Don't Stand By Me (COMPLETE)

BONUS CHAPTER: The Gang Turns Thirty

AN: This chapter is to say thank you all so so so much for all the support during the Watty's season. Every read, every vote and every comment means the absolute world to me. These characters are my babies, and I have so much more of their story to tell you! This book is only the beginning. there is more craziness, drama and romance to come I promise you that. 2024 is gonna be huge! I hope you all enjoy, and let me know your thoughts.

Lots of love xoxoxoxoxo

The Gang Turns 30

One of the first things that happened, once Kiara could properly walk without swearing and at least three of them decided therapy was the right call, was the nickname. The Crazy Eight. This nickname was heavily debated over mulled wine and spiked eggnog, gathered around the dining room table in Fitz's lavish apartment.

Kiara had suggested The Hateful Eight, which she deemed much more appropriate, but was quickly shut down with a gingerbread man that Brent lobbed at her head.

"That only proves my point!" She had snapped, biting its head off and tossing the headless corpse back at him.

So, The Crazy Eight stuck, which the media had also somehow latched onto once Kiara accidentally mentioned it in a Where Are They Now? type interview that should have not made it to air.

"We've started a group chat called The Crazy Eight, which makes sense since we're all [REDACTED] crazy."

The first few weeks were a flurry of activity, reporters constantly camping outside the apartment building, following them to the airport and flashing cameras in their face. They had gotten good at avoiding them until Kiara had nearly launched herself at one of them who had knocked Cassie off a sidewalk in their attempts to get a close-up on Dixon.

Eventually, when half of them moved to Europe, the media grew bored, the news cycle reset itself with something about Taylor Swift, and they were forgotten about.

So time passed, as it tends to do.

And they got old...fast.

Andrew Fitzgerald

Fitz groaned, head slipping from its precarious position of being held up by the heels of his hands, pressed deep into the hollow of his eye sockets, willing the sharp pain to fade. It came in ebbs and flows, dagger sharp one moment, and a low throb the next. He had been staring at the same web page for over six hours, trying to decipher whatever the hell his superior had sent him and he was getting nowhere. A glance down at the lower right quadrant of his screen showed the clock reading 03:32.

He swore, reaching for his phone but immediately decided otherwise; it was too late. His girlfriend's face smiled at him beneath the late hour on his phone screen, her eyes shining as she was dressed to the nines for some gala he had dragged her along to.

He had promised Violet he'd be back at a decent hour, and ached at the thought of her staying up, scrolling through her phone but keeping a careful eye on the front door, waiting for the familiar sound of his key in the lock. As much as she said she never waited up for him, that she was a night owl and just happened to be awake, he knew it was a lie. She was the girl that would get up at six am to do her skincare, to talk to herself in the mirror in a pale imitation of the videos she had made back when they had first met.

He'd make it up to her, he always did, and she was well used to his crazy schedule, that he missed important events, dinner parties with the gang. But he hated that she had to get used to it at all, that he couldn't just be there like he longed to be.