Chapter 3
CARTER
The apartment still smells faintly like beer and burnt popcorn. Jake swears it’s “ambiance,” but I’m ninety percent sure it’s from his laundry pile.
He’s sprawled across the couch in sweatpants and a University of Mountain Springs sweatshirt, controller in hand, laser-focused on the TV.
“Bro, if you don’t get over here, I’m going to beat this level without you. Again.”
“I’m basking in the glory of not having fifty guys stealing my food all the time,” I say, digging through a box of cereal straight from the counter. “Give me a second to appreciate domestic freedom.”
Jake snorts. “You mean the freedom to live in an apartment that looks like a serial killer’s lair?”
I toss a handful of Cheerios at him. One bounces off his forehead.
“That’s what gratitude sounds like? I rescued you from the sticky floors and keg-sweat air freshener, and this is how you repay me?”
“Dude, you begged me to move out,” Jake says, pausing the game. His grin fades just enough to be noticed. “Said the house was… too much.”
I shrug, pretending to check my phone. “Yeah, well. It was. Too many dudes who think Febreeze counts as hygiene.”
We both know hygiene has nothing to do with it. I probably won’t clear up those Cheerios on the floor until they get crushed and the crumbs start bothering me in my socks. Or until ants carry them away.
He studies me and tilts his head. “You mean too many memories.”
The cereal suddenly tastes like dust. “You’ve been reading too much poetry again, man.”
“Just saying.” He leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “It must’ve sucked being in that place. Every time someone said Dominic’s name, the room went so fucking quiet.”
I keep my eyes on the floor. It’s one of the reasons I love Jake: he’s blunt. But sometimes, I wish he was a little more subtle.
Dominic was a senior when I was a freshman so most of the guys in my year knew him. Even before he died, he was a man of myth in the frat. He was just that guy, everybody loved him, everybody knew him. And everybody felt so sorry for his little brother living in his shadow.
I lasted another year in the frat house, but eventually it got too much for me to handle. So, this year I asked Jake if he would live off campus with me.
There’s a dent in the hardwood shaped like someone once dropped a dumbbell there.
“Yeah.” I laugh it off. “The pity stares were killer for my social life. You can’t exactly flirt when everyone’s thinking, ‘poor guy, his brother was a legend.’”
Jake’s voice softens. “He was a legend.”
“I know.” I force a smile. “Trust me, no one’s letting me forget it.”
For a second, the silence between us is heavy. Uncomfortable, brittle. I do what I always do: break it with humor.
“Anyway, I’m aiming for mediocre and still breathing, sooo, I think I’m on track. I have, in fact, just signed up for an extra credit geology assignment over Christmas. 8 days in the mountains collecting data.”
Jake snorts. “Sounds like a blast. And mediocre? Shoot for the stars, bro.”
“I’m actually aiming slightly left of the stars. Maybe I’ll hit a passing satellite and it’ll all be over.”
He shakes his head. “You’re such an idiot.”
“I am a genius, my friend,” I say, grabbing the second controller and flopping down beside him. “Now, let’s play before I spiral into deep emotional reflection, because nobody needs to see that.”
“Fuck no, not today,” Jake says, unpausing the game. “Healthy coping at its finest.”
“Damn right.” I smirk. “Now, prepare to lose. I am killer at this game.”
We play for a while in comfortable silence, the familiar soundtrack of button mashing filling the room. But then Jake pauses the game again.
“So this research trip,” he says, not looking at me. “You actually want to do it? Or are you just running away from Christmas?”
I want to deflect. Make a joke. But it’s Jake, and he already knows the answer.
“Both,” I admit. “Is that allowed?”
“Totally allowed.” He tosses his controller onto the coffee table. “But real talk for a sec—are you even into this geology shit?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Geology. Rocks. Earth science. All of it.” He turns to face me. “Are you into it? Like, actually into it?”
I open my mouth to say yes automatically. Then close it.
“I don’t know,” I say finally.
“Dude.” Jake leans forward. “You’re a junior. You’re supposed to at least pretend to know what you’re doing with your life.”
“Says the guy who’s changed his major three times.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m asking. Because I’ve been there.” He picks at a loose thread on the couch. “So? Do you like it?”
