Chapter 02 – Broken

***Orangeside High***

Cheap uplights, a banner corrected with Sharpie, and a rented DJ.

Peak Orangeside High.

Chase did a double take near the gym doors. A narrow window sat at floor level. Its glass was half-swallowed by the asphalt outside, staring into the dirt. “That window always been like that?” Chase said.

Vincenzo didn’t look, he double-tapped his ring against the wall. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting stuck on silly things that don’t go anywhere.” Vincenzo stepped past him, a hand briefly at Chase’s shoulder, turning him back toward the room. “Come on. Let the record show: Orangeside High’s ‘top creamers’ have returned.”

Chase let himself be steered.

He looked back at the room.

“Faces blurred together,” Vincenzo announced, arms open. “Linemen turned loan officers, class clowns selling insurance, and the handful of people Chase had actually liked.”

“Please stop narrating,” Chase muttered. “And never call us creamers again.”

“Practice. I’m going live later.”

“Don’t publicize our adolescence.”

“Too late,” Vincenzo said, already shaking hands, dispensing smiles.

Vincenzo moved through the room with an ease Chase remembered from high school. Part charm, part momentum. But something was different now. He wasn’t just greeting people. He was placing them.

He watched him pause near the banner, lift his phone, not to post anything, just long enough to frame, and then slip it away again, satisfied.

Chase moved toward the bar. Whiskey first.

After ordering, he turned and nearly walked into Noah Winters.

“Wright,” Noah bellowed.

He’d aged into a solidness that suggested both lapsed gym membership and blue-collar job. “Heard you’re back. Michael & Cole, right?”

“Right,” Chase said. “You here with Phoebe?”

“Actually, no. My sister volunteered when my wife got sick.” Noah’s smile twitched. “She’s around here somewhere.”

Chase’s breath caught. The room narrowed around him; the music faded to a distant throb.

She stood by the photo board in a black dress, dark hair pinned back, the fabric falling clean along a smaller frame.

Amelia.

She was laughing at a picture of someone dressed as Gumby from a masquerade ball; the sound caught him mid-step.

Noah followed his stare. “Right. You two… know each other.”

“College,” Chase said.

“Be nice,” Noah said, vanishing into a huddle of people.

Chase moved closer, catching the scent of honey. “Amelia Bethany Winters.”

She turned. A small smile touched her mouth.

“Chase Alexander Wright,” she said. “Look at you.”

“Wasn’t sure I’d see you here,” he said, then winced.

She chuckled, “Noah guilted me. Prepaid ticket. I’m here to protect sunk costs.”

He laughed. “Economics. Classic Amelia.”

“Better than Theory of Conspiracies. Classic Chase.”

They stood there; the awkward silence allowed a smile to grow on their faces.

Chase started, “You look–,”

“, –don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she cut in, smiling.

He chuckled. “How are you?”

“The FBI internship was a bust. Now I’m a receptionist at a local vet. Bonus, I have a bowl of judgmental fish.” She tilted her head. “You?”

“Well, after getting a degree from Orangeside they actually took me back,” he said, then lowered his voice. “At Michael & Cole.”

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

“I sound employed.”

“I guess ‘happy’ and ‘employed’ don’t blend for everyone.”

His throat tightened. He swallowed. “The coffee’s terrible.”

Her smile tilted; a sharper edge slipped in. “Let’s fix that.”

She led him to the side table where a percolator burbled, surrounded by sugar packets and powdered creamer.

“What are the odds of bumping into each other at a high school reunion? Feels like we never left Orangeside Community College.”

“Do you remember the library?” she asked, tearing two sugar packets at once. The paper split unevenly.

“Which time?” Chase said.

“You used to weasel out of doing actual work on projects like it was a habit.”

“It WAS a habit.”

She snorted. “And I would pretend not to find it charming.”

His throat tightened. “Because I was a disaster in class and outta class.”

Her eyes flicked to his suit. “You’re upgraded now,” she said. “A disaster with a movie made about it.”

He laughed before he could stop himself.

“Do you live far?” he asked.

“Two blocks, close to PawsCity Vibes,” she said. “Small place. Good light.”

Chase watched the way she stirred her cup. She didn’t stop. Around them, the reunion swelled. Someone started a class chant that died halfway through.

“Do you ever think about,” Chase stopped, shaking his head.

She tilted her head. “No. Say it.”

He swallowed. “Timing,” he said. “Like sneezing right before a picture.”

Her mouth twitched. She looked down at her cup. “You got poetic in your thirties.”

“Occupational hazard. Some clients do that to you.”

She nodded once, slow. “You disappeared fast after graduation.”

“I had to. It was a lot.”

The air hung between them until she said steadily, “I figured.”

She took a sip of her coffee.

“I didn’t…” she started, then stopped. Shaking her head, she tried again. “No. I did mind. But I knew I didn’t ‘get’ to mind.”

Chase’s stomach dropped. “That sounds unfair.”

“It was.” She met his eyes this time. “You could have called.”

His jaw tightened.

“You’re right,” he said. “I could have.”

The space between them didn’t close, but it stopped pressing. Amelia’s fingers tapped against the side of her cup. One tap, then another. An off-kilter, measured rhythm.

She nodded once, small.

He’d always admired that about her; the way she could name a truth without sharpening it into a weapon.

“Hey,” a voice cut in, bright and intrusive.

“Look who’s rekindling old flames,” Vincenzo said, sliding up with two drinks.

“Chase,” he said slyly, “introduce me to the fabulous flower the room keeps looking at.”

