Page 75 of Rival Summer

"...but I need to give Smith a shot at shortstop next week." The words hung there, incongruous and unsettling.

Allan Smith was alright, no doubt, but shortstop was where I dominated. Everyone knew he couldn't play that position like I could. My pulse quickened, blood drumming in my ears as I fought to keep my expression neutral. It made no sense. Why sideline me now?

"Tomorrow at practice, he'll be on starting drills," Coach continued. And he'd be starting at the game this week—the very thought sent a surge of anger coursing through me.

"Then we’ll plan to have you start normally next week." A temporary reassurance, perhaps, but missing the game next week was a big deal.

I wondered what he wasn’t telling me as his gaze finally met mine. But he had already made his decision, and I wasn't sure anymore who was on my side.

"This week?" My voice cracked. "Everyone knows most of the scouts will be at our next game. Was that what Reese's dad wastalking to you about?" I asked, the question slipping out, raw and unfiltered before I could stop myself. The image of Coach’s red face after the pat on the back played back in my mind.

Coach's gaze, heavy with something unreadable, didn't waver. "I'm sorry, son," he said, but there was an undertone that suggested things were more complicated than he could explain. "Smith has been working hard at every practice. Let's give him this shot and see how he does."

Every fiber within me wanted to rebel, but there was nothing to do but nod, a silent acceptance of a decision that felt like a betrayal.

"Alright, Coach," I managed to say, though the words tasted like ash. I knew better than to let it consume me here, under Coach's scrutinizing gaze.

"Keep working hard at practice this week," he finally said, with a lighter tone. "And if Smith can't handle it, I will take his opportunity away without a second thought."

That small assurance did little to soothe my seething resentment. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again, afraid that my voice would reveal the emotions swirling inside me—anger, determination, and the fact that this was completely unfair.

The door clicked shut behind me with finality, and the frustration was overwhelming. Hot and potent rage was a fiery companion to the cold confusion making my fingers tremble. I was pissed beyond reason, beyond the capacity to swallow back the bitter taste of injustice. It wasn't just about being replaced; it was the whispers between coach and Reese’s dad, the sharp glances, the feeling that something more sinister was at play with Reese's dad and his smug assurance and influence.

I pushed through the double doors leading outside and made my way to the parking lot to see if Reese was still there. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. Confusion wrappedaround me like a thick fog, clouding my judgment, making it hard to see the path forward. Why now? Why the most important week of the season?

Across the parking lot, Reese and Bailey’s laughter was the last thing I wanted to hear. Reese lounged against his truck, his tailgate down.

"You knew, didn’t you?" I shouted, tossing my duffle bag with a thud into the bed of my own truck. His smile was wide and untroubled. "Why coach just pulled me," I continued, “I'm guessing you know all about it."

Reese's laughter faltered, his eyes narrowing as he straightened up. "What are you talking about, Riley?"

I could feel the muscles in my jaw clench, the bitter taste of the accusation on my tongue. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your dad has a little chat with Coach, and suddenly I'm benched for next week's game?"

Reese's expression hardened, and he stepped closer—his gaze sharp and piercing. "If he's not playing you next week, it's because you suck. It doesn't have anything to do with my dad."

He knew how to push my buttons, what to say to make me snap. But I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel. I could play this game if that’s what he wanted.

"You're just like him, you know." I stepped closer. "Lying, manipulative, using your last name to control whoever you want." I meant every word, and I know he felt it.

His jaw was set tight as if he was grinding down on the truth of my words. "And you're just like your mom," he shot back. "You need to take responsibility for your own shit. Quit playing the fucking victim."

I knew neither of us would ever budge on our stance, on defending the parent we grew up with. For a moment, it was just Reese and me, the two of us locked in a battle that might never end.

"Whatever makes you feel better for being a piece of shit, Reese," I spat.

"Be careful, Riley," he warned. "I should have never helped you. We all know you wouldn't even have a chance with Chandler if I hadn't stepped out of the way."

"Fuck you, Reese," I shot back. "I never asked for your help. And trust me, it would've only been a matter of time before Chandler really saw who you are and walked away on her own."

As I spoke, I clung to the truth. Chandler and I had shared something inexplicable from the very first moment our paths crossed—a connection, something special, inevitable. But still, a sliver of doubt wormed its way into my thoughts. Would they still be together right now if he hadn't bowed out? Did she still want to be with him?

That's when Bailey wedged between us, his hands pushing against our chests. "Stop it! Both of you!"

"Get out of the way, Bailey," Reese warned.

"We’re done here, Riley," Bailey shot back at me, his gaze sharp.

With one last glare, we turned away. Doors slammed, engines roared to life as if echoing the tumultuous emotions that had just played out.

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