Chapter Text
Mom took off—frantic—disappearing to the other end of the boat where Dad had vanished. Everyone could hear her yelling.
Meanwhile, Saxon stared at his phone again, almost motionless, as notification after notification flashed across his screen—texts, emails, private articles...
His stomach twisted, but he couldn't help the strange calm that settled over him.
Fucking finally.
Dad had been completely off all week—but now it all made sense. Saxon wasn't going crazy or overthinking things.
He knew he wasn't. Still fucking hurt, though.
He didn't want to think about what would happen once they got back home.
A quick glance over at his siblings, and Piper mouthed to both him and Lochlan—"What the fuck..." She was quiet, confused. Then she turned to Saxon, searching his face for something.
Maybe an answer.
A reason. Something.
But she found nothing.
Piper broke down in tears—almost hysterical, nearly to the point of vomiting. Saxon clung to her, doing his best to comfort her as a big brother would. It had been a while since he'd seen Piper cry like this.
He held her tight, awkwardly whispering whatever came to mind—which was funny, considering this was all her fault to begin with.
Going to Thailand for a 'Buddhist interview.'
God. What a joke.
He wasn't sure if it was worse than the actual reason...
Wanting to stay at a monastery for a year... to 'find herself.'
Saxon would be lying if he wasn't pissed at her. She finally embraced the life she used to judge—and the moment she did, it was all ripped away.
The irony was almost poetic.
A twisted, full-circle moment.
He glanced over at Lochlan, instinctively checking on him. He hadn't said a word. Just sat there, distant, like none of it mattered.
The sunglasses masked his eyes. His phone and hands were tucked tightly into the front pocket of his LV hoodie.
Saxon remembered what Dad had said—something about food poisoning from spoiled coconut milk. It made sense, in theory—Lochlan had been violently sick all morning: pale, sweating, barely conscious. He'd even passed out from throwing up.
But something felt off.
As Saxon pulled Piper closer, he caught Lochlan's grimace—faint but unmistakable. It was written in the way his eyebrows tightened, the hard set of his mouth.
He stared back, confused—worried. Lochlan stood up and walked away, disappearing to the far edge of the boat, away from everyone.
And no, Saxon didn't go after him. Didn't even ask if he was okay. Not with everything going on. Not with everything that happened. It all swirled inside him like a typhoon. It was too much to deal with. Too much for one fucking week.
He just wanted to disappear—find a quiet corner—and distract himself in the stack of Chelsea's stupid self-help books.
Yes, it was weird. There was no clear reason why Chelsea lingered in his mind. Maybe it was the way she looked at him—like she saw something he tried to hide.
Or maybe it was when she called him 'soulless.' And yet... it made him 'respect' her, in some fucked up way.
Because she wasn't sugarcoating shit.
She was right.
He wanted to be different. Better. But he didn't know how. And part of him wasn't sure he could be.
And it was never about love—not with Chelsea. No. Never.
He just wanted to fuck her. That much was clear. And he probably would have, if she hadn't started hurling her weird spiritual books at him like weapons.
That's what it was. The whole thing. Contradictory. Nothing about it made sense, and somehow, that made it stick even harder.
The last time he'd seen her was yesterday at the beach.
He'd brought one of the books she'd thrown at him—mostly to prove a point. To show he'd actually read it. He knew she thought he was too shallow, too distracted to understand anything about "divine nature," or whatever Piper-esque bullshit she liked to ramble about.
But truthfully... something about it the readings had stuck with him. Not all of it.
But enough to make him wonder.
Still, the real reason he brought the book had nothing to do with spirituality. He just wanted to see her again. Maybe exchange numbers. Maybe stay in touch.
Then Rick showed up out of nowhere—and Saxon's mind shifted.
Just a bit.
Chelsea lit up—like the sun had risen just for him. Like no one else existed. He saw them embrace with the golden light flaring behind them, and felt something subtle... but sharp. A twist in his chest.
A quiet, aching realization. Longing for something that was never going to happen.
Because it couldn't. Not with... no.
...The following day—today—he overheard the casualties from Pam.
When Saxon found out about Chelsea’s death, the grief hit bluntly.
