7. Chandler

SEVEN

chandler

I belted out a song on my Taylor Swift playlist with the carelessness that only solo car concerts could inspire. I danced in the driver's seat, the steering wheel my only witness to the horrendous performance, thank goodness. I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the clothes and boxes obscuring my view. It was clear I’d packed every single thing I owned. If I hadn't, I would still be standing in my room, trying to decide what to bring with me.

I sang louder, tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat, doing my best to fight away the anxiety of returning to Bayside. My phone interrupted the music, blaring through the speakers. The screen flashed “Willow” in bold letters. Willow rarely called without good reason.

"Hey, Will," I answered, pressing the answer button on the dash.

"Channy! How far out are you?" Willow asked, her voice a mix of excitement and urgency.

"About thirty minutes away. Why? What's up?"

"Okay, listen, I need you to come straight to the Blue Devils’ clubhouse."

I almost pulled the car over. "What? I can't. I'm wearing no makeup, and my hair is…" I reached up to feel the messy bun on my head, suddenly self-conscious.

"No one cares about your crazy hair right now. No one but the staff is here. But Caroline is losing it. She's president of the committee this year, and someone just bailed. With the welcome event for the team and their families tomorrow, we're gonna be chained to decoration duty all night."

I sighed. "Alright, I'm on my way." I could already hear the commotion of preparations in the background.

"Thank you! You're the best. See you soon!"

The line went dead, and the song resumed. I turned down the music and focused on the road ahead, the landscape zipping by as I made my way to a place I wasn’t quite ready to see again. The Blue Devils’ clubhouse.

"Alright," I reluctantly conceded to the empty car, a frown tugging at my lips as I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. The girl staring back was not the same girl as last summer. I veered off the main road, steering towards the clubhouse, my heart beginning an erratic dance.

I pulled into the gravel lot and the sight of the familiar facility sent unexpected sadness through me. I parked and switched off the ignition, allowing the silence to envelop me. It wasn't just the building that flooded my mind with memories—it was him. Reese Carrington. His image was etched into every corner of this place. My first glimpse of those piercing green eyes had been in that building, setting the course for the rest of the summer.

I let out a shaky breath, thinking about the way my heart had leapt in his presence. After things ended, Reese's attempts at communication had been sporadic—a few texts here and there. It seemed like he just sent them because he felt bad for breaking up with me and wanted to maintain some form of contact so I wouldn't think he was a dick. I kept my distance.

I would often wonder about him—if his voice still sounded the same, if he still smelled as good as he did when I pressed my head against his chest. But nostalgia was a bitch, one I needed to close the door on—actually, slam the door on. That was in the past and it was staying there.

"Stay strong," I whispered to my reflection in the mirror. "New summer, new rules," I affirmed, gripping the steering wheel before finally pushing the door open. This summer was about moving forward, not looking back. No summer flings, no heartbreaks—just pure, unadulterated fun, starting with surviving Caroline's decorating debacle.

The door to the clubhouse swung open with a familiar creak, and I was instantly surrounded by the controlled chaos of pre-event commotion. Vibrant streamers danced from the ceiling, balloons scattered, and committee members were running all around, absorbed in their respective tasks.

"Chandler!" Before I could look around, a tornado of golden curls was on top of me. Willow attacked me with such a force that it made us both tumble to the floor. It had been months since I'd seen her, but the warmth of our embrace bridged the gap of time.

"God, I missed you," I breathed out. Willow's hug was a reminder of the unspoken bond we shared, a friendship worth being in Bayside for.

We might have stayed lost in our reunion if not for a sharp voice interrupting our bubble. "I'm not paying you to cuddle."

Looking up from our spot on the floor, I saw Caroline standing over us, arms crossed, gaze as stern as her tone. A box thudded beside me, overflowing with rolls of paper towels, glass cleaner, and a pile of sponges and brushes.

"Your first mission: make the entrance bathrooms sparkle like the Fourth of July." Caroline's lips twisted into a tight smile, though it held no warmth at all. "Everything needs to be top-notch for tomorrow."

Willow and I exchanged a glance as Caroline strode away, leaving a trail of intimidation in her wake. Our smiles held a mutual conspiracy, eyes twinkling with silent awareness at the absurdity of being tasked with bathroom duty.

"Up you get," Willow chirped, extending a hand to help me off the floor. Together, we hoisted the box of cleaning supplies.

"Thanks, girl," I said, brushing off the dust from my clothes. "Let's knock this out. Then onto the next ridiculous task Caroline comes up with."

"Got your back," Willow replied, her grin infectious. "Bathroom duty now, and a much needed margarita later." Arm in arm, we took on the bathroom shitstorm together.

The next day, Willow and I got ready for the welcome event together. I twisted a silver tube, watching as the dark red shade of confidence emerged. I glided the lipstick over the contours of my lips, trying to hide my turmoil. My stomach knotted knowing I’d see Reese and Boston at the Blue Devils’ welcome event. But this lipstick—bold and unapologetic—was my armor. It made me feel invincible, or at least that's what I told myself. As my grandmother would have said, “Lipstick and the right pair of heels can carry you through any battle.”

