Page 13 of Rival Summer

"Fuck yeah," he chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder as we headed toward the car. "No one should be there today. It'll be badass seeing the place again."

The clubhouse loomed into view, commanding as ever, surrounded by the freshly manicured field. "Here we are," I sighed.

"Time to get in the Blue Devil spirit," Parker added, his eyes lighting up like a kid's on Christmas morning.

The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass as we approached. The facility looked just as glorious as I remembered, unaltered by the last year—walls probably had a fresh coat of paint. We stepped inside, the echo of our footsteps filling the hallway leading to the trophy wall.

"Look at that," Parker whispered in awe, nodding towards the gleaming trophies. Our names were etched alongside legends, a physical representation of hard-earned glory. We shared a look, a silent acknowledgement between us. It was badass—there was no other word for it.

Energized by the sight, we made our way to the locker room, the door swinging open to reveal the space that kickstarted the summer and made it feel real. There they were—our lockers, with nameplates gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Our new jerseys hung neatly inside, the fabric crisp and untouched.

"Man, they've outdone themselves," Parker remarked, running a hand over his jersey. "Badass doesn't even begin to cover it."

Before I could respond, a familiar voice echoed off the tiled walls. "Look who it is. The dynamic duo is back."

I spun around at the sudden intrusion. The excitement that had filled the room moments before shifted with the presence of someone I hadn't expected to encounter—not yet, at least.

Parker and I turned in unison. Two figures leaned casually against the doorframe, Reese with Bailey just beside him. He wore a smirk and his voice lacked any edge—it was almost welcoming, which defused some of my dread.

"Bailey," Parker greeted, stepping forward with a nod and fist bumping him. Then, shifting his attention, Parker moved toward Reese, and for a fraction of a second Reese extended his arm to shake with him. But before their hands could clasp, Parker's fist shot out, connecting solidly with Reese's manhood.

"That's for breaking my sister's heart," Parker said with a satisfied smirk.

Reese crouched down, trying to hold himself up with one hand on his knee. "Good to see you too, man," he managed to say though pained words edged with humor and understanding.

Parker, satisfied with the delivery, clapped a hand on Reese's back, a sign that the hit was more brotherly discipline than enemy fire. Bailey and I exchanged an amused glance, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as we both tried—and failed—to stifle our laughter at Reese trying to regain his composure.

"Nice," I quipped to Parker, offering Bailey a more sedate handshake. We all knew this summer was going to be interesting, and I wasn’t mad at how it had just started.

I was still slightly entertained as Reese straightened, trying to fight a grimace. The memory of my last conversation with him after the season ended came to mind, erasing all humor.

I had to make a stop before I left Bayside, even though it was the last place I wanted to go. I needed to clear my head, to get this shit out in the open before my thoughts consumed me.

"Okay, Boston, just say what you need to say. Get it over with," I coached myself. But it wasn't just about saying it—it was about finally making a change.

I strode purposefully towards Reese Carrington's over-the-top house, a structure that seemed as impenetrable as the man himself.

"Reese!" I called out, voice slicing through the quiet morning while I stood at his door, banging defiantly. "Get out here. We need to talk!"

There was a momentary pause, then the front door swung open, revealing him in the bright sunlight. His expression was unreadable, but I sensed his annoyance from where I was standing.

"Hang on a sec," his voice held an edge, a hint of irritation, or perhaps resignation. He grabbed a gray hoodie draped over a hall chair, pulled it over his head in a fluid motion, then stepped outside.

I walked back to my truck and hopped onto the tailgate with an air of casualness I didn’t feel. My fingers drummed on the cool metal as I waited for him. Reese walked toward me, hood up, hands buried in his pockets.

"Alright, Riley. What's so important that you're showing up at my house?" He leaned against the side of my truck, arms crossed, looking unfazed.

"We need to talk," I said simply. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his guarded demeanor.I needed this, needed to clear the air, though my mind was racing with doubts. Could anything even be done at this point?

"Talk then," Reese prompted, his voice softer now, the façade of indifference faltering as he waited for me to continue.

"I need to know," I started, voice low. "Why'd you keep silent all these years about our mom? About everything?"

He shifted, looking away into the distance. "Who wants to talk about that shit?" he said. "It’s fucked up. It’s not something I ever want to talk about. She walked out, she left. What do you want me to say?"

I watched him closely, saw his jaw clench, the way he shifted uncomfortably.

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