He stumbled into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the cool tile floor for over an hour. Just thinking.
It didn’t matter that Lochlan was resting in the bedroom, weak and pale after retching out his insides.
She didn’t deserve to die. No, not like that. It was mind-bending—how he’d just seen her the day before. Alive. Glowing. Happy.
It felt different.
Things like this happened on TV, not in real life.
And now she was gone. His thoughts blurred, twisting in every direction.
Was that what she wanted?
Was it all part of her divine plan?
He didn’t know what to think... and those dumbass books didn't help.
Until he thought of it again.
It still lingered—in the back of his mind. That fucking night. The drunken, drugged haze on the yacht.
Particularly when Lochlan was off singing some overplayed radio Harry Styles song—“Adore” something or whatever.
Chelsea shoved Saxon aside and slurred something cryptic about how people leave Thailand as completely different.
She only eyed at him and Lochlan when she said it.
Then, when it was her turn at karaoke, she giggled and kissed Saxon on the forehead—like she knew something he didn’t.
He hadn’t understood it then.
But now... after everything?
Maybe she knew something.
...Or maybe not.
Who knows.
More than a few months slipped by.
There was no more mansion by the lake. Most of Daddy's money was gone—along with him, locked behind bars. Her wealthy family took her in, let her stay at their estate, and made sure she was taken care of.
She wasn’t struggling—not financially, not really. But the polished, elevated image she’d spent years perfecting?
Torn to pieces. A joke. The community’s newest tragedy.
Goodbye, Country Club...
Piper and Lochlan stayed with her, though neither seemed to want to.
Mom begged Saxon to stay, clung to him like a lifeline, but after one screaming match too many, he was gone. Piper didn’t care. Lochlan shut himself away in one of the guest rooms.
Apparently, Mom unraveled a month after he last saw her—refilling her prescriptions like clockwork, her wineglass never empty. Something happened, but Saxon never delved into it.
He was over it.
Tired.
Since coming back from Thailand, something had shifted—like a switch. Before, hookups were occasional—twice a month at most, and only with women around his age.
Now? Once a week, minimum. Realistically, more. If someone wanted him and followed his rules—no questions, no expectations—they could come over.
He didn’t really care what they looked like or how old they were—though he still preferred them around his age.
He'd block them the next day.
Even the ones he liked.
Especially the ones he liked.
The first couple of months were fun. The unpredictability. The relief. It hit like a drug—quick, hot, numbing.
But lately, it had started to feel different. Cheap. Hollow. Maybe even gross. Like he was the one getting used.
And still, he didn’t stop.
Eventually, he started to very casually see someone: Jake.
It had begun the same as the others—fast, meaningless—but Jake was persistent. Too persistent.
Saxon made the mistake of giving out his number.
Jake texted. Called. Set up little morning coffee runs when Saxon left for work. Saxon warned him—again and again—but it never deterred him.
Jake seemed to understand.
Or maybe he just didn’t care.
Saxon’s phone buzzed violently against the wooden nightstand. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, assuming it was work.
This fucking early again?
Without checking the caller ID, he answered.
“Hello...? Tyler—?”
“...Saxon?”
That irritating voice.
Fuck.
Her voice was sharp, cracked—like she hadn’t slept. Like she’d been crying for hours.
“Wow, Tyler? You really weren’t gonna answer, huh?” she snapped, no patience in her tone. “I’ve texted. I’ve called...”
Saxon sat up slowly, still half-asleep. Delirious. Confused.
“—It’s my boss’s name. What’s going on, Pipe...?”
She didn’t wait.
“He’s cutting himself.”
Saxon froze. “Huh—what?”
“Lochy. He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while.”
Silence. Thick. Heavy. Saxon pressed his fingers to his temple, like that could stop the spinning.
“I’m not calling because I missed you,” Piper muttered, quieter now. “Lochy needs someone. And you... you used to be someone...”
“Okay... okay,” Saxon murmured.
He didn’t know what to think. His throat felt dry. His chest, completely hollow. His eyes started to sting.
They made plans to meet for coffee. Neutral ground.
