Chapter 11
Nick has been in a mood lately. A mood he can’t quite shake, one that clings to him like a storm cloud he can’t outrun. Missing out on coffee runs, keeping his conversations with Charlie clipped and brief—it’s all taking its toll, and he knows exactly who’s to blame. Himself.
He’s the one who’s created this distance. He’s the one who’s decided to retreat behind a wall of professionalism. And yet, despite the endless justifications he tells himself—that it’s to be professional, to keep things clean and simple—he knows it’s a lie. He knows that being "professional" has never felt this painful before.
Because the truth is, Nick doesn’t want to be professional. He wants to be real. He wants to be raw. He wants to feel again.
Maybe he’s been holding these feelings back for far too long. Longer than he’s willing to admit. Maybe he’s been holding them back since Otis.
Otis, who taught him that it was okay to care too much, to feel too deeply. Otis, who was a reminder that life was fleeting and unfair, and yet still filled with moments worth living for. Losing Otis had gutted him in ways he’s never really dealt with, not fully. Maybe because it’s too hard. Too raw.
And now here he is, once again shutting himself off from something good. Or someone good.
Charlie.
Nick’s chest tightens at the thought of him. The way he smiles when he talks about Remy. The way his sweaters hang just right on his shoulders, making him look so effortlessly warm and inviting. The way he buys coffee now—not for himself, but for Nick.
And Nick, in all his self-sabotaging glory, has been ignoring those small but meaningful gestures. He’s been running away, convincing himself it’s for the best, that keeping things "professional" will somehow make life easier.
But it hasn’t. It’s made it harder.
Because the distance he’s created feels like suffocation. He misses the way Charlie lights up a room with just a look. He misses the coffee runs, the quiet conversations, the moments where he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could let himself have something good again.
But instead of doing something about it, he’s here, stewing in his own misery, tangled in a web of self-doubt and fear. Fear that if he lets himself care for Charlie, if he lets himself want something, he’ll lose it. Just like he lost Otis.
The night is cold—freezing, even—but Nick doesn’t feel it. Not really. His heart is pounding too fast, too loud. It echoes in his ears, louder than the wind whipping around the Harvard rooftops.
“Otis?” he asks again, though he already knows. The silhouette, the familiar voice, the way his friend stands so close to the edge. “Otis, man, what’s going on? What are you doing up here?”
Otis doesn’t turn to look at him. His back stays facing the abyss, the bright city lights in the distance flickering faintly. “Leave, Nick,” Otis says, his voice raw, broken, almost unrecognizable. “Just… leave.”
Nick shakes his head, willing himself to focus, to make the alcohol swirling in his veins a distant memory. “Hey, hey, what’s up, man? What’s going on?” He takes a tentative step forward, his boots scuffing against the icy rooftop.
Otis whirls around, his eyes wild, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Stay there!” he yells, his voice cracking, sharp enough to make Nick freeze in his tracks. “Don’t! Don’t come any closer!”
Nick stops, hands raised, his voice soft and steady despite the storm brewing in his chest. “Okay, okay, I’m not moving. I’m staying right here, I promise. But… Otis, talk to me, man. Please. What’s going on?”
Otis lets out a bitter laugh, his shoulders shaking, but it’s not from the cold. “What’s going on? What’s going on?” he echoes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really don’t know, Nick? You don’t get it?”
Nick swallows hard, his throat dry despite the alcohol. “Then tell me. Help me understand. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together. You’re not alone, Otis. You’ve got me.”
Otis shakes his head again, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “No, I don’t, Nick! I don’t have anyone! I’m… I’m drowning, man, and no one even notices. Not my professors, not my boss at the diner, not even my own family. And you—you’re too busy living your perfect life to even see it!”
Nick flinches, guilt slicing through him like a blade. “I—I didn’t know you were feeling like this, Otis. I’m so sorry. I should’ve—”
“Should’ve what?” Otis snaps, his voice rising. “Checked in? Asked me how I’m doing? It’s too late for that, Nick! It’s too late!”
“It’s not too late,” Nick says, his voice firm, desperate. He takes another step forward, ignoring the way Otis tenses. “You’re here, Otis. You’re right here, and that means it’s not too late. We can figure this out, I swear.”
The wind howls around them, carrying Otis's voice, sharp and jagged, like shards of glass slicing through the air. His shoulders heave with every word, his pain laid bare in a way Nick has never seen before.
“No!” Otis yells, his voice cracking. “You don’t get it! You don’t! You never did!”
