Chapter 2: Dorm Raids and Cat Custody

After dinner, I headed back to the dorm, thinking I’d finally get a break. No such luck. My neighbor burst in, panicked. "Hide your stuff—campus security’s coming for inspections! They’re confiscating anything banned, and they’re being super strict. Our building’s next!"

The whole place erupted into chaos:

"My hot plate!"

"Where do I hide my mini fridge? It won’t fit in the closet!"

"Anyone seen my flat iron?"

My biggest worry was Cottonball. Because she’s pregnant, she cries all night—loud enough to wake the whole floor. I tried hiding her everywhere, but nothing worked. My anxiety spiked. I messaged Chase, desperation in every tap, and begged him to help, barely waiting for a reply before rushing to meet him outside his dorm.

Ten minutes later—

"Help me out. Just keep her for one night."

"You always call me for the tough stuff," Chase said, arms crossed, totally unfazed, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

Chase’s dorm is notorious as a no-go zone for inspections. Even campus security turns a blind eye, probably because of all the football players and frat guys. "Why am I paying and doing the work?" he challenged, eyebrow raised.

I put on my best pitiful face, eyes wide. "She’s your daughter-in-law. If you won’t help, who will?"

"I’ll help—if you agree to a condition."

I agreed instantly, no questions asked. As I turned to leave, Chase called out, "What’s her name?"

"Cottonball."

Chase raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. "Oh, Cottonball—" He dragged out the last syllable, voice low. For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was calling the cat or teasing me.

That night, Chase posted to his Instagram story: "A wife dropped from the sky." The comments blew up in minutes: "Bro, what’s going on?" "Did you get married or adopt a cat?" I almost dropped my phone laughing.

Chase asked for my class schedule. So every Wednesday and Friday after class, I had to go to his lecture hall and take notes for him. It felt like the weirdest custody agreement ever, but I went along with it.

During a break, I rushed in, found a seat, and tried to sneak a nap. With fifteen minutes left, I buried my head in my arms, ignoring the growing chatter around me. When the bell rang, I reluctantly sat up—only to find Chase sitting beside me, head tilted, watching with that lazy half-smile. When he saw me awake, he teased, "Thought you’d sleep through class." Then, to my shock, he reached out and flicked my cheek. "Wipe your drool, or you’ll get it on my notes."

My mind went blank. I touched my face—dry. I was sure he was messing with me. I took notes for the whole class, lost in a sea of unfamiliar terms. Chase went to the restroom. I couldn’t imagine him studying from my chicken-scratch notes, but hey, maybe he liked a challenge.

A group of guys came over, laughing. "Hell must’ve frozen over—Chase actually showed up for class. Unreal."

I asked if Chase usually skipped. Turns out, not only does he skip, but last semester he aced the final. Figures.

Chase came back. A buzz-cut guy grinned, "Chase, is this your girlfriend?"

Chase glanced at my awkward expression, face blank. "Just a classmate."

The guy looked me up and down. "She’s not in our major, right? Looks unfamiliar."

I replied politely, "I’m in journalism. I’m Molly."

Buzz-cut guy jumped up like he’d uncovered a big secret. "Ha! Caught you! Said she’s not your girlfriend, but I heard you calling 'Cottonball, Cottonball' last night while I was showering. Gave me goosebumps."

Chase and I exchanged panicked looks. "No, no, it’s a misunderstanding—Cottonball is my cat."

Buzz-cut guy clearly didn’t buy it. "So, a journalism student just happens to audit a physics class?"

The more I tried to explain, the guiltier I sounded. Chase looked totally unconcerned, flipping lazily through my messy notes. Under the table, I kicked his leg, shooting him a look that screamed, "Help me out here." Chase ignored me, then cleared his throat and barked, "Back to your seats, class is starting."

After everyone left, I hesitated. "Do you think… they misunderstood?"

"Misunderstood what?"

"Our relationship."

Chase suddenly closed my notebook, smirking mischievously. "For the sake of our kids’ happiness, just bear with it."

Having leverage works wonders. I avoided his gaze and whispered, "Um, the inspection’s over. After class, I’ll go get Cottonball from you." As class ended, I heard Chase mutter behind me, "Ungrateful little thing."

That evening, I waited outside the boys’ dorm. From a distance, I saw Chase holding a white furball. He handed Cottonball over, along with a bulging bag. "Snacks and toys for her, a little gift."

Cottonball squirmed, still trying to jump back into Chase’s arms. So ungrateful—after less than 24 hours apart, she’d already forgotten her mom. I tried not to take it personally, but it stung a little.

Downstairs, we ran into Chase’s roommate, who greeted us enthusiastically, "Chase, future sister-in-law!" Not loud, but my face turned red. "Um, Chase, don’t forget to explain things to your roommates, so there’s no misunderstanding." He’d dodged the issue earlier.

Chase stared at me. "She only played with me after a lot of coaxing. Just like you."

Just like me?

He patted Cottonball’s head and sighed. "Cottonball, how are you going to manage with such a timid streak?"

After learning about Chase’s grades, I relaxed. My notes got sloppier, and I started flaking on him every other day.

"I sprained my ankle jumping rope."

"Cramps, can’t get out of bed."

"Too much sun—I, uh, have a UV allergy."

In just two weeks, I cycled through every excuse. Even I thought it was ridiculous. But Chase always just replied with a flat "Oh." Not another word. Maybe he never cared in the first place, but I still reported in like a doormat. Why?