Page 82 of Rival Summer

"Come on, baby, come on," I whispered as the bat connected, sending a line drive zipping past the shortstop and deep into left field. Bailey, then Reese, then I sprinted home and scored before the other team could get the ball back to the catcher.

"THAT'S IT, BOSTON! THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT!" Parker cheered across the field.

Fireworks erupted overhead as the inning finished, but I could only think about one thing—seeing her. When my eyes locked with Chandler’s, the shit going on between us didn’t matter for a moment, and I could see the excitement and pride in her eyes. It meant a lot to have her there, and I knew she could see it reflected back in my gaze. Right then there were no complications, no thoughts about the situation between us—just her, there with me, and the fucking victory.

The field buzzed with excitement around me, pulling me back to reality—teammates rushed in, fans waved banners. It felt like a dream come true. The game, the field, this feeling—Iwanted to soak in every moment. We shook hands with the other team, picked up our equipment, and walked off the field for the last time that summer.

The roar of the departing crowd was fading as something caught my attention—an out-of-place tone mixed with the excitement. It was my mom's voice, sharp and unyielding. I turned, my heart pounding unevenly. I saw her standing toe-to-toe with Reese's dad.

Her hands were balled into fists at her side, and even from this distance, I could see the fire in her eyes—I knew when her angry side came out it wasn’t good, and it didn’t happen often.

"Stay away from my son and continue on with your pathetic little life," Mr. Carrington spat out. His demeanor was always so composed, so untouchable. He was a pillar of control, but the strain behind his narrowed eyes betrayed him. There was fear there, too, the kind that men like him tried to hide beneath layers of power and prestige.

Reese stood at his dad's side, a spitting image of the man. He was motionless, his gaze fixed on the confrontation, an unreadable expression etched across his features.

As my mom held her ground, I couldn't help but admire her strength, she was no longer hiding—and I think it even took Reese’s dad by surprise. "It's been a long time. I'm not scared of you anymore," she hissed.

My hands clenched involuntarily as I inched closer.

Reese’s dad cut in, his tone sharp and smug. "I would advise you to take your lies and allegations elsewhere."

“He’s an adult now,” my mom shot back. “He can make his own choices, and he deserves to know the truth.” Her eyes, filled with pain, locked onto Reese’s, pleading for him to understand.

“That’s right. He’s an adult. And you missed his entire life because you walked out,” Ben Carrington said with a bitter laugh.

"Did you tell him?" She stepped closer, her hands trembling at her side. "How many times I tried? Did you let him see the letters, the gifts? Every birthday, every holiday..."

"Reese, do you remember a stuffed green dinosaur?" The question hung between them. "That was from me. It came with a letter, telling you how much I loved you."

I watched Reese take a step back, clearly shaken by the impact of my mom’s words.

"Wait, Dad—the dinosaur?" Reese's voice held an edge, not an accusation, but a hint of betrayal. "That was from her? I thought that was from you. You know, the one I used to take everywhere—the one I have tattooed on my fucking arm."

His father, the epitome of tailored control, didn't so much as blink. His response was smooth, practiced. "Son, don't let her lies corrode your brain."

But Reese wasn't listening, not really. "But how would she know? And what letters?" he asked, angrily.

"Let's go, Mom," I said, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. My hand found her quivering shoulder, guiding her away.

I glared at Reese's dad, letting the contempt I felt for him sear through my gaze. He stared back, his face an impenetrable mask. But beneath the surface, I sensed his unease. It was as though he could feel the shift in power.

We turned our backs to him, to the lies that had built walls around our lives. I walked her to her car. She was shaking slightly, whether from rage or relief, I couldn’t tell. "I did it, hunny," she declared, "I finally stood up to him. I did it."

I saw her then not just as my mother, but as a warrior who had fought silently for every inch of ground, even when that ground seemed to crumble beneath her feet.

I shut the door and leaned in through the open driver's side window. "I’m proud of you, Mom. I'll meet you at the diner."

She nodded, eyes glistening with unshed tears. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, a fragile attempt at a smile. "Okay, hunny."

Pulling into the parking lot of the diner, I could already see the warm glow of the neon sign shimmer in the dark evening. Through the big glass window, I could see my mom sitting alone in a booth with a cup of coffee, her eyes scanning the menu.

I pushed open the door and the bell jingled, announcing my arrival. The smell of fried food and fresh coffee hit me. She looked up, then, her face lighting up as I slid into the seat across from her.

"Oh hunny, you were all so good tonight. I'm so proud," she squealed.

"Thanks, mom. Still feels unreal," I said.

She reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Well, you've earned it. I saw those scouts in the stands."

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