your mother would let me watch porn,” Blaine Sr. muttered. “Joking aside — you know Cesare has us cut off from news and any modern media. Damon has a cell phone and showed us. Old news by then, but we can’t turn back time nor ask him to keep scanning the headlines for any mention of any of our descendants so we can try to put out all the fires you damn kids and grandkids always start. That’s why your mom isn’t here. She’s the keychain we dangle in front of Cesare and Caelan and Riordan so they don’t wonder where I am. We tried the other way around, but I am either about as subtle as a pink whale or too annoying. She’s much better at distraction. I can confirm that. Half the time I go into any room she’s in to get something done and end up too distracted by Letty that all I get done is her.”

“Cool story, Dad. Just what any kid wants to hear from their ‘dead’ parent after not seeing them in over a year, or has it been two already? Again. Good thing you made it now that I crashed the entire plane that is my life. But hey — sonnyboy is sober again so all is good in your book, right?”

“Talk to me,” Blaine Sr. said softly. “Maybe I can help.”

“No thanks.” Blaine paused. “Oh — you’ve got a second grandson since we last met and another grandbaby on the way.”

Blaine Sr.’s face softened. “I know.”

“Of course you do.”

“If you sounded any more bitter,” his father said, “I’d sell you to a witch for her strange brews.”

“Well, tell me how to not be bitter about all that shit, Dad! Go ahead, I can’t wait to hear.”

They argued.
They bantered.
They said things to hurt each other.
They hugged it out again.

And then Blaine Sr. said quietly, “Sit.”

“Dad, I’m dripping wet. Unlike you I am susceptible to temperatures, and my ass is getting cold.”

“Fine, go change, then we will talk. Make it quick or I will come help.”

Blaine sighed and went to change but decided on a quick hot shower to wash the ocean off. When he stepped out of the ensuite bathroom, naked, his father was sitting on his bed, looking around like he owned the place.

Blaine yanked a towel around himself. “Dad!”

“Aww, how adorbs,” Blaine Sr. laughed. “Like I’ve never seen your wanker before.”

“Not recently, I hope.”

“Nah. But whatever you change diapers around gives you a good idea of what your spud is gonna be sporting once fully grown. You take after me in that aspect too. We’re both showers more than growers.”

“Great info, Dad. All the nights I lay awake wondering …” Blaine Jr.’s tone oozed sarcasm, which seemed to pearl right off his father.

He dressed quickly in a pair of joggers and a loose tee, then sat beside him. Blaine Sr. wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

“You’re a grown man, father yourself, but you’re still my son. I know you were too young to be left alone. Cesare assured me you’d be looked after. He was wrong. And I was wrong for just obliging. I should have fought him harder. Your mother is his daughter and his favorite child. He wouldn’t have hurt us. And we would have hurt you much less.”

Blaine swallowed hard.

“I wasn’t always fanged,” his father continued. “I was almost forty before your mom’s lovebite changed my trajectory. I know the life you chose. I know it too well and from the view of a mortal. I know it’s a lot harder than most would believe. I know why drugs are such an easy way out of lonely nights in always changing hotel rooms, even the most luxe suites feel cold and empty. I know how quickly one can make a wrong choice, and that almost always turns into an avalanche. Did you know I have an OD under my belt too — was half your age when I did it. Similar reasons. But I didn’t have a wife and kids then, just scared parents. You do have a family who loves you and needs you. You don’t get the luxury of playing Russian roulette with your life.”

Blaine’s eyes burned.

“The one thing that helped me and it will help you, is to always remind yourself that you are loved,” Blaine Sr. said. “Circumstances suck. But maybe one day Cesare changes his rules again and your mother and I can be present again. We’re not the only ones cut off from mortal descendants and there is a lot of discord because of it. The old man might still change his mind, he is as stubborn as he is reasonable. But until then, it’s not safe for your mother and me to meet your babies. Kids talk. Kids notice. Kids ruin centuries‑old-powerful-vampire-kept secrets. And that would not end well for your mother or me. And your family as Cesare has this nasty habit of wiping memories, just to make sure they don’t remember anything fanged, but that skill isn’t foolproof. Would hate for you to shit yourself on stage cos he accidently wiped potty training from your brain.”

Blaine nodded reluctantly.

