11. Chandler

ELEVEN

chandler

"Chandler, you good?" Willow asked, genuine worry in her eyes. I blinked, her concern pulling me out of the chaos of my thoughts.

"Um, can we sit down for a second?" My voice was barely a whisper, but she heard the urgency hidden within it.

"Sure, what's going on?" Willow's eyes were soft with empathy as she led me to a patio couch tucked in the corner of the garden.

I sank into the cushions with a sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on me. I hadn’t quite processed what just happened, but I needed her advice. "I'm struggling, Willow."

"Talk to me." She leaned in, sliding her phone into her back pocket, giving me her undivided attention.

"Reese told me he ended things last summer because he didn't want to be the reason Boston and I aren't together," I confessed. "And all year, all this time, it was Boston leaving me roses after every show. Here I was, thinking he was ignoring me..."

Willow's expression shifted from shock to intrigue as she leaned forward. "He did what? Boston did that? You sent me a snap saying that they were from Kristina!"

I nodded, focusing on the patterned throw pillow I was fidgeting with in my lap. "Yes, it was him… and on top of it all, he just kissed me. This summer has barely started, and it's already nothing like I planned. I was going to steer clear of both of them—they both hurt me. And now... I'm just... confused."

"Whoa." Willow's eyes widened. "Chandler, I get that this isn't the summer you had planned out in your head, but you can't control everything."

I looked up, my eyes meeting Willows, taking in her words.

"Life happens," Willow continued, her tone firm yet comforting. "You need to let the hurt go—let go of things you can’t control. You can't let them have this kind of power over you anymore. Take your summer back. Do what makes you happy. It's okay if you end up exploring a connection with either of them—with both. It's okay if you decide not to be with either, but at least be civil with them. That way you can let go of the hurt and move forward."

I allowed myself a small smile, the weight lifting ever so slightly. Maybe Willow was right. Maybe it was time to reclaim the narrative of my own life, to face this unpredictable summer.

"You don't want to ruin this entire summer because you're upset at them and fighting to keep them at a distance when they’re always going to be around. Do it for you, not for them." Willow's hand squeezed mine. "You can still have a hot girl summer." She winked.

A part of me wanted to resist, to tell her it wasn't that simple, but her positivity was hard to argue with.

"I guess I could do that," I murmured, considering the idea.

"You got this!" She beamed, her optimism infectious. "And who knows? Maybe you’ll work it out and realize one of them really is for you. If not, there’s always Bailey," she joked.

"Right," I chuckled with a hesitant smile.

"You're strong, Chan. Stronger than you know," Willow insisted. “Now, let’s go show them how strong we are—let’s go win on the beer pong table.”

She was right. I needed to let go of some of the feelings I’d been holding in, to release their grip on me. Maybe it was okay to let Boston in, and maybe I didn’t have to be upset at Reese anymore. I needed to view the summer from an entirely new angle—this summer could be about healing, about opening doors, and seeing where that could take me.

"Chandler, come on! Focus!" Willow's voice snapped me out of my head as she gestured animatedly toward the cups on the other end of the beer pong table. She was all high energy and encouragement, her eyes wide with competitive fire.

I nodded, trying to appear invested, but my fingers fumbled awkwardly with the little white ball. It felt like the table stretched miles away, each red cup slowly floating in different directions.

"Sorry," I stuttered, dragging in a deep breath that did little to settle my thoughts.

With a flick of my wrist, more an act of going through the motions than any real attempt, I launched the ball. It soared before missing the mark once again. It bounced off a cup’s rim, making it evident where the game was headed.

"Hey, Crew," I called over to the towering Blue Devil. "You're up." I placed the ball in his palm, which he accepted with a confused but eager grin.

"I got this," he winked, stepping into my place with the ease of someone who lived for competition.

With Crew there to pick up my slack, I snuck away from the game. The sounds of laughter and splashes were a soothing backdrop after the yelling that had surrounded the beer pong game. I found myself poolside, lowering onto one of the lounge chairs. I was people-watching when I caught sight of Caroline.

