ocean eyes || c.evans

xvii.

author’s note: this really isn’t one of my best, probably because this is one of the chapters i didn’t plan to a fault. i tried to get the family as accurate as i could but chris is quite a private dude (and he has every right to be tbh) so my research kinda pulled up very little on them. which is fine. at what point do i become a stalker though because i’ve seen so many interviews now trying to memorise his speech patterns and mannerisms to make this fic somewhat believable and i’m sure i deserve a restraining order at this point—

Someone had once asked you “where do you see yourself in five years?”

You couldn’t remember your answer, but you supposed it was something arbitrary like “in my own house with a garden,” or “successful and happy with a high paying job” or whatever answer was generally expected.

It definitely would not have been “visiting Chris Evans’ family with him in Boston.”

As you sat patiently on the couch, you wondered why you were there. He’d invited you to the Patriot’s game that was taking place that weekend a while ago, and although you had suggested he take Lily instead, he insisted on taking you. So you reluctantly agreed, because that was normal, right? Friends going to football games together? Flying six hours with them to visit their family homes? Totally normal.

It hadn’t quite registered to you that getting over Chris was much harder, constantly being around him. You just kept suppressing that nagging thought with excuses: you didn’t want to lose a good friend, you didn’t have anywhere to go.

But hadn’t you told yourself to find a contingency plan nine months ago?

“Mom, do you want to tell me why Dodger is in our kitchen?” A man had walked downstairs, entirely consumed by an article he had been reading on his phone before stopping short to see Dodger in the kitchen doorway.

You heard a woman’s voice from deep in the house. “Dodger is what?”

He slid his phone in his pocket, turning around. And then he caught sight of you. “And there’s a strange girl in our living room.”

You shyly waved from your position on the couch, but you really wished Chris was there to introduce you. It was getting awkward.

Where the hell was he anyways?

He had disappeared the moment he entered the house, giving you quick instruction to make yourself at home and a promise he’d be right back.

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself to the man – Scott Evans, if you were not mistaken – who looked so similar to his brother, it was insane.

“Did somebody say Dodger?” A little boy’s voice rang out.

Small footsteps and a little girl was bounding down the stairs. “Uncle Chris?”

She was followed by heavier, more weary footsteps as an older woman, dirty blonde hair styled into wispy bangs and a lob, made her way downstairs, following the girl. “When did Chris come in?”

Scott gestured wildly to you, eyes wide. “Is no one going to address the woman on the couch?!”

And then Chris leapt out of the cloakroom, tucked away under the stairs.