When the call ended, Saxon just stared at the screen in his hand, suddenly wide awake.
He was tempted to text him.
Maybe even call. Even drive over to see him.
But he couldn’t.
Something unspoken hung in the room like smoke—something between guilt and dread.
He got ready...
...but not without shedding a few tears.
"Why would he do that to himself?" Saxon muttered, clutching his large Americano—more for comfort than warmth.
"I don’t know... I tried talking to him, but—"
Piper took a sip of her bizarre drink—a muddy swirl of sludge. A matcha latte, lavender cold foam, and a shot of espresso. Disgusting.
"He's... completely different, Saxon," she said, lazily wiping a tear with the oversized sleeve of her Miu Miu knit sweater.
She trembled. It was October, and the cold crawled under her skin. "I don't know him anymore."
Saxon felt it—that sharp twist of shame. He wanted to see his stupid face again, wanted to so badly. But flashes from that night still rippled through his mind.
He could practically smell the saltwater. Chloe's breath. The way Lochlan—
"Saxon... are you even listening?"
He blinked. "Yeah..." he lied, eyes fixed anywhere but on hers. "...What did Mom do?"
Piper's expression shifted.
"She told him to pray to God for forgiveness." Her tone flattened. "Listen, I tried to get him into therapy, but he refused."
Saxon rubbed his temple. "What the fuck is going on..."
Piper looked at him—really looked at him. His hair was freshly cut, just half an inch longer than usual, enough for the tips to slightly wave, parted messily down the middle. He had stubble—trimmed, curated.
He actually looked... grounded. Fresh-faced for once.
It annoyed her.
"Saxon... he told me that—" Piper paused, meeting his eyes, then looked away fast.
Saxon waited. Squinted.
"Lochy told me..." she started, then faltered. Her eyes shifted.
Saxon rolled his eyes.
"He... just ignores me."
Not what she was going to say, not exactly—but whatever.
"He's changed completely. I feel terrible about what I'm going to ask." She hoped the deflection would work.
"Ask... what?"
"I... uhm."
"Goddammit, Piper... it's me. Not some fucking stranger."
"...You've been acting like a stranger," she said quietly.
"Piper..."
"I need Lochy to stay with you."
Saxon's chest tightened. "What... do you mean, stay with me?"
"I'm moving. I've already decided. I can't leave him with Mom and her ignoramus family mem—"
"Piper, what?"
"It's the least you can do after going MIA on us."
"Excuse me? The least I...? Are you serious right now?"
"He needs you, Saxon. He listens to you."
Saxon looked away.
"He's just eighteen..." Her voice cracked. "...and he's cutting himself."
Saxon went quiet.
Right. He's cutting.
Welcome back to reality, Saxon.
Piper sighed. "There are a lot of things that happened while you were gone... I don't know what to tell you."
He felt bile rising.
"What could I even... do?"
"You could start by being his brother." Her voice turned sharp. "He hates it there. And you never came to see us. A month ago, he broke down, asking me why you hated him."
"Fuck. Listen, Piper... I just got this job and—"
"Bullshit excuse," she snapped. "You always made time for him. Why are you acting like this now?"
Saxon looked down. Stayed silent.
Piper exhaled. "Tell me," she shot back. "What happened in Thailand?" Her voice wavered. "I asked Lochy, but he wouldn't tell me."
"...Nothing happened," Saxon murmured, dragging his finger along the lid of his coffee.
"At the monastery, he told me he didn’t want to give in to his dark shit. That he didn’t want to make things worse. Like... what does that even mean? He even wanted to stay there for a year. Did you know that?"
Saxon didn’t respond. He didn’t know. And he wished he still didn’t.
Dark shit?
Make things worse?
He stared out the window.
"How did everything get so fucked up?" he whispered. "Do you think this is... some kind of punishment?"
"Punishment?"
"Maybe God’s angry with us... I don’t know."
"We had it perfect. Too perfect. Everything was handed to us. We took it for granted."
Silence.
"I spoke with Zion—"
"Ugh. Fuck. Him again?"
"Yes. Him," Piper snapped.
