25. Chris #2
Chris’s jaw tightened. Nick might tell others to stop talking about Chris all the time, but it would have been nice if he could take his own advice.
Another firework bloomed, violent pink. He overheard his dad say something noncommittal.
Nick laughed lightly; that soft, reasonable tone he used when he wanted to sound concerned instead of critical.
Chris focused on the sky. He took a sip of mulled wine.
His thoughts slipped, as they always did, to Isaiah, to his ridiculous conviction that the sweet, hot wine was better than hot chocolate.
He pulled out his phone.
Chris
Happy New Year!
He attached a photo of the fireworks. Things had been, not awkward, but different between them since Chris’s slip the other day. He silently prayed to the fireworks that the New Year would bring a reset, at least on this, and he could leave his stupidity in the past.
Isaiah
HNY
So fireworks are fine but Christmas lights are your hard line on environmental damage?
Chris grinned at the screen. Maybe it had worked. The conversation flowed more easily than it had over the past few days.
Chris
Fireworks are tradition
Isaiah
That’s literally what Christmas lights are you hypocrite
Chris could picture the smug little smirk on Isaiah’s face so clearly.
Chris
Fuck, I miss you
Isaiah
Next year, I want a midnight kiss. No, two. You’ll owe me one from this year.
Chris’s breath caught. Next year. Like it was obvious they’d still be…whatever they were.
A firework burst, silver raining down over the bay.
He sent another photo of the harbour. Nothing dramatic, just the lights, the water, his boots perched on the wall.
Isaiah replied with one of his own. It was of a crowded flat, Jacob and Malek half-visible in the background.
Isaiah’s smile in the corner of the frame was soft and flushed.
Chris zoomed in on it without thinking.
“Who’s that?” Nick’s voice cut in. He’d drifted closer, now looking over Chris’s shoulder at his screen.
He flipped the phone instinctively.
“Just a friend.”
His mum arched a knowing brow.
“Are you seeing someone, Son?” his dad asked.
“I… Sort of.” Heat crept up Chris’s neck. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, good for you,” his dad said warmly. “Nice to see you getting your life back.”
Nick didn’t smile.
Another firework exploded overhead. Red this time.
Loud enough to echo in Chris’s ears. They counted down.
Shouted. Hugged. Took a selfie. Chris texted Isaiah again, nonsense about fireworks, about owing him kisses.
He felt loose and warm and maybe a little braver than usual.
He set his phone down on the wall beside him while his mum refilled his cup.
Nick asked to see the photo he’d snapped of the four of them and he passed it over to him as he took another sip of sweet, spiced wine.
Chris woke late and wandered into the kitchen to the smell of bacon and the low murmur of the morning news. His head throbbed faintly. He wasn’t hungover exactly, just foggy.
“Chris.” His mum’s voice sounded strained.
He spotted his phone on the kitchen island. Battery dead. He frowned, plugging it in as he set about making himself a coffee. He didn’t remember leaving it there.
“Yeah?” he mumbled.
Nick was standing by the counter, arms folded. His dad sat at the table, laptop open. The screen glowed. The headline hit him before he’d fully focused.
DISGRACED RUNNER IN FRESH SCANDAL: CAM BOY SEX TAPE REVEALED
His stomach dropped.
There was a still image, blurred but unmistakable. The green walls of his room at Hewitt’s estate. His own head, thrown back in ecstasy. Isaiah’s hands on him.
His ears started ringing.
The article was damning. It dredged up the ban, the doping scandal, the so-called “pattern of poor judgement.” It referred to Isaiah as a “self-proclaimed researcher with an active adult channel,” as if he weren’t a legitimate academic, as if this was all some publicity stunt.
It even went as far as to suggest the tape had been “strategically released” to drive traffic, by “a source close to the pair.”
Chris stopped reading. He didn’t remember crossing the kitchen but suddenly he was gripping the edge of the counter.
“That’s—” His voice cracked. “That was private.”
Nick made a small, almost curious noise. “So that’s what your friend does? Guess it really is complicated.” He smirked.
Chris looked at him sharply.