"So, how has Reese been?" I asked casually, my eyes meeting Willows in the reflection.

"Same old Reese," Willow responded with a small smile. Pausing, she added, "Well, maybe not entirely the same. Wait till you see him."

Curiosity piqued, I turned to face her directly. "What do you mean?"

She flashed a knowing grin. "Oh, you'll know when you see it."

"Whatever," I muttered, brushing off the vague response. "Is he with anyone?" I said, changing the subject.

"No, I don't think so," she replied, applying the final touches to her makeup.

"Have you guys talked much since last summer?" she prodded gently.

I shook my head. "No. He tried to send me a few messages, maybe called once, but I didn't really get the feeling he wanted to actually talk."

Willow's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said, forcing a smile. "Everything happens for a reason."

"Are you nervous to see him?" she asked, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head.

"Yeah, can't help it—but I’m staying away. Not repeating last summer."

"I have an idea," she said with a wink. "I know exactly what you need."

"What do I need?" I echoed, puzzled.

"You need a hot girl summer." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

I couldn’t suppress a laugh at the absurdity. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, Chandler," she rolled her eyes playfully. “It just means that you do what you want this summer, no boys bringing you down! No worries.”

"Hmm... that doesn’t sound so bad," I admitted.

"And I will totally help you execute this plan."

Despite the playfulness of the exchange, a knot of worry still settled in my stomach, heavy and persistent. Tonight loomed over me like a shadow I couldn't escape.

When we got to the welcome event, I beamed, proud of the work we’d done the night before. We’d outdone ourselves. The tablecloths draping over the long tables glimmered with an elegance last year's linen couldn't match, and the banners swayed grandly above us, commanding attention.

I plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray, the bubbles tickling my nose as I settled into a chair next to Parker. Who, when food was involved, always showed up early.

"Seriously, what is this?" Parker said with dramatic disgust as he held up some sort of meat from his plate.

"I was planning on drinking my way through this," I replied, lifting my glass in a half-hearted toast to the gourmet mystery in front of him. With a deep breath, I rose from my seat, the need for a quieter space pulling me away. "I’m going to make sure the committee doesn’t need any extra help."

The clubhouse still felt like stepping into a portal that led to last summer. The trophies still glistened under the soft lighting, probably polished daily. My gaze lingered on every shining surface until I was drawn, inexorably, to the shadowed hallway where Reese had once stood last summer when I first laid eyes on him—a memory permanently etched into my mind.

I remembered how he looked that day, the intensity of his green eyes, the carelessness in his stance as I unknowingly insulted him. Reese, who played the bad boy so well, unraveling a part of me I hadn't known was wound so tightly. He'd forced his way into my heart, only to leave it cracked like I’d never felt before.

The ache of it, the ghost of him, still clung to me. But the Chandler standing there wasn't the same girl who had fallen for his charm. This summer was a clean slate, a promise to myself that history would not repeat its painful cycle. Reese Carrington had taken his final bow in the theater of my affections. This time, my heart was locked away, and he was coming nowhere near it.

My eyes scanned the trophy wall again as I moved toward the exit—none of the committee members were in sight. Then my eyes locked on something new—a glinting addition to the collection. It was Reese’s MVP trophy from last year, his name engraved in bold, assertive letters. Another reminder of the season he dominated the field and, unwittingly, my every thought back then. The impulse to turn away, to deny the trophy any more attention than it deserved, was strong. Then I smiled, realizing a few smaller trophies had also been added. Parker, Boston, and a few others had been put on the wall too.

"Never learn your lesson, do you?" The smooth voice cut through the silence, as unmistakable as the trophy I was fixated on. It curled around me like smoke, insinuating itself into the space I had regretfully walked into again.

I stiffened, the words ricocheting through my bones. I didn’t need to turn around to picture the smirk that would accompany his taunt, or the green eyes that would be sparkling with mischief and charm.

"Reese," I said, allowing his name to acknowledge his presence without betraying the tremor I fought to keep from my voice. There was no turning back now; the past had stepped into the present, and I braced myself for the moment I had been dreading.

I turned, my resolve wilting under the weight of his gaze. There he was again—Reese Carrington—leaning casually against the clubhouse wall, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel my knotted together composure. He rolled up his sleeve and readjusted the watch on his arm as he waited for my reaction. Something about him was different. My eyes traced the intricate tattoos covering his right arm—an annoyingly sexy addition on his tan skin. I knew then it must have been what Willow was talking about.

"Should have known better," I managed, hating the way my heart skipped as if trying to leap out of the fortress I’d built around it. The tattoos were mesmerizing, each one wrapping around the curves and veins in his arm. I caught a glimpse of one that stood out—an adorable little dinosaur on his wrist, almost like a cartoon character. I wanted to inspect them closer, but I knew better than to step into his orbit again.

"Not happy to see me?" The corner of his mouth quivered, reading my lingering glance with ease. That smirk, those piercing green eyes—he was an alluring danger trying to lead me back to the wreck I'd barely survived.