Saxon scoffed. "So he pops your cherry, and suddenly you're—"
"Stop being so fucking gross," she hissed. "We talk. He’s starting something in Maui. He wants me there."
"I know you guys talk. Everyone knows..." Saxon sighed. "You can’t be serious about this."
"I’m 100% serious."
Saxon glared. "What if I want to leave too?"
"Stop it. You don't."
"I do."
Her voice dropped. "Then you would've left by now. And you wouldn't leave when… when Lochy needs you."
Saxon looked away. "Just... take him with you."
Piper shook her head. "He wants to leave North Carolina too. So let him stay with you for a while. He needs to get his GED, then a job, save up. He sold his car already to build back his savings—"
"Wait—wait—what?" Saxon blinked. "What do you mean, GED?"
"He never went back to high school, Saxon. You know this..."
"I thought it was just for a couple weeks," he snapped. "It’s fucking high school! He was doing great!"
"Sax—"
"And what the hell? He sold his car—so what? I'm supposed to be his fucking chauffeur now?" His voice cracked. Rage. Disbelief. "Jesus Christ... So he can't even get into Duke now, right? What the fuck was he thinking—?"
"Stop it, Saxon!" Piper hissed. "He's just a kid!"
"I'm seriously not in the right headspace for this." He pressed his palm to his face. "I'm not fucking okay. Not after everything... fuck."
"...What happened?"
"I can't—"
"Did you fight with him?"
Saxon didn’t answer. The ache returned—deep and familiar.
"You keep everything bottled up. And that’s exactly what Lochy is doing now."
His hands trembled. "I don’t know..." He exhaled, eyes on his coffee. "I live in a small condo, I work full-time, and I’m kind of... seeing someone. I’ll be too busy to—"
Piper leaned in. "Jesus, Saxon. It's not like she’s living with you..."
A beat.
"Is... she?"
"No. He's not," Saxon said quietly.
She froze.
Her voice turned small. She looked away, fumbling with her ring. "I—well... I’m—"
"—You think Lochy will be okay with me?" Saxon cut in.
Piper’s frustration flared. "Of course. Don’t be stupid." She dragged the word out. "He loves you." Her voice thinned. "He looks up to you... more than me." She sniffled. "Why don’t you come to Amelia’s with me? You can see him and—"
"I... have work in thirty minutes," he said flatly.
Piper stood, grabbing her phone and that half-finished sludge drink. "Okay. Alright. I’ll talk to Lochy and—"
"Piper, wait." Saxon reached out, grabbing her arm.
She turned, startled. "Wha—?"
"The... cuts," he said, voice almost a whisper. "I don’t know anything about... handling that."
Piper inhaled, her tone softening.
"Then start by keeping an eye on him."
Saxon stared at the text Piper sent.
Lochlan was coming over tonight.
He didn’t know how long he’d be staying, but he knew it wasn’t temporary.
Whatever. It’s not like he had a choice. Piper was going to make it happen regardless.
It shouldn’t be too bad...
But Saxon was already stressing about where the hell Lochlan was going to sleep. No way was he giving up his bed.
...Guess the couch would have to suffice.
He scratched his head. He also realized he couldn’t walk around naked—no more exhibitionist Saxon—and there went any future hookups at his place.
Saxon sighed.
He called Tyler to call out of work—family emergency—which wasn’t even a lie.
Yet Tyler threatened him with a warning anyway. Something about calling out again and getting fired.
Yadda yadda yadda.
Who the fuck cares.
He moved through his apartment, clearing space, pulling out blankets, trying to make room for someone he might have to take care of.
It made him feel like Tim.
He wasn’t ready. Not even close. He didn’t know how deep Lochlan’s newly developed issues went, and that thought made his chest tighten with something close to panic.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked down.
A text from Jake—reminding him of the date he planned for tonight.
Shit. How did I forget?
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment. Then, with a tight jaw, he typed out a lazy reply:
'Something came up. Family shit. Sorry.'
And then—he blocked Jake’s number.
The tension still lingered—at least for Lochlan.
For Saxon, things had started to settle. There was a slight rhythm to it now. He felt a little more at ease around Lochlan. The nightly flashbacks came less often, and Lochlan kept his word—he never brought up Thailand.
