Page 6 of Rival Summer

I forced my eyes up to meet hers under the weight of my next thought. "That's not true, Kris. I don’t think there’s much he cares about besides baseball these days." My throat tightened at the admission. "He looks like Boston—well, a more toned Boston—and he smells like Boston, but it's like he's just disconnected from everything else."

Kristina leaned forward, her elbows on the table, expression soft yet serious. "Think about what he went through, Chan," she urged gently. "Knowing your mom kept a secret brother from you your entire life? How could he not be disconnected?”

I nodded slowly, absorbing her empathy for him. She was right. Boston's world had been turned upside down, the ground beneath him shaken by secrets and lies. But the Boston I knew, sweet-natured, always protective—that didn’t just go away.

"Yeah, I get it," I murmured, tracing the rim of my coffee mug with a fingertip. "I just hope he doesn't lose sight of himself."

"Maybe he’s just a different person now,” she said gently.

I shook my head. "I don’t even know if the old Boston is still in there," I said quietly, more to myself than to her. My conviction surprised even me, yet it was unshakeable.

"Well, if anyone can find out, it’s you," she said, not a question but a statement—a belief in my strength and in the childhood bond that tied me to Boston Riley.

My mind drifted back to the moment he’d walked into my birthday party, to the unexpected softness when he kissed my cheek. For an instant, as his lips brushed my skin, there was a flicker in his bright blue eyes, a flash of warmth that transported me back to all the special moments we’d shared as kids. In that fleeting encounter I saw the Boston I’d grown up with, the one whose laughter was a melody that resonated with the rhythm of my own heart.

FOUR

boston

Droplets of sweatslid down my temples. My body was still trying to cool down from my earlier workout. My shirt clung to my chest as I carried bags of groceries to the cool marble countertop in Mom's kitchen. If it weren't for these routine deliveries, I often wondered if she'd remember to eat anything at all.

I cracked open the fridge, strategically arranging the fresh produce and dairy where she could easily spot them. I was always careful to place her favorite Greek yogurt front and center—if nothing else, she wouldn’t miss that.

From the dining room, I heard faint voices—Mom's, punctuated by the almost hypnotizing sound of her psychic. Dr. Finkle, with a soothing intonation that could sell our jerseys to opponents, was delivering guidancethrough the laptop screen. "Greatness is just around the corner," he reassured.

"Greatness is just around the corner," Mom repeated obediently, her voice a reverent echo. I smirked to myself, shaking my head slightly as I tucked away the last of the canned goods. It was hard not to find amusement in the ritualistic way she hung on his every prediction.

"You will feel relief from your worries by the fall," continued Dr. Finkle.

Her faith in his words was unshakeable, and though I may have harbored my doubts, her hope made me smile.

With groceries put away, I leaned against the counter for a moment, allowing my body a second to rest. As their Zoom call ended, I arched an eyebrow as I watched her close the laptop with a satisfied sigh.

"Are yousurethis isn't some kind of cult, Mom?" I asked, unable to mask my disbelief. She looked up at me, a playful glint in her eyes as she lightly tapped my arm before reaching into a bag of chips.

"It is not a cult, Boston,” she took a sip of coffee. "Dr. Finkle knows exactly what he's talking about."

"Sure, Mom," I stretched the words out in gentle skepticism.

I knew she was searching for answers—for help with our family situation. Mom and I were okay, but things hadn’t been the same since last summer. When I stopped by her house, I felt the weight of change—a distance between us that never used to be there. My gaze shifted to the living room. I hadn’t stepped foot in there since the day she opened up about everything.

It was my first stop when I got back to town from Bayside. The house had been unsettlingly still—no noise from the television, no movement. Mom sat on the couch alone.

She said tenderly, "Honey, I could tell you were upset when we talked on the phone earlier. I'm so sorry. For everything."

"Mom, please," I urged her, sinking onto the couch across from her. "No more secrets. I need to know everything."

She had looked at me, really looked, and something in her expression shifted, like a dam breaking. The truth was ready to spill out, raw and unfiltered like skeletons locked away in her closet, ready to be released.

"I’m not sure where to begin," she'd started, her voice quiet, as if the walls themselves might betray her trust. But I could tell she was finally going to lay all the cards on the table.

"Just say it, Mom. All of it."

"There was nothing I could do," she whispered, her gaze holding mine with the fierceness of a mother's love. "Reese’s dad was a lawyer, a very successful lawyer."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes lost in a distant memory.

"Mom," I finally said, breaking the silence. "Were you in love with him? With Reese's dad?"

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