I think about my geology classes. About sitting in lectures, staring at PowerPoint slides about mineral compositions and tectonic plates, feeling my brain slowly leak out of my ears.
“Dominic loved it,” I say instead of answering.
“Dominic loved everything. That freak was genuinely excited about studying. It was unnatural.”
Despite myself, I smile. “He was going to do his PhD. Had this whole plan—undergrad, grad school, research position, maybe teaching eventually. He knew exactly what he wanted.”
“And you?”
I’m quiet for a long moment. The game music loops on the TV, cheerful and repetitive.
“I picked geology because it seemed practical,” I say slowly. “And because Dom was in the program, and I thought... I don’t know. I thought maybe if I did what he did, I’d figure out what I wanted. That it would just click eventually.”
“Has it?”
“No.” The word comes out heavier than I expected. “I hate being inside all day. I hate labs. I hate sitting at a desk analyzing data for hours. Every lecture feels like I’m suffocating.”
Jake nods like this confirms something he already suspected. “So why are you still doing it?”
“Because I’m almost done? Because I don’t know what else to do? Because my parents already paid for three years of this and I can’t just...” I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, man. I’m just trying to get through it.”
“That’s a shit reason to finish a degree.”
“It’s the only reason I have.”
We sit with that for a minute. On screen, the game character idles, waiting for us to unpause and give it purpose.
I have to swallow several times before I can speak. “I dunno man, I feel like I’m just drifting.”
“Maybe that’s ok right now.”
“That’s deeply unhelpful advice.”
“Yeah, well. I’m an econ major. Self-awareness isn’t my strong suit.” He picks up the controller again. “But for what it’s worth? This research trip. Time outside, doing actual fieldwork instead of sitting in a classroom? Maybe it’ll help you figure some shit out.”
“Or maybe I’ll just freeze my ass off and come back exactly as lost as I left.”
“Possibly. But at least, you’ll have tried something different.” He unpauses the game. “And hey—if you figure out you hate geology, you can always drop out and become a surf instructor or some shit.”
“I live in the mountains.”
“Ski instructor, then. Same thing.”
I snort. Something about the conversation has loosened the knot in my chest.
Maybe Jake’s right. Maybe getting out of the classroom, doing actual work in the field, will help me figure out if this is what I want. Or if I’m just going through the motions because it’s easier than admitting I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.
“Hey, Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For moving out here with me. For... all of it.”
He shrugs, but his expression is soft. “That’s what friends do, bro.”
“You’re a softie.”
“I know. I’m very in touch with my emotions. The ladies love it.” He grins. “Now come on. I’m going to destroy you at this game, and you’re going to cry about it.”
“You wish.”
We play and trash talk. It’s loud, stupid, uncomplicated—exactly what I need.
You’re wasting your life, little bro. Video games are fun, but not real. Stop spending so much time playing.
When Jake finally cheers at a victory screen, I laugh along, half because it’s funny, half because it’s easier than crying if I admit how much I miss my brother’s voice joining in.
But under the laughter, there’s a question forming. One I’m not ready to answer yet, but can’t ignore anymore:
What do I actually want to do with my life?
I make it exactly three blocks from the geology building before my phone rings.
Mom.
She’s calling me back because I tried her earlier. Why does pressing accept feel so hard?
I stare at the screen, watching it light up against the gray December sky, and seriously consider letting it go to voicemail. But that’ll just make things worse. Delayed disappointment is still disappointment.
I answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Carter!” Her voice is bright, aggressively cheerful in that way that’s become standard since Dom died.
Like if she sounds happy enough, we’ll all forget to be sad.
“I was just finalizing Christmas plans. Your dad’s talking about getting tickets to that Nutcracker performance on the 23rd—you remember, the one he loved?
I thought it might be nice to keep the tradition. ”
My stomach clenches. “Actually, Mom, that’s kind of why I wanted to call.”
The brightness dims slightly. “Oh?”
I stop walking, lean against the cold brick of some academic building. Students stream past, bundled in coats, talking about finals and break plans and all the normal things normal people worry about.
“A research opportunity came up. Winter fieldwork, geothermal monitoring. It’s... it’s pretty important for my transcript. I wish I didn’t have to go.” The lie tastes like copper. “I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to make it home for Christmas.”