She had her hands on her hips, her head tilted back defiantly. She was delivering what I assumed was some sort of jab or harsh words to Reese. I knew exactly what it felt like to be under that scrutiny. She turned away to leave and my gaze caught his. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to be absorbed in the pool lights, hoping Reese hadn't noticed me.

"Shit," I whispered under my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him headed in my direction. I could feel his presence even before he spoke.

"Mind if I have a seat?" Reese asked, nodding toward the empty lounge chair beside me.

I slightly shrugged. "Your house. You can sit where you want."

He lowered himself on the lounge chair beside me, hands resting on his knees.

"Your conversation with Caroline seemed intense," I ventured. "What'd you do to get on her bad side?"

"It just happened naturally," he confessed.

"And I thought I was the only one she hated," I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"No," he said with a slight smile. "There’s plenty of us. I just happen to enjoy getting under her skin."

"You're sick," I laughed.

Reese raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “But I noticed you watching me over there. Was someone jealous?" he teased before relaxing back on the lounger.

"Jealous?" I managed a small laugh, though it sounded way too forced. "Not in the slightest."

He gave me a skeptical look before taking a sip of his drink. "Anyway," he said, shifting the topic, "I heard you've been getting a little wild tonight."

My heart skipped a beat. Panic fluttered in my chest. "What are you talking about?" My voice was steady, but inside I was wondering if he knew about Boston. About our reckless moment.

"Well, word on the street is you gave Bailey some kind of lap dance." Reese's tone was light and teasing.

"It was just a dare, Reese." I shrugged, not wanting to admit it. "But if you must know, I'm doing a hot girl summer," I said, borrowing Willow’s phrase.

"Hot girl summer?" Reese snickered, amused. "What does that even mean? Sounds like an excuse to stir up trouble."

I bit my lip to suppress my embarrassment. "I don't know, exactly. But for me it means focusing on me and doing what I want—avoiding catching feelings for anyone at all costs." I punctuated the sentence with a smile, a performance of confidence I didn't entirely feel—especially now, after that kiss with Boston.

Internally, I winced at my own words. It wasn't the catching feelings part I was truly trying to avoid, it was the inevitable ache that followed—the getting my feelings hurt part. Still, I kept that vulnerability tucked away, hidden beneath the poker face I was trying my best to keep on.

Reese leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his green eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip. His playful smirk was still there, but there was something else—an edge of assurance.

"Trust me," he said, more genuine than I expected, "in my experience, you can't help when the feelings happen."

He flashed a quick dimple. It seemed genuine. And, despite my inner resolve, I couldn't help but wonder if he was right. If maybe feelings were impossible to hold back.

Willow's clearly fabricated coughing noises caught my attention, then. I turned and spotted her frantically waving me over to her.

"Uh, excuse me," I drawled to Reese, layering my voice with fake concern. "My friend seems to have caught a severe case of hairball."

Reese smiled and shot me a nod before resuming his poolside lounging.

"What’s going on?" I asked as I reached Willow.

She bit her lip, arms unfolding to reveal a red stain the size of Texas on her white shirt. "I'm having an emergency," she shrieked.

"What happened, Will?"

"This—" she gestured to the stain. "I spilled my drink on my shirt. Crew and I are winning at beer pong, and we're up again in five minutes. I can't just leave."

I reached for Willow's hand. "Come on," I urged, tugging her toward the house.

"Where are we going?" She whined playfully, letting me guide her without resistance.

"Not far," I promised. We found the nearest bathroom and I shut the door, sealing us away from the party.

"Okay, trade me," I said, gesturing at the shirt.

Willow's eyes widened. "No, you can't wear this," she insisted, arms instinctively crossing over the giant blemish.

"I'm tired and ready to go home, I swear."

For a moment, she just stared, still resisting before she responded. "You're pretty great, you know that?"

"Oh, I know," I said before we quickly switched tops.

We walked out of the bathroom and immediately crossed paths with Boston.

"Whoa," he said, pausing mid-stride, "Are we wearing our drinks now?"

"As a matter of fact, we are," I retorted.

Willow's arms wrapped around me for a hug. “Are you sure you can get home okay?"