Nick takes another cautious step forward, his hands trembling but raised in surrender. “Then help me understand,” he pleads, his voice raw, desperate. “Tell me, Otis. Explain it right now, right here. I’ll stay up here all night if I have to, just us, no one else. You can tell me everything. Just… please.”
Otis shakes his head violently, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “No, you—” He stumbles over his words, his breath hitching, before finally shouting, “I thought after I broke my fucking leg it was over! I thought it couldn’t get worse, but it did. I lost the scholarship, Nick! The scholarship! And now I’m working my ass off for a degree I don’t even want! And for what?”
Nick freezes, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Otis, you didn’t—”
“I did!” Otis shouts, his voice rising. “I tried, Nick! I tried to make it work! But working three jobs, studying for exams, pretending everything’s fine—it’s killing me. And then the parties, huh? You know why I go to those parties? To feel something! To feel anything that’s not this constant fucking ache!”
Nick shakes his head, his heart pounding in his chest. “Otis, you don’t have to do it alone. I didn’t know—I didn’t see it. But if I had known—”
Otis cuts him off with a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah? What would you have done, Nick? Would you have stopped me? Stopped them?” His voice cracks as he continues, “You don’t even know what happens at those parties, do you? Roofied drinks, people taking advantage, and I just… I just let it happen. I let it fucking happen because no one cared! Because no one listened! I tried to tell all of you!”
Nick’s vision blurs with tears, his chest tightening. “Otis… did that happen to you?” His voice wavers, barely audible.
Otis doesn’t answer directly. He just shakes his head, his gaze distant, his expression a mixture of anguish and rage. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice hollow. “Because no one listened. No one cares. I tried to tell you, Nick. I tried to tell the team, the coaches, everyone. But football comes first, right? Winning the next game comes first. Not me. Not my pain. Just the damn game.”
Nick feels like the ground beneath him is crumbling, the weight of Otis’s words suffocating. “I care,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I care, Otis. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner, but I care. And I’m here now. Please, just—just come down from there, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”
But Otis shakes his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s too late, Nick. It’s always been too late.”
Nick’s chest tightens, the words lodging in his throat as he watches his best friend teeter on the edge, his heart shattering into pieces he knows he’ll never be able to put back together.
Nick's voice is shaking, his heart pounding in his chest, but he keeps talking, desperate to reach Otis, to pull him back from the edge. "It’s not too late, man. We’re here, right now. You’re my best friend, Otis, and yeah, I’ve been a shit friend lately. I’ll own that, okay? I’ve been so caught up in my own life, in football, in... everything else, and I didn’t see what was happening with you. But that doesn’t mean it’s too late. It doesn’t mean we can’t fix this."
Otis doesn’t look at him, his shoulders tense, his gaze still locked on the city lights below. "You don’t get it, Nick," he says, his voice quiet, broken. "You can’t just fix this. It’s not that simple."
"But we can try," Nick says, taking a cautious step forward, his hands raised in surrender. "We can try, Otis. Look, I’ll quit the team, okay? I’ve been wanting to for a while anyway. It’s not my dream anymore, and honestly, I think it’s part of what’s been pulling us apart. I’ll quit, and we’ll... we’ll figure this out. Together. We’ll get people to listen this time. We’ll make them listen. We’ll help you. We’ll help others who’ve gone through what you have. Doesn’t that sound good?"
Otis lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, hesitation. "And what about my degree, huh? I’m stuck, Nick. Stuck in a program I hate, working jobs I don’t want, for a future I can’t even picture."
Nick steps closer, his voice soft but steady. "Then change it," he says simply. "Change your major, man. I mean, look at me. I already changed mine, and yeah, I’m a year behind because of it, but so what? If you change yours too, we can graduate together. We can walk across that stage side by side. Doesn’t that sound nice? Doesn’t that sound... worth it?"
For a moment, there’s silence. Just the sound of the wind howling around them, the city buzzing faintly in the distance. Otis doesn’t say anything, but his breathing is uneven, his hands trembling at his sides.
Nick takes another step forward, his voice breaking as he says, "Please, Otis. Please. Just... just take my hand, man. Let me help you. Let’s figure this out. Together."
And for the first time, Otis glances back at him, his expression unreadable, but Nick clings to that tiny sliver of hope like a lifeline.
Otis lets out a bitter laugh, his voice raw and trembling. "You’re too good for your own good, Nick. You don’t get it. I was kind. I was good. But I’m not anymore."
Nick shakes his head, his voice firm, desperate. "No, you are kind and good, man. You are. You’re my brother, Otis. More of a brother than David will ever be. You’ve always been there for me, and I need to be there for you now. You’re kind, you’re adventurous, and you live so fucking loudly, it’s amazing to watch. You make people feel alive just by being around them. So please, brother, just... just think about the future you could have. The future we could have, together."