“I get you need to take the edge off,” his father added. “Try sex. Works wonders.”

“Yeah, well, my wife wasn’t available when I tried that,” Blaine muttered. “My brain was foggy from the booze and H I tried before that, which didn’t help me make great choices. And now she’s in the Bay trying to decide if she still wants me. If I had to guess … well … fill in the blanks. I also managed to squeeze in fucking shit up with Channing, which is why I am here. Luckily he isn’t so heartbroken about me fucking some randos and contracting an STD cos I am an overachiever as Lauren is. Don’t look at me like that, I am cured. Just everyone’s ego is still bruised and battered. Plus, Lauren doesn’t trust me to get the mail and not screw that up too right now.”

He told his father everything — how the tour started out great, then he got into his head and couldn’t get out, the bad decisions, the booze, the drugs, the women, the OD, the rehab, the threat of divorce, the way his life now felt like he walked into the wrong movie after intermission, the fight, the jealousy, the brawl, the fear, the shame. The suffocating fallout, the suffocating loneliness.

Blaine Sr.’s expression shifted from amusement to concern.

“Kid,” he said gently, “if your Lauren is anything like your mother thinks she is, she’ll forgive you. And you and I both know, Scarlett is usually right. Lauren just needs time. You gotta be patient — with her, with Channing, and with yourself. That last part is important.”

Blaine nodded.

“I’ll talk to your mother,” Blaine Sr. said. “We’ll try to find a way to be more present. Enough time has passed. Maybe she can wrap Daddy around her finger again. And if not, we’ll get out the big gun — her mom.”

Blaine blinked. “Grandma Branwen?”

“She hits the right nerve with Cesare. He’ll drive us to your doorstep himself. The world’s most dangerous vampire would do anything to keep the wifey happy. Happy wife, happy life is pretty universal. She never interferes, but if she does, man, he asks how high before she can say ‘jump’.”

“I’d like that,” Blaine whispered.

His father squeezed his shoulder. “We’d love to see the babies. But they can’t know us. And neither Lauren nor her family can know we’re still around. We have to stay dead for everyone else.”

“I know.”

They hugged tightly — father and son, flawed and fierce and trying — and then Blaine Sr. was gone, leaving his son with food for thought.

Summer Sunshine

Channing returned late the next morning, looking like a man who had personally defeated the concept of nightlife.

He dropped into the chair across from Blaine at breakfast, hair still damp from the shower, grin smug enough to power the island.

“You look like you slept on a cloud,” Blaine said.

“I slept on two clouds, both attached to her – and I am using the term sleeping very loosely. Not much of that went on, we were way too busy with …. well … use your imagination,” he announced, making a dramatic cupping motion in the air — not subtle, not dignified, very Channing — before grabbing a piece of pineapple.

Blaine groaned. “Spare me.”

“Nope.” Channing launched into every detail — the club, the dancing, the girl, the walk on the beach afterward which ended up with him at her cabana to party on – sans clothing. Blaine listened, half amused, half horrified, but mostly relieved that Channing sounded like himself again.

By the time Channing finished, both men were laughing — real laughter, the kind that loosened something tight in Blaine’s chest.

“Good to see you back in the land of the living,” Blaine said.

“Good to see you not trying to punch me,” Channing shot back.

They clinked their juice glasses like idiots.

Underwater Calm

After breakfast, they went scuba diving. The moment Blaine sank beneath the surface, the world changed. The ocean swallowed sound, swallowed thought, swallowed everything except the slow rhythm of his own breathing.

Schools of fish shimmered past like living confetti. Coral swayed in the current. Sunlight fractured into gold ribbons above them.

It felt like medicine. Like meditation. Like forgiveness in liquid form.

When they resurfaced, Blaine felt lighter than he had in months.

Dolphins & Daylight

They had lunch at a tiny restaurant built on stilts over the water. The patio creaked softly with the tide. Dolphins played in the distance, leaping in arcs that looked too perfect to be real.

Channing pointed. “Show‑offs.”

“Jealous?” Blaine asked.

“Of their cardio? Absolutely. They’re out there showing off amazing core strength which I have to work hard on to keep my dream bod this tight.”

They ate grilled fish and fresh fruit, the ocean breeze warm and sweet. For the first time in a long time, Blaine didn’t feel like he was running from anything.

