9. Chandler

NINE

chandler

I slipped into the backseat of the Uber and felt my crop top stretch, the material pushing everything up just right. I went for a pair of tight shorts that hugged my hips like a second skin. Tonight wasn't just about celebrating the start of summer—it was about feeling confident and shoving it in the guys' faces. Boston and Reese had been a constant loop of frustration in my head, and a small part of me wanted to prove that I could do just fine on my own. I didn’t need either of them.

"Have fun," the Uber driver called out as Willow and I stepped onto the curb outside the bar. We waved at him before he took off.

The door swung open to a wave of distant music and clinking glasses. The team's laughter came from the right side of the bar where they had congregated, basking in their excitement of a new season. But I didn’t head towards them. Instead, I veered left, headed straight to the bar.

“I need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you at the bar,” Willow said over the music. I nodded as she walked in the opposite direction.

I slid onto a barstool, my fingers tapping lightly on the smooth counter as I waited for the bartender. He reached for my card as I ordered a cranberry vodka, but the guy next to me—a stranger with an easy smile—waved cash in the air.

"Let me get that," he said, his voice smooth as he paid for my drink.

"Thanks," I said softly, a polite smile gracing my lips, all the while hyperaware of being in the spotlight again. It was as if two sets of eyes were burning into me—one blue, one green.

I turned my head ever so slightly, catching sight of them. Boston, with those beach waves that made him look like he'd walked straight off some dreamy shore, and Reese, whose vibrant green eyes and tattoos seemed to promise adventure—and trouble. Both wore expressions I couldn't quite decipher. They were obviously aware of my free drink with the gentleman, and I was relishing it.

"New in town?" the kind stranger asked, attempting to recapture my attention.

"I guess you could say that," I replied absentmindedly, my thoughts elsewhere.

Even with my back to them, I could feel their disapproval. But I didn’t need their approval. I just wanted to do my own thing—have fun on my own without needing either of them.

My third cocktail of the evening was making itself at home in my bloodstream when Willow finally sauntered up to the bar. "That line was ridiculous," she groaned, eyes sparkling with playful mischief that could only mean she needed a drink after said adventure.

"Willow, meet my friend, Brad!" I slurred out, gesturing to the man with a sloppy grin beside me.

"Ben, actually," he corrected with a chuckle, extending his hand towards Willow without missing a beat.

"Right, Ben!" I laughed, too tipsy to be embarrassed. Their hands clasped in a friendly shake. Willow's laugh mingled with ours, a sound that felt like home in Bayside.

My favorite song started to play through the crowded room, weaving its way into my veins. It was one of those irresistible songs that forced me to dance without hesitation. Willow shot me a grin while she waited by the bar for her drink. My feet were already two steps ahead, itching for the dance floor.

"Ben!" I called over the music, my voice laced with excitement. His eyes met mine, a mixture of amusement and hesitance flickering across his face. "Come on! You can't not dance to this!" I insisted, grabbing his hand.

He resisted for a fraction of a moment before his lips curled into a reluctant smile, and he let me pull him along.

I was in my element, bouncing and dancing as I sang along to the music. Ben's laughter mingled with the music as he watched me throw my hands in the air and move around him. Then, in a smooth motion, Ben spun me around, taking me by surprise. My hair fanned out before settling as he pulled me in close, our movements suddenly more intimate than I’d expected.

As I came to a stop, my gaze accidentally landed across the room, right toward Boston, Reese, and Parker. The three of them were standing around a pool table. Reese's cue stick hovered motionless over the green felt, his stance frozen mid-stroke. Boston leaned casually against the pool table, but there was nothing casual about the tension in his jaw or the concentration in his eyes. Parker, usually so laid back, was frowning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched me.

I couldn't decipher their silent accusations, but I felt them, sharp and unsettling. The last notes of the song played out and I seized the moment to retreat from their scrutiny, taking a long, steady sip of my drink.

A new song, one I didn’t recognize, was turned up through the speakers, then. It acted as a siren call to the bartenders, though. A cheer cut through the air as every head turned in unison. The few girl bartenders who, moments before, were pouring drinks, dropped everything and rushed onto the bar.

"Come on, you two!" one of them shouted over the music, beckoning me and Willow with a finger and a grin.

We looked over at each other in excitement, accepting the challenge. Willow's laughter rang out, uninhibited and infectious as we hopped up onto the bar, our feet finding a spot between puddles of spilled drinks.

"Take a shot!" another bartender yelled, thrusting the neck of the tequila bottle toward us.

I grabbed the bottle first, fueled by the crowd cheering us on. The liquid scorched down my throat as I tilted my head back, then I passed it to Willow, who took her shot with a wink to the audience below. There we were, perched above the world, queens of the moment, stress dissolving with every pulsating beat of music.