...or anything else.
Saxon could feel it. That silence wasn’t peace. It was pressure. Waiting. And waiting.
It made everything harder when Saxon tried—tossing out harmless questions or jokes like they used to. But Lochlan would just stare at him—cold, unreadable. Like the effort alone offended him.
So Saxon stopped trying—at least with the jokes and bullshit.
Still, sometimes, he’d catch Lochlan watching him. Not angry. Just... quiet.
And somehow, that was worse.
Within the first week under Saxon’s roof, Lochlan earned his GED. Saxon had no idea how he’d pulled it off so quickly—or even how the process worked—but he was just grateful it was done.
He tried to talk about college. Maybe Duke or even lame-ass Chapel Hill would still accept him for the spring semester. He even offered to help pay tuition—a moment of impulsive generosity he immediately regretted.
But still, the offer was there.
...Then Lochlan vaguely mentioned wanting a gap year.
A fucking gap year?
Nuh-uh. No way.
You’re practically taking one right now.
Lochlan shot back. Apparently, he never even applied to Duke or Chapel Hill. What followed was a long spiral of biting words, bitter insults... but Saxon eventually let it go.
No fucking point.
Honestly, they wouldn’t have taken him with a GED anyway.
When Lochlan wasn’t job-hunting, he was stagnant. Whole days passed without a shower, without a change of clothes.
Saxon would coax him—sometimes drag him—but often, Lochlan wouldn’t move. He just lay there on the couch, sunken into it like an imprint left behind by something long dead.
Sometimes Saxon tried comforting him—hugging him, ruffling his hair like he used to. But that only seemed to make things worse. Lochlan would cry silently.
Saxon never got used to the sound. It turned the dull ache in his chest into something sharp.
There was no winning.
On the bright side—if there was one—Lochlan hadn’t cut himself since moving in. Saxon checked, quietly, while he slept. No new wounds. No scabs. That should’ve been a relief.
But it wasn’t. Saxon hated seeing him like this at all. There shouldn’t have been self-harm in the first place.
Sometimes, he wasn’t sure this was even his little brother anymore.
Now, a month into their uneasy coexistence—it was Lochlan’s nineteenth birthday.
Saxon wanted to make it special. A reset. A chance to reconnect. Remind him that—despite everything—he was still in his mind.
He even tried baking a cake. Failed spectacularly. Saxon couldn’t believe Lochlan hadn’t woken up from all the racket.
So instead, he made a reservation for two at Animale—a sleek, upscale place perched high above the city. Lochlan had mentioned it in passing once, a while back.
It felt right.
And for the price? Whatever. It’s just one dinner.
He walked into the living room. Lochlan was curled on the couch, headphones on, still dead asleep. A familiar sight after four weeks together.
“Lochy?” Saxon nudged him gently.
The shirt Lochlan wore was grey, sagging at the collar, stained around the hem. Same one from two days ago. Saxon’s jaw tightened.
Lochlan stirred, eyes barely open, wiping slobber from his mouth. His hair was greasy, unwashed, slightly overgrown.
“Huh...?”
Saxon knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Loch... get up. I’m taking you out.”
“Taking—what?” Lochlan slurred, falling back into the pillow. His headphones slipped off. The pillow looked molded to the shape of his head.
Then the smell hit—stale breath, sweat, something sour.
“Jesus Christ, Loch. Again? Go shower. Brush your teeth. You fucking stink.”
“Fuck you,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.
Saxon rolled his eyes, tone steady. “We’re going out. It’s your birthday.”
“What time is it?” he mumbled, scratching at his scalp.
“Six...”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“You turn nineteen once.”
“So?”
He buried his face in the pillow.
Saxon let out a slow exhale and turned him over. “Lochy... come on.”
Lochlan’s breath hitched. “Why the fuck do you even bother with me.”
“Hey—don’t say that.”
He wouldn’t look at him.
“I just want to sleep,” Lochlan whispered.
“Nope. Get up.”
“God, you’re so fucking annoying.”
Saxon stood tall, tone sharpening. “Dude—grow up. You haven’t showered in, what? Two days?”