“Thrilled,” I said, sarcastically. “New ink?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded nonchalant.

"A friend of mine worked on it this year," he replied with a tilt of his head, the light catching on hints of mischief in his eyes. “Wanted a change.”

It was in-fucking-sane how both Reese and Boston were the very reasons last summer was chaos for me; how they both stirred up so many emotions; and now they both were—somehow—even more fucking attractive than ever before. It was like the universe had conspired to test the limits of my sanity. Both guys were even hotter than last year. Cool. Universe- 2, Me- 0.

Without warning, he pushed away from the wall, closing the distance between us. I was unprepared for his presence, wrapping around me like an inevitable storm, impossible to ignore.

"I texted you a few times," Reese said, his low, rough voice in contrast with the smooth lines of his face. "Even called you once."

I kept my gaze steady, though I felt the weight of his stare trying to dissect my carefully curated indifference. "Sorry, I was busy," I replied, my tone clipped.

The corner of his mouth twitched into that signature side smile. It had once quickened my pulse. Now it was just a reminder of the hurt he had caused, and all the damage he was capable of. His eyes narrowed, as if he was peering straight through my thoughts, seeing through the layers I'd built up since last summer.

Undeterred by my short response, Reese leaned in slightly, the faint scent of his cologne teasing my senses. "So, how've you been? You look good," he offered. His words were stained in charm and the ease of someone who knew the effect they had on people.

"Reese, can we not make small talk?" I interrupted, irritation threading through my voice. I brought the champagne glass to my lips, taking a sip to have something to do other than acknowledge the flutter in my stomach.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long before responding. "That wasn't my intention," he said, that smirk playing across his lips as he stood there, tall and self-assured. "Nothing about me is small."

His words didn’t phase me, not now, even though the Reese that so many, including myself, found hard to resist was right in front of me. But I was determined not to fall into that trap again, not when I knew the cost all too well.

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel. My heels clicked against the polished floor, echoing around me as I strode towards the door, eager to end the conversation. "Maybe not," I tossed over my shoulder, my voice cold. "But you sure know how to make others feel that way."

I didn't look back to see his reaction; I didn't need to. I could imagine the slight tilt of his head, the way he'd run a hand through his hair in that casual, self-assured manner. But the Chandler he knew—the one who blushed at his every word—was gone.

"Chandler." The raw edge of his voice snagged me, like the fading colors of a vanishing sunset still painting the sky with lingering, quiet beauty.

His tone alone threatens to unravel me, reminding me of whispered promises, of intimate moments we shared. "Glad you’re back," he said, words hanging heavy behind me.

With little effort, I lifted my hand in a dismissive wave, not trusting myself to face him again, or even respond. The champagne flute, now light in my grip, came up to my lips as I forced down the remaining bubbles.

As I reached for the door, his voice, confident yet hopeful, carried across the hallway. "I'm sure I'll see you at Willow's later tonight."

Without a backward glance, I stepped out into the evening air, the cool breeze wrapping around me like a much-needed embrace. Inhaling deeply, I tried to shake off the lingering intensity of him and the frustration it brought. At Willow’s tonight, I'd be ready. Ready to prove that I was no longer the na?ve girl from last summer.

I sank against the clubhouse door, trying to shove away the emotions Reese had stirred up. As I shut my eyes, I was unwillingly dragged back to that day. Reese had dropped me like a summer fling, tossing me aside right before the leaves started to change. I remembered it with excruciating clarity—the casual shrug of his shoulders as if it was just another task during his busy day and he wasn't dismissing me from his life.

I closed my eyes tighter, willing away the images, the sounds, the scents—all the tiny, insignificant details that seemed so important back then. But most of all, I clung to the crushing weight of the realization. Because when he ended it, we were over. The hollowness that followed, the numbness… It had been a bold awakening. I wasn't the same Chandler who melted at his compliments, who had hung on his every word. That Chandler was replaced by someone stronger, someone who knew better than to fall for his bullshit. Not again. Not ever.

Gathering myself, I pushed away from the door and navigated through the dimly lit area toward the laughter and light spilling from the gathering.

And then time froze. Boston appeared, walking up at exactly that moment, his presence commanding attention even without intent.

I could see it, the hint of something unspoken flickering across his features—almost like he was happy to see me. It was there and then gone, replaced by a shadow of disappointment as Reese emerged from behind me, the door behind him shut with a click that echoed louder than it should have.

Reese paused, then stepped into the light. Boston's gaze shifted from me to Reese, and I could almost hear the silent conversation passing between them. With every second that ticked by, an invisible tension flickered around us.

The subtle tick in his jaw and the look in his eyes said it all—Boston was piecing together a false narrative. There I stood, caught in the middle of something I had been fighting hard not to be part of at all. It wasn't what it looked like, but the truth was often lost amongst assumptions that rushed to fill its place. I wanted to say something, anything to dispel the tension, but words failed me. I could only stand there, watching the silent exchange between two men who had each, in their own way, etched indestructible marks on my heart.