11. Chris #2
“Literally and figuratively,” Chris replied. The snort of laughter from Isaiah was almost enough to make up for his mum’s sharp inhale.
The call ended, and Chris felt unbalanced.
His whole world had shifted once again but all he could think of was the way Isaiah laughed, something about it had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
He followed his parents out of his room, up the basement steps to the kitchen and sat down at the table, still in a daze.
“Oh, we’ve got to ring Nick to give him the good news,” his mum exclaimed.
Chris couldn’t think of much that sounded worse than that.
“And then I imagine you’ll be wanting to head out to celebrate with your friends?”
She looked so full of hope that Chris didn’t want to let her down.
“Yeah, though, maybe they could come round and we could all celebrate together,” he said.
Then he smiled, a real, genuine smile as he remembered he had more news for his parents that would probably send their good moods soaring into the stratosphere.
“Also, I’ve…” He ran a hand through his hair.
“I’ve signed up for classes…to finish my degree. ”
“Oh, Chris!” his mum exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug as she held her phone out, waiting for Nick to pick up her call.
He hugged her back, breathing in the scent of her. The worst part of this whole ordeal had been letting them down, these people who cared so much for him, who wanted him to succeed because they loved him.
Love. That feeling that could get you in so much trouble. His heart skipped a beat as he realised how badly he wanted to share this moment with Quick. The wall of anonymity between them felt more like a curse than the blessing he’d been treating it as.
“What is it?” His brother’s tired voice came down the line.
His mum grabbed her phone, trying to frame them all in the video. “We’ve got great news, Nick!” she squealed. “Chris’s ban’s been reduced, and he’s going back to school.”
There was a moment of electric silence as they waited for Nick to say something, anything, in response. “Of course it has.” He sounded bitter. “He’s getting away with it, then? Consequence-free, as usual.”
His dad grabbed the phone and took it to the other room as the smile fell from his mum’s face. He didn’t catch it all, but he could hear from his dad’s tone that Nick was getting a kick up the arse. Chris smirked. As he bloody well deserved, the prick.
Once he’d managed to get his mum to stop fretting, Chris got to texting his friends and inviting them round. He shot a message to Quick as well.
Flash23
Got some good news today. Celebrate with me on the weekend?
Quick
I’d love that, babe. Saturday?
Flash23
It’s a date
Quick
Yeah, it is.
“What’s got you smiling down at your phone all coy?” his mum asked.
Chris felt the back of his neck warm. “Just someone I’ve been talking to a bit.”
“Ooh, Chris, it’s really all coming together for you.” She smiled. “I was so worried.”
He smiled back. “It’s not that big of a deal, we’re just talking.”
Footsteps sounded, and there was a faint tinkling sound as Mila entered the kitchen, the beads in her hair clinking together as she bounced in. “Just talking to who?” she asked, waggling her brows. Chris cursed his dad for letting people in without warning, and Mila for being so punctual.
“Chris has been talking to someone,” his mum replied for him.
“It’s not like that,” he insisted.
“Who is it, then?” Mila asked, as she leaned her hip against the counter like she owned the place.
“No one,” Chris said automatically.
“Liar.”
His mum looked delighted, like this was the final piece in some grand cosmic plan. “Right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got things to do.”
“Things” turned out to mean catering like she was hosting a minor royal. Chris and Mila looked on as the kitchen island was covered in bowls of crisps, little pastry spirals, cut fruit, and a tray of cocktails in glasses that had definitely been saved for “occasions.”
“Mum,” Chris said weakly.
“What? We’re celebrating.” She pressed a glass into his hand. “Two years is still a long time, but it’s not forever. And you’re halfway through the first one.”
The doorbell went again. Mila darted off to get it.
Sam’s voice came first. “Where’s the comeback kid at?”
More bodies spilled in behind him. Charlie, sharp-eyed, with one hand lightly on his boyfriend’s back.
Alex gave Chris a small, careful smile. “Hi. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Chris said, meaning it. “Glad you came.”
Charlie made a faint noise in his throat, like Alex being polite was somehow embarrassing. Chris clocked it, arching a brow in Sam’s direction, who shrugged and nodded all at once.
Chris stepped forward towards his best friend just in time for Sam to crash into him, arms tight around his ribs.
“Proud of you,” Sam muttered into his shoulder.
Chris swallowed. “You shouldn’t be.”
“You’re my best friend,” Sam said, pulling back. “And you’re a goddamn force, Chris. It’s not just the running, it’s signing up for uni again. That’s something to be proud of.”
Chris glared at his mum.
“What? Word travels fast.” She winked as she returned to her spread. “Drinks! Food!”
“Mum,” Chris groaned.
“It’s a celebration. We’ve established this.”
She stayed for the first round, refilling bowls, touching Chris’s arm every time she passed like she needed to confirm he was still solid and here.
Once the sky had fully darkened outside, she tapped out.
“Right, your dad and I are off to bed. Stay as long as you like, just don’t ruin my beauty sleep. ”
“As if you need it, Mrs. Green,” Sam quipped.
Chris’s mum ruffled his hair and laughed. “Cheeky.” She turned to Chris, pulling him tight against her. “You’ll get through this,” she whispered.
“I know,” Chris mumbled into her hair, and he meant it. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
He led his friends downstairs, bringing the bowls and trays with them.
The basement space was a strange mishmash of his and Nick’s.
An old sofa, mismatched chairs, a rug that had seen better decades.
His old trophies on one shelf and Nick’s rugby shit on another.
Fairy lights Mila had put up years ago still looped along the beams, making everything look golden and soft.
Sam connected his phone to the speaker as if it were still an everyday occurrence and let music flow out softly.
Drinks passed hand to hand. Laughter came easier down here, muffled from the rest of the house. Chris felt a slow unwinding, as if all his muscles were being released, like the aftermath of a sports massage.
“To Carl Owens,” Mila said at one point, raising her glass.
Chris paused, the reality of what the man had done for him feeling heavier in the dim light. He lifted his glass. “To Carl.” To Isaiah, he added mentally.
“To being a broke student like the rest of us,” Alex added.
Sam leaned into him. “I’m making you a colour-coded study planner.”
“I hate you.”
“You need me.”
He did.
Charlie, grinning, dug into his jacket pocket. “Celebration upgrade,” he said.
Chris saw the bag and everything inside him went still. “Nope,” he said immediately.
Charlie blinked. “What?”
“Not in my house.”
“Oh, come on,” Charlie said. “Like you care.”
Chris stood, heart suddenly loud in his ears. “I care.”
The room shifted.
“I don’t want anything illegal near me,” he said, voice tight but steady. “I don’t want my name anywhere near it. Not after everything.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Bit dramatic considering—”
“My ban wasn’t for party shit,” Chris cut in. “But you think the world makes that distinction? It’s all just ‘athlete, drugs.’ I’m not doing that again. Not even close.”
Silence.