1. Chandler

ONE

chandler

The world was flipped upside down, and my wavy hair dangled toward the floor as I fixed my eyes on the bodies surrounding me. Their hands were steady on my ankles to keep me from falling. I tasted the metallic tang of the keg's nozzle pressed to my lips. I opened my mouth and the beer rushed out—bitter and unexpectedly warm.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" The chant reverberated through the room. As the last drop of beer trickled down my throat, the hands holding me up guided me to the ground, and I readjusted to the upright world.

"Chandler, seriously?" Kristina offered me a water bottle, slightly judging. "Look, I know it's your birthday, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't at least make sure you make it to the candle blowing part of the night."

Her concern, genuine and grounding, was in severe contrast to the wild energy of the party. But it was so Kristina, the mom of the group. She was always looking out for me.

I smiled, accepting the bottle and the memory of the last time I drank more than I should have with equal reluctance. "Thanks," I said before taking a sip of the cold liquid as it promised to shield me against the headache I knew was yet to come. "You should be celebrating too, you know? It’s not just my birthday—finals are over!"

Kristina's eyes sparked in agreement. We both knew the pain of countless study nights on top of reciting lines together. She gave a noncommittal shrug, the corners of her mouth turning up into a reluctant smile. "Fine," she conceded, "I will take one shot, but only one."

All around me people were laughing, dancing, living in the moment. It was my birthday and the end of another school year. It should have felt liberating, a release from the relentless pressure of essays and exams. And yet I couldn’t shake the worry creeping up. The weight of last summer's memories were closing in on me, heavy like the humidity outside. I tried to lose myself in roles onstage, in the academic grind, hoping to outrun the confusion and hurt that crept up when I least expected it. As the room swirled around me, I allowed my mind to drift back to last summer.

It was an intoxicating blend of sunny days by the lake and wild nights, and a very na?ve me had thought she’d discovered the hidden depths of bad boy Reese Carrington. I’d felt like I was unraveling the mystery of him, only for it all to crumble. The thought of falling under his spell so quickly stung, an uncomfortable feeling of regret that kept me awake at night. The sad part was I didn’t think I could even call him my ex-boyfriend. A summer fling, maybe. I don’t know what he was to me, but most importantly—I don’t know if my brain could ever understand the fact that he was Boston’s brother. What in the Lifetime movie kind of story was I living? How could their mother have kept that secret?

And then there was Boston Riley. My childhood crush, the boy who seemed impossible to get over when in reality, he was never even mine. Our relationship was complicated, and that was putting it lightly. I pried as much information from Parker as I could about how he’d been doing, but it was no substitute for the real thing.

He hadn't just grown distant, he’d shut me out completely, leaving messages unanswered, leaving questions and confused feelings swirling in his absence. Occasionally, I stalked him through the baseball team's social media and saw most of their home games. He looked undeniably good—more than good. His hair looked shorter and lighter, almost as if it had been sun-bleached; his shoulders seemed broader, arms more defined—like he'd spent every moment since last summer lifting weights on top of playing baseball, just to stride on the field and unintentionally command it.

He seemed different. It was almost like we were just strangers, not that he was my brother's best friend and that we’d known each other practically our whole lives. It stung more than I expected knowing that Boson and I were in this place. Not to mention the boy who broke my heart last summer—Reese, Boston’s rival—was who turned out to be his brother. Like I said, complicated.

I tried to fight off the thoughts as Kristina and I maneuvered through the crowd, heading for the kitchen. I could hear the sharp pitch of an argument as we approached my brother standing at the center of the fire. The girl in front of him had her arms crossed, eyes sharp, shooting daggers at him. "You never called or texted me back."

There was genuine surprise on his face. He blinked as if trying to remember which girl this was, which was deeply disturbing. "Oh, did I not?" Parker scratched the back of his neck, not quite hiding the awkward recognition.

She scoffed. "I can't believe I cried over you and your shitty haircut," she spat out. Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply and left the room.

I rolled my eyes at the spectacle. Kristina nudged me, a signal to turn my focus on the shot. I reached for the bottle of vodka and uncapped it before pouring it into two shot glasses waiting on the counter.

I glanced over at Parker who was still watching the space where the girl had been standing. I couldn't help but insert unwanted sarcasm into the moment. "My brother, always the gentleman."

"Do I really have a shitty haircut?" he asked, turning to me.

I shook my head and poured another shot, lining it up with the others.

"Come on, you need this more than we do," I said, nudging the glass toward him.

Parker raised an eyebrow, accepting the shot with a grateful nod. "Here's a shot to..." he paused, eyes twinkling with a familiar mischievous glint, "me getting the hell out of this town."

We laughed and raised our glasses in unison before throwing back the shots, the vodka burning a trail of warmth down our throats.

Kristina chose right then to make her announcement. Her voice cut through the chatter. "Okay, now is a good time before everyone gets too wasted. Let's do cake."

Kristina reached for the cake, a pink masterpiece she baked herself, complete with my name in cursive across the top. She didn’t fumble as she carried it across the room to the battleground of red cups and half-empty cans on the dining room table. With practiced grace, she cleared a space and gently set down the cake. She struck a match igniting the candles, their flames flickering in anticipation.

"Everyone, gather 'round!" Kristina commanded, her grin wide and infectious. "It's time to sing to the birthday girl."

I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a message I wasn’t expecting.

Reese

Happy Birthday, Beautiful

I blinked once, twice, making sure the words were truly there and not just figments conjured by the alcohol.

With a press of the side button, I banished the message to darkness, locking away the words and the feelings they stirred. Slipping the device back into my pocket, I turned to face the group that had begun to converge around me.

My cluster of friends closed in around the table, forming a semicircle of excited faces. The first notes of the familiar tune began, tentative at first but soon swelling with volume and cheer. I stood at the epicenter of it all, cheeks warming not just from the candlelight but from the love that surrounded me.

As the melody wrapped around me, my eyes drifted shut. Flickers of orange danced against my eyelids, casting shadows on the wishes swirling through my mind. This summer... This summer was going to be different. I wished for strength, to stay focused on myself. No boys. No tangled emotions to trip over. No giving my heart away only to have it handed back, broken. I’ll never be in the center of some twisted brother rivalry. No getting hurt again.

I drew in a breath, my chest rising with the weight of my silent wish. As the song faded, I leaned forward, the warmth of the candles kissing my face, and blew with all the hope a year older Chandler could find.

My eyes flickered open to the sight of wisps of smoke curling upwards, the remnants of my resolution ascending to whatever universe wishes float off to.

And then, as if planned by some evil wish-rejecting asshole with a twisted sense of humor, the energy shifted and all eyes flew to the front door as Boston walked in.

Seriously? Was the universe playing a joke? Did they hear me wrong?

"Happy Fucking Birthday to me," I murmured under my breath.