"Sure," I said, mustering a smile. "I'll be fine." The truth was that I needed solitude, needed to sort through the tangled web of emotions that had tied me up in knots. The whole summer was meant to be about me—focusing on work, staying away from men, and any other complications, but all I wanted was to dive deeper with Boston.

"Nah," Boston interrupted with a casual confidence that made my heart skip. "I got it. I'll get her back safely."

Willow glanced between Boston and me, a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, if you're sure..."

"Really, it's no trouble," I protested weakly, but even as I spoke, I could feel my resistance melting away.

"You’re not walking alone," he said, his voice low and dismissive. "Plus," he added with a lopsided grin, "gives me an excuse to get out of here."

I managed a smile despite the fluttering in my chest. "Okay, then. Lead the way."

Willow shot me an exaggerated thumbs-up behind Boston's back as we headed toward the door. As he held it open for me, our fingers brushed fleetingly. I’d never been more aware of his slightest touch.

The laughter from Reese's party dissipated behind us as we stepped outside. The street was quiet as Boston walked beside me, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"Thanks for the escape," he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Anytime," I replied, flashing him a slight smile.

We began our walk to Willow’s, familiar butterflies stirring in my stomach—the same feeling from childhood games of hide-and-seek when I'd run breathlessly from him, hoping he’d find me. But now, under the streetlights, the fluttering felt different, more intense.

I stole a glance at him, trying to pinpoint everything about him that had changed. I was frustrated by his retreat from everyone this past year, including me. He hadn't responded to any of my messages, and I worried endlessly. But now, seeing him here, I realized that maybe it wasn't all bad. He had focused on himself, on baseball, on working out.

And it was... pretty hot, honestly. The way the fabric of his shirt strained across the muscles on his arm, hinting at the definition beneath, the veins standing out along his arms—strong and pronounced. He seemed so different in just a year—stronger, not just physically, but like he’d grown up. Maybe faster than he’d wanted to.

"You’ve been working out a little, huh?" I couldn't resist teasing because it was obvious.

"Something like that," he said with a shrug, as if it was nothing. As if all the hours of sweat and discipline didn't show in every new line on his body. "Gotta stay ahead if I want to make it anywhere."

I nodded. "Baseball or bodybuilding, Boston?” I teased.

"Maybe both. Just happy to provide you with some eye candy," he winked.

"Modesty suits you." I shook my head but secretly loved that he was showing hints of the playful Boston I was used to. It felt like old times, but also new and somehow completely different.

"Never been my strong suit," he admitted with a chuckle, the sound warm and familiar, sending shivers down my spine.

“No, it hasn’t.”

"I don’t know, I guess working out just passed the time," he said with a casual smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Passed the time?" I asked. "Most people play video games or binge-watch TV shows, but sure, turning into a Greek god works too."

"Hey, if you've got a better way to release some of this built-up tension, I'm all ears," he shot back, blue eyes sparkling with a challenge that sent another flutter through me.

"Knitting is very therapeutic," I joked, before breaking into a smile. "I have absolutely no idea what else could help release tension," I said sarcastically.

We continued toward Willow's house, the night air filled with our shared laughter and the unspoken recognition of something shifting between us—something new and a little bit scary; the unknown we were inching towards, one step at a time.

A softness settled over us as our laughter died down. But there was something else I needed to address—a concern that I’d wanted to talk to him about for a while.

I hesitated, then took a breath. "How are things with your mom?" My voice was softer now, tentative.

He glanced away, his jaw tightening just enough to betray a hint of the emotions he guarded so closely. "I mean, they're okay," he started, and let out a breath. "She didn't come to the first game, but she mentioned she might try for the others."

"Really?" I prodded gently, encouraging him to continue.

"Yeah," he sighed. "She called me the other day. Said she wants to reach out to Reese, see if he'll meet with her. So I guess we'll see how that goes." There was a hint of skepticism in his tone.

"Wow," I whispered. "That's a tough one."

Boston nodded, then gave a small shrug. "I don't blame him if he doesn't want to talk to her. Even though he and I have our differences, I think... I think she should have tried harder, you know?"

