Haunted by their pasts, Keaton and Cole aren't looking for anything serious. But their undeniable connection pulls them closer, even as emotional wounds resurface. With the ghosts of their pasts threatening their future, can they open up and move fo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Keaton's heart raced as he stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the empty wine bottle on the coffee table. His parents were coming home in minutes, not hours, and the house was nowhere near ready.
"Shit!" he muttered under his breath, grabbing the empty bottle and dashing toward the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with a sharp creak, and he shoved the full bottle inside, not caring where it landed. His hands moved on autopilot, shoving the empty bottle in after it.
He barely registered what he was doing—just the thought of his parents finding the bottles. They can't know. Not after what happened last time. His mother would worry, her eyes soft with concern, her voice asking the questions he couldn't handle answering. His dad would take a different approach, cold, judgmental silence. Not again.
The rush of anxiety pressed down on him as he rushed to clean. Wiping the coffee table, vacuuming the floor—anything to cover the evidence. He scrubbed hard at the faint wine glass rings on the table, his hands trembling as he scrubbed. Focus. Just focus on cleaning.
But no matter how fast he moved, thoughts of Cole kept slipping back into his mind. He hadn't heard a single word from him. No texts. No sign. He's gone. Just like his ex had gone, without a word, leaving him alone and spiraling. Keaton clenched his jaw as the thought settled in like a heavy weight. Don't think about that.
With the hoover roaring, Keaton tried to drown out the thoughts, but flashes of last night crept in. Cole's laugh—the warmth of his arm draped over Cole's, the ease with which they'd connected, even without saying much. But now, just like before, there was nothing but silence. Too familiar.
He slammed the hoover back into the closet just as he heard the front door rattle.
Keaton froze, heart thudding against his chest as the door opened. His mother's voice broke the tension, warm but tired. "Key!"
His mother stepped in, pulling two mini suitcases through the door, her face lighting up as she saw him. Her black wavy bob swayed slightly as she made her way toward him, a few stray gray hairs catching the morning light.
"Key!" she called again, her voice brimming with warmth, before throwing her arms around him. Keaton hugged her back, but his mind was still racing, still trying to settle the panic that had been creeping up his spine since Cole left.
"You okay?" she asked, pulling back slightly, her eyes searching his face.
Keaton nodded too quickly. "Y-yeah. How was the trip?" His voice sounded forced, even to him.
His mother groaned, rolling her eyes. "Horrible. Everything went wrong. The flight was delayed for hours, the coach ride was a nightmare, and don't even get me started on the cabin. They put us in a room with no window! Can you believe that?"
She rambled on, and Keaton tried to listen, nodding occasionally, but his mind kept drifting. He'd normally ask about every detail of their trip, engaged with his mother's stories, but today... his thoughts were elsewhere. What if Cole never messages?
His mother mentioned his father, who had gone to get gas, leaving her to bring the bags in. She complained about the service from the staff, how his dad had left their hand luggage on the coach—how typical it was of him.
Keaton smiled faintly but stayed quiet. He was barely there. His head was back in his room, back in that quiet morning when he woke up and realized Cole was gone. The smell of his skin—warm, like sandalwood—still clung to the sheets, even though the reality of his absence hit hard. He's gone.
"Key?" His mother's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "You seem... off. Everything okay?"
Keaton forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to him. "Yeah, Ma. I'm fine."
She didn't believe him, but she smiled anyway, deciding to let it slide. "Well, I got you something from the cruise," she said, her voice lightening up as she reached into her bag. "A little surprise!"
She pulled out a huge mug, white with the words in blue "The Big Southampton Cruise 2024" plastered across the front, with a cartoon like cruise ship drawn under it.
Keaton blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle. The mug was ridiculous, but it was the size of it that made him smile. She knows. She knew how much he liked big mugs for his chamomile tea with oat milk, his go-to drink when he needed comfort. The faint warmth that the thought brought made him forget, just for a second, about everything else.
"Thanks, Ma," he said, his voice softer, more genuine this time.
His mother smiled, satisfied with the reaction, and headed toward the kitchen to put things away. But as soon as she opened the fridge, her smile faded. The silence between them grew heavy.
Keaton's heart sank as he saw her pause, eyes flicking to the two bottles in the fridge—one full, the other empty.
"Keaton..." Her voice was soft, cautious. "You haven't been drinking, have you? You know what the doctor said—"
Before Keaton could answer, the front door swung open, and a deeper voice cut through the air.
"You'd better not be."
Keaton turned, his stomach twisting as his father stepped into the room. His tall frame, tanned skin, and thick slicked-back jet-black hair filled the doorway. His father's sharp eyes landed on Keaton, his expression unreadable, but filled with the same doubt as his mother's.
Keaton felt a lump forming in his throat, his mind racing for something to say—something to explain the bottles away. But all that filled his thoughts was the weight of their judgment, the memory of the last time they had looked at him like this. They still don't trust me.