I noticed Ben’s laughter, his voice somehow audible over the chaos. "Now it’s a show!" he called out, clapping his hands above his head. Willow’s curls bounced as she matched my two-step with her own moves.

As we swayed, lost in our own little world, I caught sight of a familiar pair of piercing blue eyes. Boston was now at the bar, his arms resting on the counter, a muscle in his jaw ticking with intensity. Next to him, Reese's green eyes were narrowed, arms crossed over his chest as if he was about to burn the bar down.

"Are you going to take care of this, or should I?" I heard Reese snap at Boston. It was clear that neither of them appreciated the fun Willow and I were having. But their protectiveness was clashing with the wild night I was trying to have.

Before I could even process what was happening, Boston's voice carried over the music. "Chandler, get down."

I shook my head at him, not about to let them ruin my night—no one was going to pop this hot girl summer bubble. Certainly not Reese or Boston.

Then Parker appeared, his expression an odd mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Chandler, for fuck’s sake, get off the bar." His gaze shifted to Willow and his tone lightened, filled with that familiar mischievous quality that always seemed to surface whenever she was around. "Willow, stay up there and take off the bra," he teased, eliciting a burst of laughter from her before she rolled her eyes dramatically. She stayed put, playing to the crowd.

The air shifted around us, thick with tension, as the divide between those on the ground and us on the bar grew more pronounced. I found myself torn between laughing the guys off with Willow and addressing the concern I could feel radiating from Boston and Reese.

"Come on, Chandler. You’re too drunk. You’re going to fall and hurt yourself," Boston added, softer now, as if remembering that his role had always been to look out for me, not scold.

My feet felt heavy as I considered my next move. Whatever I chose would tilt the delicate balance of our intertwined relationships—a dance far more complex than the one I performed on the bar.

Reese's patience snapped, the carefree facade he usually wore crumbling in an instant. "Fuck this," he muttered with an edge that tore through the bar. Before I could process his intent, strong hands gripped my thighs, and the world flipped upside down.

"Reese, put me down now!" My words tumbled out, slurred and ineffectual, as I dangled over his shoulder. I beat against the firm expanse of his back, but it was like trying to dent a brick wall.

My vision still struggled to right itself, but I caught sight of Ben—an inverted figure in my topsy-turvy view. He was scrambling, reaching out his outstretched hand, his features contorted with concern.

Boston's broad frame moved like a barrier between me and Ben. The golden retriever of my childhood memories, always so sweet-natured, now stood with a fierce determination to keep this other guy away. Boston’s eyes were sharp, focused, and there was an edge to him that felt new, more hardened.

"Just let her go." Boston's warning was firm, yet his voice still held a familiar warmth, and I could tell he was trying to force a cold dismissal in his tone. I assumed that Boston and Parker would follow, but they didn't. They stayed put, still in heated conversation with Ben until I could no longer see them.

Reese's stride never faltered as we passed the sea of bodies in the bar, his grip on me unyielding. The tattoos tracing the contours of his arm muscles shifted with each determined step as he carried me effortlessly through the crowded bar.

He stepped out into the darkness of the back patio. The clamor of inside was instantly replaced by the quiet hum of the night. Reese finally set me down, and I could see upright again.

"Chandler, breathe," he said, his voice low and steady. His eyes held mine, fierce yet strangely protective, as if he'd just saved me from a burning building.

"I'm fine," I asserted, more forcefully than I felt. "You didn’t have to carry me out of there like that." My attempt at sounding indignant was betrayed by a slight wobble in my stance, but I straightened up, determined not to show any weakness. "I can take care of myself."

Standing there, with the night air filling my lungs and Reese's eyes on me, I knew I had to be the one in control. This was about drawing lines, about asserting my independence from the bad boy who used to unravel me with just a look. The same boy who showed flashes of depth that few ever saw. And as our standoff continued in the silence, I realized that I wasn’t just convincing Reese—I was also convincing myself.

Reese smiled with his signature cockiness making my blood simmer. It was the same grin that could make a girl’s heart trip over itself, but right now, it only ignited a spark of defiance.

"Can you, though?" He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Because it seems like you can barely walk. And I think you have drunk vision, considering you were obviously flirting with that creep."

My jaw clenched against the heat rising in my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from annoyance. "I do not have drunk goggles on," I snapped back, feet planted firmly despite the unevenness I felt.

Why did his opinion matter? Why did his words make me want to prove him wrong so badly? The questions circled in my mind like vultures. "And why do you care, Reese? You have no say in what I do." My voice grew louder, more forceful as I reclaimed the space his presence always seemed to shrink. "You're the one who broke up with me."

The words lingered, a reminder of a past we were still entangled in. Yet, beneath the layers of resentment and hurt, a flicker of the old connection we shared sparked reluctantly to life.