Otis turns away, his shoulders slumping, but Nick doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his voice trembling but steady. "It can be so great, Otis. You’ll get that job you’ve always wanted, that life you’ve dreamed of. And until then, I’ll be there, man. Every step of the way. We’ll figure it out together, just like we always have. So please. Please, don’t give up on that future."
But Otis is already shaking his head, his hands trembling at his sides. His voice is quieter now, almost a whisper, but the pain in it is deafening. "I don’t want that, Nick. I don’t... I’m not like you. I’m not strong. I’m not kind or good anymore. I don’t have it in me. I’m empty."
Nick’s chest tightens, and he struggles to hold back tears. "You don’t have to be strong right now, Otis. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll be strong enough for both of us. But you’re wrong, man. You’re not empty. You’re here. You’re alive. That means there’s still a part of you fighting, even if you don’t feel it. Let me help you find it again. Let me help you be you again."
For a brief moment, Otis looks at Nick, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but the storm of pain and doubt is still swirling inside him. "Nick," he murmurs, his voice cracking, "I don’t think I can."
Nick’s voice breaks as he steps closer, holding out his hand. "You can. I know you can. Just trust me, Otis. Take my hand, brother. Please."
But Otis doesn’t move. He just looks at Nick, his expression a mixture of sorrow, regret, and something deeper—something Nick can’t quite place. It’s like Otis is carrying the weight of the world, and Nick is just now realizing how heavy it truly is.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Otis says softly, his voice trembling in the cold night air. His eyes shine with unshed tears, reflecting the faint light from the buildings below. “I’m so sorry.”
Nick takes a shaky step forward, reaching out a hand as if the small gesture could bridge the impossible gap between them. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Nick says, his voice cracking. “I hate sorries...Please, just… just come here, man. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
But Otis shakes his head, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a good guy, Nick. Too good. I’m so grateful you’re my friend.”
The words cut deeper than any insult could. Nick’s heart pounds in his chest, a frantic, deafening rhythm that drowns out everything else. He’s about to speak, to plead, to do anything to get Otis to step away from the edge.
But then Otis moves.
Not forward.
Not toward Nick.
He steps backward.
For a split second, the world freezes. Time slows to an unbearable crawl, and Nick’s brain can’t process what he’s seeing. The memory etches itself into his mind in vivid detail: Otis’s form slipping away, his expression calm, almost resigned, as if he’s made peace with his decision.
And then the world explodes back into motion.
“Otis!” Nick screams, his voice shattering the silence of the night. He lunges forward, his boots skidding on the icy rooftop. His hands claw desperately at the air, as if he can physically pull Otis back. His knees hit the hard surface with a bone-jarring thud, but he doesn’t feel it. All he feels is panic, raw and consuming, coursing through his veins.
He reaches the edge, but it’s too late.
It’s too late.
Nick collapses to his knees, his body trembling as he peers over the ledge. The world below is a blur, his vision swimming with tears he doesn’t realize he’s shedding. His breath comes in ragged, gasping sobs, each one tearing through his chest like a blade.
“Otis!” he screams again, his voice cracking and breaking. It echoes into the night, raw and desperate, but there’s no answer.
The silence that follows is deafening.
He’s slipping and stumbling on the icy stairs, barely catching himself from falling. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.
“Hold on, Otis!” he yells, his voice hoarse and breaking. “I’m coming! Please, just—just hold on!”
The world feels like it’s spinning, the cold air biting at his skin as he takes the stairs two, three at a time. His hands grasp at the railing for balance, but his legs are moving on instinct, his mind racing with terror. He has to get to him. He has to fix this.
When he bursts out onto the snowy ground below, his heart plummets. There, lying crumpled in the snow, is Otis.
“No!” Nick screams, his voice raw with anguish. He stumbles forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots, until he collapses to his knees beside Otis’s still form.
“Otis,” he sobs, his hands trembling as they reach out to cradle his friend’s face. His skin is pale, too pale, and Nick feels the icy chill of his cheeks beneath his fingertips. “Otis, come on, man. Wake up. Please, just wake up.”
Tears stream down Nick’s face as he shakes his friend gently, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m so sorry. I should have done more. I should have seen it. Please, please, don’t leave me. Don’t do this. You’re my brother, man. You’re my brother.”
He pulls Otis closer, wrapping his arms around him, the snow soaking into his clothes as he holds his friend tightly. He rocks back and forth, his sobs echoing in the stillness of the night.
