Page 24 of Rival Summer

"Riley! Riley!"

Coach clapped a sturdy hand on my back, guiding me out of the dugout. "You've got some fans who want to meet you," he said, his eyes crinkling with pride.

I shook hands with a line of men whose faces blurred together in my adrenaline-fueled haze—all except for one, Colin, whose firm handshake stood out from the others. "Impressive game," he said, his voice carrying an undertone of promise. He had to be someone important, no doubt. "You'll be hearing from me, kid."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, trying to seem engrossed in the moment. But the truth was that every few seconds my eyes darted to the stands, searching for a particular set of hazel eyes.

Where was Chandler? My heart sank a little with each glance that came up empty. I knew she had to be there, probably cheering louder than anyone else. If not for me, always for Parker. But she seemed to have vanished in the chaos. The stands were abandoned now, only a few popcorn buckets and drinks left behind.

I slung my baseball bag over my shoulder with a heavy sigh and made my way across the parking lot to where my truck waited under a spotlight from the dim glow of the overhead lights. And there she was, Chandler Hartford, leaning casually against the side of my truck as if she owned a piece of it, and, by extension, a piece of me.

"Grand slam, huh?" She said, light and teasing. "Couldn't have just hit a regular home run?"

I stopped in my tracks, a slow grin replacing my disappointment.I would do anything for this stubborn, complicated woman who had captured my heart from the first time she slipped that friendship bracelet on my wrist.

"Guess I just wanted to get your attention," I shot back, the words coming easier than expected.

She laughed, then, a sound that felt more like home than home plate itself.“You got my attention alright," she said with a softness in her eyes she hadn’t shown much this summer. "But you're not off the hook. I need a word with you."

She wore a small smile. It was an expression I wasn't used to having directed at me. For once, she didn't seem upset.

"What did I do now?" I asked as I tossed my bag into the truck bed.

She put her hands on her hips, the stance familiar and somehow endearing. "You know," she started, an edge of curiosity softening her usual confrontational tone, "I always thought they were from Kristina." Her eyes searched mine, waiting for an explanation.

I turned back to her, leaning against the truck's side. "What was from Kristina?" I asked, trying to decipher what she was trying to tell me.

The evening breeze shuffled her hair as she looked up at me. She took a small step forward, closing some of the space I had put between us for so long.

“The roses you left for me after every performance this year,” she said, her voice soft and unexpectedly vulnerable. “I thought they were from Kristina.”

I stilled, processing her words. “What are you talking about?” How could she have found out?

“I got a call from my stage manager today,” she explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Told her I was on my way to a baseball game, and she said it was about time I gave that baseball boy the time of day. The one who left all the flowers. I know it was you, Boston.”

I leaned back against the tailgate, arms folded as she stood with her hands on her hips.

I sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let this go unless I explained myself. "I still never miss a show. No matter howpissed I am at the world or how much I'm messing everything else up. I'll never miss you on stage, Chandler."

It was the truth. No matter what I was going through, no matter how broken and disconnected from the world I felt, I still couldn’t bring myself to miss one of her damn shows. And I had tried.

Her expression softened for a fraction of a second before her resolve returned. "Boston, I don’t know what to say," she said, a challenging glint in her eyes. "But don't think you're in my good graces just yet. You've been pushing me away all year. You have a lot more groveling to do."

I pushed off from the truck, stepping closer, the gravel beneath my shoes crunching softly. I wasn’t holding back anymore. I knew I had a lot of work to do, to close every inch of distance my stubbornness had created between us. "For you, Chandler, I'd get down on my knees and beg if that’s what you want." I meant every word.

Chandler reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against my cheek as she rose on tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss there. My world narrowed to the warmth of her lips on my skin, the sweet scent of her hair as it brushed against my face. She left a fire on my cheek that felt like it might burn straight through me.

"I’ll keep that in mind.” she said tenderly. "Thank you for the roses, Boston. I’ll see you later tonight.”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself—at the thought of actually having a shot with the girl I’ve always wanted. It wasn’t just some far-off dream anymore—it felt real, like something I could actually reach out and grab. As I watched her walk away and I climbed into my truck, I was struck with sudden hope. Maybe she wasn’t out of reach, as I’d always thought. Maybe this summer it would finally be the right time for us.

After we’d cleaned up, Parker and I made our way to Reese’s crowded house party.

"Boston, I’ve been looking for you!" Caroline said just as I stepped inside. She came up beside me, pulling me in her direction by my arm. Then she leaned in close, toying with the hem of my shirt. "You were really impressive tonight."

"Thanks, Caroline. But the entire team was impressive." I was already getting tired of the attention. And if I was being honest, there was really only one person I wanted attention from.

"You’re not acting like you missed me as much as I missed you," she pouted, her hand still lingering under the bottom of my shirt.

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