He clenched his jaw as he took a half step closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a memory I couldn't escape. "I didn’t break up with you," his voice was low and rough with an emotion I couldn't name. "Chandler, there was a lot of shit going on. I couldn't even talk to you about the Boston situation. I didn’t know how…"

He paused, raking a hand through his hair, frustrated. The gesture tugged at something deep inside me. "And then before he left town we finally talked. We had a conversation we should've had a long time ago." His eyes searched mine. "I saw him, Chandler. I saw how much he cares about you. I thought maybe it was a crush, but it’s way more than that. I can't be the reason you two aren't together."

The words struck me cold and unexpected, like a sudden downpour. Those words drenched me in a reality I hadn’t really expected. Anger flared hot in my chest, burning away the alcohol-induced haze. "You didn't give me any say," I breathed out, my voice shaking with a mixture of rage and hurt. "You made the decision for me."

Reese's expression flickered, regret flashing in his eyes before he masked it with that all too familiar stillness. But it was too late—I had seen the crack in his armor, the glimpse of the vulnerability he so rarely showed.

"Chan—" he started, but I cut him off.

"No, Reese. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me," I said firmly, finding strength in the clarity.

The words hung heavy between us, the truth of them settling around us like dust after a storm. And in that moment, standing face to face with him, I realized that no matter what came next, I was the one who would be making the choices for my heart.

Reese's shadow loomed over me, the streetlights casting a glow on his face. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next confession. "Look, Chandler," he said, his eyes locking onto mine, "if you and Boston decide you aren't meant to be... Then I'll be here waiting for you. I'd do whatever the fuck it took to make it up to you." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "But I'm not going to be the guy who stands in the fucking way."

I felt a surge of emotion—anger, confusion, and an undeniable flutter of hope that I immediately tried to squash. I stared back at him, my own resolve firming. "Well, maybe I don't want either of you," I retorted, my voice a mix of defiance and weariness.

That's when it happened. Reese smiled—the kind of smile that saw through every inch of me—one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other, revealing a dimple that had always been my downfall. It was infuriating how he could shift the atmosphere and disarm me with one simple expression.

"Come on, Chandler," he whispered, his arrogance laced with a tenderness that almost made my heart skip a beat. "You and I both know that's not true."

Before I could respond, he changed the subject seamlessly. "Do you need a ride home?"

My pride flared, giving me the strength to refuse his offer. "No. I'll be fine," I said firmly, crossing my arms as a shield against his unsettling proximity.

"Okay," he conceded, pulling out his phone and typing a quick message. "Just texted Parker to make sure he’s on his way out here." He pocketed the device and stepped back. "I'll see you around. And, hey, I can’t wait to see how this summer plays out." He walked away with his hands in his pockets.

I realized that despite everything—the pep talks I gave myself, the confidence I thought I had, and my determined resolve to avoid him at all costs, Reese Carrington could still shake my world and set it back on its axis all at once. The force of his presence was like a tidal wave, overwhelming and impossible to resist. His words echoed in my mind, my heart racing from our interaction, making every ounce of my self-control want to crumble in an instant.

As he pulled open the door and walked back inside the bar, the set of his shoulders told a story of frustration. I’d always known about the storm brewing behind those vivid eyes—a storm that could either sweep me away or leave me shipwrecked. The cool exterior wall pressed against my back as I sank down, my knees weak from our intense exchange. I tangled my fingers in my hair, pulling at the strands like that would help me sort through my thoughts.

The rhythm of approaching heels cut through the haze of my thoughts. It was Caroline. I could tell because the shoes were bright pink. I tried to avoid eye contact and took a breath, bracing for whatever criticism she had come armed with.

"Chandler," her voice pierced the silence before I had even looked up, carrying a weight of disappointment.

Her heels clicked to a halt in front of me, and I forced myself to meet her eyes. She stood looking down at me, her expression etched with disapproval, another blow in my already exhausting, battered day. What more could she possibly have wanted from me?

"Caroline," I greeted warily, my voice reflecting my exhaustion.

She folded her arms, and sighed heavily. "You can't have them both, you know."

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach tightening. She was like a mirror reflecting the choices I’d been dodging back at me, the reality I wasn't ready to face: I was caught between two brothers, two hearts, and a choice I wasn’t ready to make.

Her eyes softened just a fraction, but her words held firm. "You're going to have to pick one. You can’t have both, and they won't be wrapped around your finger forever."

Those words, spoken with such finality, hung between us. It was then I saw it—the animosity flickering behind her stern stance. It wasn't just disappointment that colored her judgment, there was something else, a raw edge that seemed almost... personal.

"Neither of them deserve that," she added, her tone dipping into a rare display of empathy.

I remained crouched there, the chill from the wall seeping into my bones. Caroline towered above me with her harsh truths, waiting for my response. But what could I say when I knew deep down that she was right?