“Then kick me out.”
“Fuck off. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then deal with it.”
“...Why are you acting like this?”
“You fucking know why.”
Saxon crouched again, quieter now. “Come on, Lochy...” He reached out, gently turned his face.
Lochlan looked wrecked—gaunt, dark circles beneath his eyes, lips cracked and dry, curls frizzed and oily. Acne bloomed red across his cheeks.
Saxon felt something twist in his chest. He’d seen him like this before—but never this bad.
Lochlan flinched and smacked his hand away. “Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone? Isn’t that what you want?”
Saxon blinked. “...Why would you say that?”
Lochlan sniffled, yanking the blanket over his face. “You never came to see me. Not once. You didn’t even talk to me on the flight home. Not during the hearings, either. I called. I texted. And what did I get? Fucking crickets.”
Saxon’s voice cracked. “Loch, dude... I’m sorry. You know a lot of shit happened. But that doesn’t mean you can keep living like this. You’re... you’re wasting your life away.”
Lochlan ripped the blanket off, eyes blazing. “Wasting my life? Are you fucking kidding?” He spat it like venom. “You work some shitty office job and compulsively read books left behind by a crazy dead girl who never gave a shit about you.” Lochlan hissed. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic... and you expect me to listen to you?”
Saxon flinched. “Jesus—what the fuck?”
“You’re not enlightened, Saxon. You’re just sad.” Lochlan’s voice was ice. “The only difference now is that you fuck guys. Which, by the way, isn’t a shock to anyone. You’d fuck anything with a pulse.”
Saxon froze. “...W-what?”
Lochlan’s eyes were red, glassy. “What do you mean, what?”
Saxon’s voice dropped. “How do you know that? Me... fucking guys. How do you know?”
His stomach turned.
Maybe Piper said something. But why would she bring that up?
“Y-you told me,” Lochlan said too quickly. “You were drunk.”
Saxon frowned. “...When?”
“...Last week.”
“I wasn’t drunk last week.”
Lochlan’s expression flickered—too quick to hide it. “Of course you don’t remember,” he muttered. “You don’t remember a lot of things.”
Saxon wanted to press further—but stopped himself.
Not today.
Not on his birthday.
“...Is that all you have to say to me?” he asked quietly.
Lochlan’s voice cracked. “No. Because of you, I’m completely fucked. Ruined.”
Saxon flinched—then stood, jaw clenched. Done.
“Get the fuck up.”
Lochlan didn’t move.
Saxon let out a sharp sigh. “Go get yourself ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Eventually, Lochlan rose—slow, deliberate, posture straight. And that’s when Saxon noticed it: they were almost eye level now. Lochlan looked thinner, hollow. His collarbone could cut glass. His pajama pants sagged on narrow hips—no underwear.
He saw the imprint. Semi-hard.
Jesus...
Was he always this tall?
How the fuck is he still growing?
They locked eyes—something unsaid passing between them. Tense. Charged. Unsettling.
“...What’s that burning smell?” Lochlan asked, eyes flicking away.
“I tried baking you a cake,” Saxon muttered.
Lochlan blinked. “Y-you...?”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Saxon jerked his chin toward the bathroom. “Go shower.”
Lochlan moved wordlessly, lips trembling. Saxon didn’t look back.
The water started running.
Finally.
He waited. Then grabbed the blanket from the couch, followed the sound of the shower, and quietly shut the bathroom door behind him.
Lochlan’s sobs, muffled by steam and tile, bled through the cracks.
Saxon’s chest ached. His jaw tightened. He tossed the blanket in the hamper and sank onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, hollow.
Could anything fix this?
Whether it was him or Lochlan—it didn’t matter. Something had shifted. And Saxon wasn’t ready.
But that comment stuck.
He hadn’t been drunk last week. He hadn’t gone out at all.
So how the fuck would he know...?
And that shit about Chelsea—Saxon clenched his fists. He wanted to say something. Call him out. She hadn’t done anything.
But not today.
Not after those quiet, broken cries behind the bathroom door.
So Saxon shut his eyes instead—fighting the urge to punch his little brother and ruffle his curls in the same breath.