Page 2 of Rival Summer

And then there was Boston Riley. My childhood crush, the boy who seemed impossible to get over when in reality, he was never even mine. Our relationship was complicated, and that was putting it lightly. I pried as much information from Parkeras I could about how he’d been doing, but it was no substitute for the real thing.

He hadn't just grown distant, he’d shut me out completely, leaving messages unanswered, leaving questions and confused feelings swirling in his absence. Occasionally, I stalked him through the baseball team's social media and saw most of their home games. He looked undeniably good—more than good. His hair looked shorter and lighter, almost as if it had been sun-bleached; his shoulders seemed broader, arms more defined—like he'd spent every moment since last summer lifting weights on top of playing baseball, just to stride on the field and unintentionally command it.

He seemed different. It was almost like we were just strangers, not that he was my brother's best friend and that we’d known each other practically our whole lives. It stung more than I expected knowing that Boson and I were in this place. Not to mention the boy who broke my heart last summer—Reese, Boston’s rival—was who turned out to be his brother. Like I said, complicated.

I tried to fight off the thoughts as Kristina and I maneuvered through the crowd, heading for the kitchen. I could hear the sharp pitch of an argument as we approached my brother standing at the center of the fire. The girl in front of him had her arms crossed, eyes sharp, shooting daggers at him. "You never called or texted me back."

There was genuine surprise on his face. He blinked as if trying to remember which girl this was, which was deeply disturbing. "Oh, did I not?" Parker scratched the back of his neck, not quite hiding the awkward recognition.

She scoffed. "I can't believe I cried over you and your shitty haircut," she spat out. Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply and left the room.

I rolled my eyes at the spectacle. Kristina nudged me, a signal to turn my focus on the shot. I reached for the bottle of vodka and uncapped it before pouring it into two shot glasses waiting on the counter.

I glanced over at Parker who was still watching the space where the girl had been standing. I couldn't help but insert unwanted sarcasm into the moment. "My brother, always the gentleman."

"Do I really have a shitty haircut?" he asked, turning to me.

I shook my head and poured another shot, lining it up with the others.

"Come on, you need this more than we do," I said, nudging the glass toward him.

Parker raised an eyebrow, accepting the shot with a grateful nod. "Here's a shot to..." he paused, eyes twinkling with a familiar mischievous glint, "me getting the hell out of this town."

We laughed and raised our glasses in unison before throwing back the shots, the vodka burning a trail of warmth down our throats.

Kristina chose right then to make her announcement. Her voice cut through the chatter. "Okay, now is a good time before everyone gets too wasted. Let's do cake."

Kristina reached for the cake, a pink masterpiece she baked herself, complete with my name in cursive across the top. She didn’t fumble as she carried it across the room to the battleground of red cups and half-empty cans on the dining room table. With practiced grace, she cleared a space and gently set down the cake. She struck a match igniting the candles, their flames flickering in anticipation.

"Everyone, gather 'round!" Kristina commanded, her grin wide and infectious. "It's time to sing to the birthday girl."

I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a message I wasn’t expecting.

Reese

Happy Birthday, Beautiful

I blinked once, twice, making sure the words were truly there and not just figments conjured by the alcohol.

With a press of the side button, I banished the message to darkness, locking away the words and the feelings they stirred. Slipping the device back into my pocket, I turned to face the group that had begun to converge around me.

My cluster of friends closed in around the table, forming a semicircle of excited faces. The first notes of the familiar tune began, tentative at first but soon swelling with volume and cheer. I stood at the epicenter of it all, cheeks warming not just from the candlelight but from the love that surrounded me.

As the melody wrapped around me, my eyes drifted shut. Flickers of orange danced against my eyelids, casting shadows on the wishes swirling through my mind. This summer... This summer was going to be different. I wished for strength, to stay focused on myself. No boys. No tangled emotions to trip over. No giving my heart away only to have it handed back, broken. I’ll never be in the center of some twisted brother rivalry. No getting hurt again.

I drew in a breath, my chest rising with the weight of my silent wish. As the song faded, I leaned forward, the warmth of the candles kissing my face, and blew with all the hope a year older Chandler could find.

My eyes flickered open to the sight of wisps of smoke curling upwards, the remnants of my resolution ascending to whatever universe wishes float off to.

And then, as if planned by some evil wish-rejecting asshole with a twisted sense of humor, the energy shifted and all eyes flew to the front door as Boston walked in.

Seriously? Was the universe playing a joke? Did they hear me wrong?

"Happy Fucking Birthday to me," I murmured under my breath.

TWO

boston

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