“Vincenzo,” Chase said cautiously. “This is Amelia Winters.”

“Pleasure.” Vincenzo extended a hand. Amelia weighed the gesture before shaking once.

Vincenzo’s attention sharpened. He took half a step back, sizing her up. Amelia shifted slightly closer to Chase.

“I’m what you’d call a local success story,” Vincenzo said. “Corporate logistics. Occasional menace. I keep things moving when they’d rather stay still.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “The menace part is a strange brag.”

“Honesty is the purest marketing. I also run a late-night stream. Politics, games, whatever the algorithm needs.”

“Does your chat vote?” she asked.

“Early and often.” Vincenzo’s focus drifted toward the crowd. “I got the ok to use the estate for an after-thing. A few worthy people from the old crew. You should both come.”

“Tempting,” Amelia said.

“Time-sensitive,” Vincenzo said, his smile widening. “I’ve got something moving. A real upgrade. I’m grabbing the royal and loyal.”

“I didn’t realize securities had loyalty tiers,” Amelia said.

“Securities has a bit wider reach than you’d think,” Vincenzo said mildly.

Chase’s posture stiffened. “We’ll talk later.”

Vincenzo lifted his glass and drifted on. They watched the jacket move through the crowd.

“He’s a lot,” Amelia said.

“He’s… like camping,” Chase said.

Amelia gave Chase a confused look.

“Intense.”

Amelia chuckled, “That’s one word for him.”

“Does he always move people like furniture?” she murmured.

“He calls it social networking.”

“I call it playing real-life Sims,” Amelia retorted.

“Do you want air?” Chase asked. “This place smells like cheap perfume and nostalgia.”

She glanced at the door, then at him. “Yeah.”

They caught Vincenzo’s attention as they wove through the crowd and towards the exit.

***Orangeside Streets***

Outside, the air was wet; the lights gave everything a warm gold tint.

Amelia kicked off her shoes, held them by the straps, and stepped lightly into the cool of the concrete.

“Don’t judge,” she said.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he answered playfully.

They moved toward the edge of the lot where the light wasn’t struggling.

The rain had tapered to a mist; the street smelled faintly of cut grass and cheap beer.

Her shoulders dropped.

A shadow shifted near the doors.

“Walk me home, I’m not too far?” she asked.

They stepped off the curb into the kind of damp night that made bad ideas feel reasonable.

By the first block, an old, easy rhythm had returned.

Her arm grazed his every few steps. Chase kept his gaze fixed on the streetlights ahead, careful not to shift his pace.

**

The street narrowed to rows of apartments that used to be houses.

“Feels smaller,” he said.

“That’s because your world is bigger,” Amelia said. “Or maybe you don’t look at it long enough to appreciate it.”

He laughed quietly. “You always say things that sound like poetry until they start to hurt.”

“Comes from living, I guess.”

*

They passed a Panera Bread with its lights off.

She slowed, voice dropping. “You really never called?”

“I thought about it,” he said. “Then I thought about how much of that was me trying to fix something that wasn’t broken.”

She looked at him. “It wasn’t broken. It just never started.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I meant.”

*

They walked past a row of dark apartments.

Chase gestured to the darkened storefront. “Remember when we used to study here? That semester when the library was under construction.”

Amelia smiled.

“My gosh, remember when my red pen vanished and I freaked out? I made all of you help me find it or confess to stealing it. Elvis wasn’t happy about missing his CSGO tournament and called it a ‘bottle episode’.”

Chase chuckled. “Elvis Santiago. Whatever happened to him? He was the only one who could make Professor Hendricks reconsider who really was ‘Saved By The Bell’.”

Amelia’s expression softened, then shadowed slightly.

“I miss him saying ‘pretty good’ to things. He… drifted after graduation. We all did, really. I wanted to message him, but I never really found the time. I even stopped visiting our Facebook group page.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head.

“Everyone just went our own ways after Orangeside. You, me, Elvis, Christina… like the baby spiders at the end of Charlotte’s Web, we all just scattered with a smile.”

“That part hurt me, but I understood,” Amelia glanced up at the moon.

Chase smiled. “I teared up.”

They just listened to the wet rhythm of their steps.

Chase glanced over his shoulder.

The street was empty; just wet pavement and shadows, but the back of his neck prickled. It was a familiar feeling lately.

She stopped under a lamppost; its gold light catching the loose strands around her face and the line of her cheek.

The quiet between them changed.

Behind them, a cigarette flared in the dark. Chase felt it before he turned. Same slow drag. Same stillness. He didn’t mention it. She didn’t either.

“Two years,” she said. “You’d think time would make it less weird.”

“It doesn’t,” he said.

Her eyes met his. “So, what happens now?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not walking away this time.”

That earned him a smile. Not big, not dramatic, but enough. “We’ll see.”

She stood close enough that Chase could feel her warmth in the damp air.

For a second she didn’t move, just hovered at the edge of the moment.

He couldn’t tell if she was waiting for him to step in, or daring herself not to.

“Thanks for the walk,” she said.

“Always,” he said.

“Careful,” she said, teasing. “That’s a dangerous word.”

“I like danger,” he said.

“Yeah,” she answered, starting up her steps. “You always did.”

She paused halfway, turned back. “Oh, and Chase?”

“Yeah?”

“If your friend offers you anything like money, favors or advice… Don’t call it a gift.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because men like that don’t give,” she said. “They trade.”

She vanished into the stairwell’s glow, leaving him on the sidewalk.

He stood there listening to the rain tick on the awning above her door.