Silence. Long enough that I check to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Oh.” Her voice is smaller now, the brightness completely gone. “That’s... when did this come up?”
“Yesterday. The professor just asked. It’s starts tomorrow, and—”
“Christmas, though?” There’s something fragile in her voice that makes my chest tight. “We were really hoping... Your dad’s been looking forward to having you home. We thought it would be good for all of us to be together.”
The guilt sits heavy, familiar. I’ve gotten good at carrying it.
“I know. I’m really sorry. But this is the kind of thing that looks good for grad school applications, and—”
“I mean. Of course. If it’s important for school, we understand.”
“Thanks, Mom. I really am sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” The brightness is trying to creep back in. “We’ll miss you, but we’re proud of you for taking your education seriously. Maybe we can do something when you get back? New Year’s?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Stay warm out there. And text us, okay? Let us know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
“We love you, Carter.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and immediately feel like shit.
My phone buzzes with a text from Dad about thirty seconds later. He was probably listening in to the phone call.
Dad:
Your mom told me about the research trip. Disappointed we won’t see you, but Dominic would be proud and jealous. Stay safe, son.
Dominic would be proud.
I pocket my phone and start walking again, faster this time, like I can outpace the guilt clawing up my spine.
The thing is, they’re not wrong. Dominic would be proud.
He’d probably have volunteered for something like this himself—not to escape, but because he genuinely loved that stuff.
Research, data, contributing to scientific knowledge.
He had his whole plan set out. He knew exactly who he was and where he was going.
And then he drove home from UMS for Thanksgiving last year and some asshole ran a red light, and suddenly he was just… gone. Twenty-three years old. Dead before the ambulance arrived.
What I remember most isn’t the crash. I wasn’t there for the impact. I wasn’t there for the sirens or the cops or the chaos.
What I remember is the sound.
Dominic’s ringtone—some stupid, upbeat song he set on my phone because he said I needed “more pure joy in my life.” That’s what was blaring through my room the night it happened, obnoxiously cheerful, vibrating across my desk.
I answered on the third or fourth ring, annoyed, brushing crumbs off my pants.
Then Dad’s breathing. Shallow. Wrong.
And my mom in the background—this sound I didn’t recognize, something between a scream and a sob, like the whole world had cracked open.
That’s the moment everything split. Not the funeral. Not the hospital. That sound. Mom’s voice breaking apart. Dad’s breath.
Sometimes I still hear it—bright music and shattered noise tangled together. It lives somewhere between my ears and my ribs, always ready to replay.
I was supposed to go with him that weekend, but I had a party I couldn’t miss.
So I wasn’t there. Wasn’t there when Dad got the call, wasn’t there when Mom collapsed in the kitchen, wasn’t there for any of it until two days later when I finally made it home to a house that felt like a bomb had gone off inside it.
And everyone looked at me like I was supposed to fix it somehow. Like I was supposed to step up and fill this massive, gaping hole.
But I can’t.
I’m not Dominic. I’ve never been Dominic.
And trying to be him is fucking killing me.
That afternoon, the apartment is cold and too quiet when I get back. Jake left earlier, practically vibrating with excitement about skiing and family and all that normal holiday shit.
I drop my backpack and stand in the middle of the living room, suddenly unsure what to do with myself.
I should pack. The trip starts tomorrow, and I have no idea what you even bring for winter fieldwork. Warm clothes, obviously. Probably layers. Do I own enough layers?
Instead, I end up on the couch, staring at the ceiling thinking about my old frat and my old life here.
I am still technically in Alpha Phi, though I haven’t been to the house in months.
I do skip class—too much, probably. And I don’t deserve this research opportunity more than someone who shows up and tries.
But here I am.
Taking it anyway.
Because I’m a coward who can’t face his own family at Christmas.
Jake
Dude. Just landed in Tahoe. Already hit the slopes once. It’s SICK. How’s dead campus?
Living the dream. Enjoy the skiing.
You coming to the New Year’s party at the house? Gonna be huge.
Maybe. I’ll be on the research trip most of the break.
Nerd. Alright man, have a good time