I reached out, my fingers brushing his forearm. He tensed under my touch before relaxing again.

"She’s trying now, though. That’s something," I said softly, meeting his gaze. There was more hurt behind those beautiful eyes than I’d realized.

"I guess." He let out a long sigh before continuing. "You know what the hardest part is? My mom hasn't asked me once how I'm doing. She just assumes that I'm okay."

"Assumes?" I echoed, my frown deepening. How could anyone assume that about Boston lately? His light had dimmed. It was obvious to anyone who cared enough to look.

"Yeah." He stopped walking, and turned to face me, the streetlight casting him in a glow that made his blue eyes sparkle. "It's like... she's so caught up in her own problems that she forgets I've got my own. Forgets I might need her."

"That’s awful, Boston."

"It is what it is," he whispered. His vulnerability made my heart twist. "She’s got bigger things to worry about than how I’m doing."

I wanted to tell him he wasn't alone, that he never would be, but I knew some assurances didn’t need words—they were felt in the squeeze of a hand or the steadiness of a presence.

Reaching out, my fingers curled gently around his firm forearm, feeling the heat of his skin seeping into mine. I leaned into his side, resting my head against his bicep. "But I worried," I whispered. "Even when we weren’t talking, I worried."

Boston's gaze slowly shifted, meeting mine with such intensity that a shiver ran down my spine despite our closeness. "I know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was confiding a secret meant only for me. "Chandler, it wasn't you I was avoiding. It was everything—the world."

I tipped my head back to look at him fully, searching his face for any sign of the boy who used to be so full of light. "Why did you want to shut the world out?" I asked, my thumb absently stroking the prominent vein running along his arm.

"Sometimes," he said, "when bad things happen, you don't want to pull other people down into the darkness with you. It's easier to just... disappear for a while."

"Even from me?" The question came out faster than I intended, betraying the ache of being shut out.

"Especially from you," he said, his voice sharp. "You deserve better than to be dragged into this."

"How about you let me decide what I deserve?" I responded, pausing before continuing. "And don't even try to argue. You're not off the hook yet—you've still got a lot of making up to do," I said, trying to lighten the moment.

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely," I affirmed, crossing my arms for emphasis.

"Fair enough," he conceded, and as we reached Willow’s front yard, he stopped and turned to me. He leaned in close, his breath warm against my cheek as he whispered, "Trust me, Chandler, I haven't even started yet."

The kiss he pressed to my cheek was gentle, fleeting, but it sent a shock of electricity through me. My heart was racing, both from his touch, and by what he meant with that statement. And suddenly the butterflies that had gone dormant began to stir once more, reminding me of the unfamiliar ground we were stepping into.

"I’m holding you to that," I managed to say despite the swirl of emotion. "Because I'm keeping score, Boston Riley. Tonight you earned one point."

Boston responded with a heart-melting smile. "One point? After tonight, that's all I get?" His eyes twinkled. I could tell he was on the brink of laughter.

"Rules are rules, Boston." I shrugged. "I don't make them."

"Oh, how convenient," he said, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. A moment later, he stepped back, hands tucked casually into his pockets as if the gravity between us wasn’t shifting. "But let's not forget, I'm very competitive… and I’ll do whatever it takes to win."

Stepping onto the porch, the wooden boards creaked under my weight and I paused to glance over my shoulder. "I can't wait to see what that entails."

"Chandler, wait up a sec." Boston's voice came out low and teasing. "I keep thinking about it."

"About what?" I asked.

"When I put your hands on me." He looked away, almost as if he was making sure no one else was around. "You surprised me."

His smirk was dimly lit by the glow of the porch light, casting shadows that danced across his sharp jaw. I couldn't help but mirror his expression, though the blush on my cheeks betrayed me.

"Yeah, guess I liked what I felt," I breathed out, the flirtation coming more naturally than I expected.

He nodded, smiling ever so slightly, a hint of mischief there. "You have no idea how good it could feel."

"Guess we'll have to see about that," I countered, feeling another wave of those rebellious butterflies.

"Uh huh," Boston nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. "Good night, Chandler."

With one last lingering look, I turned and went inside, shutting the door behind me.