“Please,” Nick begs, his voice cracking. “Just open your eyes. Just for a second. Please, Otis. I need you. You’re not alone, okay? You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
But Otis doesn’t move.
Nick’s hands clutch at the fabric of Otis’s jacket, his knuckles white, as he presses his forehead against his friend’s. His breath comes in uneven gasps, his chest heaving with the weight of his grief.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry."
Nick’s chest tightens as reality sinks in, but he doesn’t let himself freeze. His voice rips through the stillness of the night, raw and desperate.
“Somebody help me! Help me!” he screams, his voice echoing into the dark, bouncing off the cold stone walls around him. His hands are trembling as he lays Otis flat in the snow, the frozen ground pressing against his knees.
He’s crying now, tears streaming uncontrollably, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let himself stop. He positions his hands on Otis’s chest, the way he was taught years ago in a first aid course he never thought he’d need.
“Come on, man,” Nick sobs, pushing down firmly. “One, two, three, four—come on, Otis, please!”
His hands press down rhythmically, his movements shaky but determined. He tilts Otis’s head back, pinching his nose, and breathes into him, his own breath clouding in the freezing air.
“Don’t do this to me!” Nick yells, his voice cracking under the weight of his anguish. “Somebody help me! Please, help!”
His voice echoes again, but the campus is too quiet. Too still. His chest burns, and his hands ache from the force he’s using, but he keeps going.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Nick cries, his tears falling onto Otis’s face as he continues chest compressions. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine. Just stay with me, Otis. Please, stay with me!”
The snow falls steadily around them, blanketing the ground in a suffocating quiet. Nick’s breathing is ragged, and his arms feel like they’re on fire, but he doesn’t stop. He refuses to stop.
“Come on,” Nick pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You’re my brother. You’re gonna be okay. Please, Otis, please.”
But there’s no response. No sign of life.
Nick collapses forward, his forehead pressing against Otis’s still chest, his body wracked with sobs. “Help,” he whispers again, his voice broken and barely audible. “Please.”
Nick shakes his head at the memory, the weight of it pressing down on him as if it happened yesterday. He slumps forward, resting his forehead against his desk, his fingers digging into the edges as he fights the familiar ache in his chest. Ever since that night, he’s tried—really tried—to be better. To read people better, to be there for them before they even have to ask. To see the signs, to stop the cracks from becoming fissures.
But no matter how hard he tries, there’s always that distance. Always that sliver of fear lodged deep in his heart. Because no matter how many kids he comforts, how many parents he reassures, or how many friends he supports, the truth is there, waiting for him in the quiet moments: he couldn’t save Otis. He wasn’t enough.
And if he couldn’t save someone as good, as kind, as important as Otis, how could he trust himself to be there for anyone else?
He grips the edge of the desk tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. That night taught him how fragile people are, how quickly things can spiral, and how desperately he wants to help. But it also taught him something else—something he hates to admit, even to himself. It taught him how easily he can fail.
So, he keeps people at arm’s length. A kind word here, a smile there, but never too close. Never close enough to see the cracks in his armor. Never close enough to let them depend on him the way Otis did.
And yet, here he is, breaking his own rules. Charlie and Remy have slipped past those carefully built walls, and it terrifies him. Because if he lets them in—really lets them in—and he messes up again, he doesn’t know if he can take that kind of hurt.
Nick lifts his head slightly, running a hand through his hair as he exhales shakily. He knows he’s avoiding Charlie, knows he’s creating space because he’s scared of what might happen if he doesn’t. But the guilt eats at him, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.
Because deep down, he wants to let them in. He wants to be there for Charlie and Remy, to be the kind of person Otis always believed he could be. But wanting and doing are two very different things, and Nick isn’t sure he’s ready for the risk.
He exhales shakily, his body still locked in that cold winter night, the weight of Otis’s stillness pressing into his chest.
He leans against his desk, his head bowed, fists clenched at his sides. Getting close is scary. It always has been, but now? Now it feels impossible. Because what’s the point? What’s the point of letting someone in when they might leave—when they might disappear without a moment’s notice?
But tonight, he doesn’t want to think about danger. He doesn’t want to think about loss or fear or any of the mess that comes with caring too much. He wants to forget.
Nick grabs his coat from the back of his chair, shrugging it on as he heads toward the door. The cold air outside bites at his skin, but he barely feels it as he pulls his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovers over Charlie’s name, the temptation to text him or call him bubbling under the surface.
But he doesn’t. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and starts walking. He's getting wasted.