The Good Kind of Exhausted

Back home, they played water ball until both collapsed on the patio, sprawled out like sun‑drunk lizards. The sky was a blazing blue dome overhead. The ocean murmured below. Sweat cooled on their skin.

Blaine exhaled, long and content.

“I can’t believe you ever left this paradise to live in Del Sol Valley,” he said.

Channing didn’t answer right away. He stared at the horizon, jaw tightening.

“Well,” he said finally, “tell me if this feels familiar: when your parents suddenly die on you and you’re alone overnight… even paradise becomes hell. With them gone so suddenly, all this beauty just felt like it was making fun of me.”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

Channing glanced at him — not dramatic, not emotional, just honest.

“You healed me,” he said quietly. “Or you helped. I’m grateful for everything, Blaine. I want you to know that.”

Blaine swallowed. “Are we… good again?”

Channing’s smile was small but real. “Yeah. We’re good again.”

Blaine closed his eyes, fighting another wave of emotion. He didn’t know when he’d turned into someone who cried at everything — rehab, apologies, friendship — but he didn’t care. Channing forgave him. A friendship he cherished more than he could ever put into words, almost lost, but salvaged at the last moment.

He lay back, sun warming his face, ocean humming below, heart finally steady.

Which was why he nearly fainted when his phone rang — and Lauren’s name lit up the screen.

He scrambled, dropped the phone, cursed, grabbed it again, and answered like a panicked teenager getting a call from his crush.

“Yeah!? You okay? Are the boys okay? Is the baby okay?”

“Blaine! Calm down. If you give me a chance to speak, I will tell you. Everyone is fine. How are you?”

“Fine. I am fine.”

“Heyyy sunshine!” Channing yelled from the kitchen.

“Is that Channing?”

“Yeah, he’s here with me — well, actually, I’m with him, in Sulani. Being a good boy. Channing, tell her!”

Blaine held the phone toward him.

“We’ve been doing nothing but drinking and whoring, Lauren!”

Blaine yanked the phone back, horrified — until he heard Lauren laughing.

“That… wasn’t true,” Blaine muttered. “Some sad, lame, very failed attempt at a joke.”

“I know,” she said warmly. “It’s alright, Blaine. I can always tell when you’ve been naughty.”

“Ah yeah?”

“Yes. Listen, I didn’t realize you were on vacation…”

“I’m not! I was… well… on a sort of personal redemption tour. Had to fix what I broke. I would’ve come to you too, but your letter said not to.”

“Funny you should bring that up.” Her tone shifted — softer, hopeful. “Would you be willing to come here? Dad offered to send the plane.”

“Come… here? I mean there? To… you?”

“Yes. I have a sonogram scheduled the day after tomorrow and thought you might want to come with me. And maybe we could find out the gender together?”

“YES! YES! I’m packing right now — when will the plane be there?! Channing, can you take me to the airport?”

“Blaine! Stop, baby… relax. Breathe.”

“You just called me baby…” Blaine whispered, glowing.

Victory.

“You are still my husband, are you not?”

“I wasn’t sure for how much longer, after you left.”

“I just need you to show me you mean it. You have a lot of construction sites going on, Blaine — but the fact that you went to make things right with Channing shows me you acknowledge it and are trying. I’ll talk to Dad about the plane and send you a text with the tail number.”

“Okay. Hey Lauren…?”

“Hey what?”

“I… love you. And I miss you.”

A pause. A soft sniffle.

“I love and miss you too, Blaine.”

They hung up.

Blaine grinned so hard his face hurt. He grabbed Channing and kissed both his cheeks until Channing shoved him away.

“Eew! What the hell, bro! I don’t want to smooch you! Happy for you, but keep your lovey‑dovey crap away from me. Nasty!”

Blaine was still floating.

“Hey, all in the family.”

“We are just barely family.”

“Both our last names are Cameron. Close enough.”

“Yeah, because it’s such a rare name, right.”

“I gotta pack! Can you take me to the airport?”

“Once she sends the info, sure. We’re not leaving now. Brad’s plane comes from the East Coast — it’ll refuel in Del Sol Valley and then fly out here. That will take half a day unless the good doc bought some superplane that defeats time and space. So chill.”