His mum was pale. “Chris…”
“It wasn’t public. It wasn’t for anyone else.” Blood pounded in Chris’s ears. A thin, poisonous thought tried to surface. Had Isaiah…?
No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Chris fucking knew that.
His dad shut the laptop slowly.
“Have you spoken to him?” his mum asked.
Isaiah. His funding. His reputation. Chris grabbed his phone.
“He’s probably the one who released it.” Nick shrugged.
“He didn’t.” Chris stated, locking eyes with his brother for a moment before returning to his phone. Notifications flooded the screen. Missed calls. Messages. Mentions. He opened his chat with Isaiah. Nothing new since midnight. He called but it went straight to voicemail. He called again.
And again.
And again.
Nothing.
His phone buzzed. Relief started to flow in, until he saw the caller id. It was Carl.
Chris answered instantly. “Did you see it?”
“Yes.” Carl’s voice was tight, controlled in a way that meant fury simmered beneath it. “I did.”
“It wasn’t us,” Chris said. “It was private.”
“I’m aware.” Aware. Aware didn’t sound quite the same as supportive. “All the sponsorship conversations we were in the middle of?” Carl continued. “Gone. At least for now. Damage control will take time.”
Chris swallowed. “Okay. That’s fine.” The last thing on Chris’s mind right now was his sponsorships. There was silence for a moment, and not the comfortable kind.
“Have you heard from Isaiah?” Carl asked.
“No. He’s not answering.”
“He’s not answering me either. Or Elliot. Or Jackson.”
Chris’s chest constricted.
Carl exhaled sharply. “Why would you do this to him?”
The question hit like a slap. “I didn’t.”
“You filmed it.”
“For us,” Chris shot back. “For fun. It wasn’t—we didn’t—it was his idea.”
Carl was silent.
“I’d never do anything to hurt him. You have to believe that.” The next words tore out of Chris before he could stop them. “I love him.”
The kitchen seemed to freeze. Carl went very quiet on the other end of the line.
Chris’s pulse roared in his ears. “I mean—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Don’t tell him that. I didn’t—just don’t.”
Another pause.
“We’ll sort the contracts later,” Carl said eventually, voice steadier now. “Focus on finding him.”
The call ended.
Nick picked up his car keys.
“Where are you going?” their dad asked.
“Out,” Nick replied lightly. “Meeting the lads at the club.” He didn’t look at Chris as he left. Chris didn’t have time for his brother’s shit right now. He dialled Isaiah again.
Voicemail, so he texted.
Chris
Please answer.
It wasn’t me.
I swear.
I need to know you’re okay
Hours blurred. Chris heard his mum on the phone, whispering rapidly to someone. She’d called in reinforcements.
Mila arrived first, breathless and furious on his behalf.
Then Sam. Then Alex, who had somehow become such a core part of Chris’s circle he couldn’t believe he’d ever been outside of it.
They encircled him in the living room with outrage, sugary tea, and protective indignation. The sky darkened, heavy with rain.
When another knock came, it was almost lost under the wind. Chris extricated himself from his friends and made it to the door before his mum. He opened it.
Isaiah stood on the step, soaked through.
Pale green hair plastered to his forehead.
Coat dripping. Eyes red-rimmed and wrecked.
For half a second, they just stared at each other.
Then Isaiah stepped forward and Chris caught him.
Isaiah’s hands fisted in the back of his jumper like he needed to confirm he was real.
Chris buried his face in his wet hair, breathing him in despite the rain.
“I didn’t—” they both said at once.
“I know,” Chris said immediately. “I know.”
Behind them, his friends tried not to watch, and his mum hovered.
“Oh, love,” she said softly, stepping forward as maternal instinct seemed to override everything else. “You’re freezing. Come inside.” She ushered Isaiah into the warmth, fetched towels, pressed a mug of tea into his shaking hands.
Chris watched her fuss gently, watched the way she didn’t comment or judge, how she just saw a drenched, devastated boy, and he watched the expression on Isaiah’s face as he looked up at him from the kitchen chair, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I would never,” he said hoarsely.
“I know,” Chris repeated.