Page 38 of Rival Summer

"Maybe," he conceded, with a doubtful shrug. "But anyway, that's something no one else knows. Your turn."

I hesitated, my thoughts swirling. "I want to be an actress," I began, echoing a dream I'd held close for so long.

"Nope, that doesn't count," Reese cut in, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Everyone knows that. Go again."

"Okay," I said, steeling myself. "I’m terrified. Because of you." I let the words spill out without thinking.

"Me?" He frowned, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "Terrified of what?"

"Last summer... you really hurt me," I hesitantly admitted, biting my nail. "And I don't want that to happen again. I'm scared to jump into anything because I don't want anyone to have that power over me."

Reese's expression softened, the lines of his face relaxing as if he truly did understand the weight of my words. He halted mid-step, his gaze locking onto mine, a severity in his eyes that I'd rarely seen. The wind picked up, sending a stray lock of hair into my face. His hand moved almost instinctively, tucking the strand behind my ear.

"Chandler, I'm sorry," he said. "I never wanted to hurt you. Believe me, if I had a choice, we'd still be together."

My chest went tight, but I pushed past it. "You do have a choice, Reese."

He shook his head slowly, disappointment crossing his features. "No, Chandler, I don't." His whisper carried a heavy weight that tugged at the very air between us.

"What does that mean?" My heart raced. I needed to understand.

"I've been a shitty older brother to Boston my whole life. I could have done things so differently..." he paused, looking out over the lake, his expression shadowed by twilight. "We could have worked through this together, but no, I had to be a dick. I took out all the pain from my mom on him. And he loves you. I can't take that from him too."

I held my breath for a moment as I processed his words. "But?—"

"Chandler," he cut in, his gaze intense, "I know what we had, but I think there’s always been something between you two. Look how mad you got about Caroline. Don't worry about getting hurt, and don’t let it hold you back.” He paused, breathed, then continued. “And like I said, if that doesn’t work out, come find me.” He winked.

“When did you get so wise?” I smirked. It was hard to hear, but he was right. I owed it to myself, and to the younger version of me who would faint at the thought of Boston’s attention, to know there was a chance to explore whatever may be between us. Even if I wasn't prepared for it this summer, I needed to figure out what had always lingered between us.

I stood there, thinking about his words, the silence between us stretching out. Despite everything, I saw a Reese that few others did—the thoughtful, kind man beneath his cocky exterior.

"Okay, we did the task," I said, mustering a smile to lighten the moment. "Let's take the selfie."

Together, we angled the phone, capturing our faces against the backdrop of the lake. With a click, the moment was captured, and I sent the photo off into the chat.

We turned back toward the lake. Darkness had settled fully now, punctuated only by the twinkling lights along the shore. More people had gathered, their laughter and chatter growing louder as we walked towards the party. I was suddenly acutely aware of the oversized jersey hanging around me. Reese's jersey—I had been so caught up in the game that I’d forgotten to take it off. I couldn't help but wonder what Boston would think about me wearing someone else’s jersey—Reese's jersey.

FOURTEEN

boston

Carolineand I completed the last stupid task, and I headed toward the lake where everyone was gathered. I couldn’t even remember what we talked about, I couldn’t focus. I was looking for Chandler. A few people patted me on the back as I passed, their acknowledgments barely registering as I looked around for her.

It didn't take long to find her. But then it hit me—she was still wearing his jersey. My skin was tingling with heat and I was suddenly growling without realizing it. I wanted to rip that jersey off her, to show her who she really belonged to. She was sitting at a table with a few others when she noticed me approaching.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Can we talk?” It was more a demand than a question.

“Sure,” she said, rising from her seat.

"Why do you still have that on?” I asked, unable to hide the annoyance. “The game is over, Chandler.”

She turned to face me fully, the jersey hanging loosely off one shoulder. "It was just a game, Boston. It doesn't mean anything."

"It does to me," I said, my jaw set firm.

Her hazel eyes caught mine, a hint of defiance sparking in them. "Are you jealous?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Yes," I whispered, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "Yes, Chandler. Is that what you want to hear? I'm jealous.”

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