Page 88 of Rival Summer

"Yeah, me either," Reese replied, before I heard Bailey yell his name in the background. "I should probably take it all back, but you’re lucky I have to go. Remember what I said, Riley."

"Bye," I said, then ended the call.

In the quiet that followed, Reese's advice weighed heavy on my mind. I was highly aware of the pulse in my veins, the dull ache in my chest where something vital strained against my ribcage. Chandler, the ball, my future—all of it hung in the balance. But I’d already made my choice. I was here, and I couldn’t turn back.

Sunlight pried my eyes open before the alarm could. Once it went off, I bolted to get myself ready.

I showered and threw on a crisp button-up, then stepped into dress pants. I adjusted my collar with an air of finality. It was showtime. I had to play the part—tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, hoping they’d like me.

With a last look around the room, I grabbed my essentials and headed downstairs where reality—and my driver—awaited.

"Good morning, sir," the driver said kindly as I slid into the backseat. "You ready for a big day ahead?"

"Yes, sir," I managed, my nerves starting to get to me. The car moved smoothly, parting through the morning commotion, and soon the Wrigley Field loomed before us.

Wrigleyville was full of life—restaurants and shops were filled with people inside and out. We passed it all, slipping into a private entrance that granted us access inside the field.

"Here we are," the driver announced, bringing the car to a graceful halt.

I stepped out to a welcome committee dressed in blue and red—the team colors. The coach was there—I remembered shaking his hand at one of our games—alongside the assistant manager and several other staff members.

"Big day planned for you, man," Coach Colin greeted me, extending his hand.

"Can't wait," I responded, shaking his hand firmly. But then, caught in such a big moment, I saw her—Chandler—flash before my eyes. Her image clung to me like a stubborn shadow as I tried to anchor myself in the GM's words. Nodding along, I pushed thoughts of her away with all the strength I could muster.

They ushered me through the halls. Fluorescent lights overhead punctuating all of our movements. The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon drew us into an area laid out with acatered breakfast. People were spread around and introductions followed as we settled at a large conference table.

"So tell us all about yourself," The GM prompted, all eyes turning my way.

Who am I?I wondered silently, feeling suddenly small. My gaze swept over the expectant faces and I couldn’t shove away what I was feeling any longer. I was an idiot. That's what I was. I finally had a good thing—the girl I’d always wanted—and I’d just let her go.

A profound thought struck me as I sat there, unable to speak. What the fuck was baseball without someone to share it with?

I swallowed hard, trying to force my focus back to the pivotal crossroads that could lead to my future. This was the chance I had worked for, sweated for, bled for. But as the silence stretched on, realization struck hard. Yes, this was an opportunity that could make all my dreams come true. But the undeniable truth was that I should have fought harder for her. Baseball was my dream, but Chandler... She was my heart. And in a moment of piercing clarity, I realized the choice wasn't really a choice at all.

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. My palms were slick against the polished wooden table, my heart pounding louder than I ever thought possible. "Baseball... it's been my life," I began, forcing the words out. "But if there's one thing I've learned, it’s that your passion means nothing if you have no one to share it with. It means nothing without a home. And she... she's my home." The confession hung in the air, as I took in my own words.

"Thank you," I continued, "for everything you've done, for bringing me here." Around me, the coaches and staff looked back at me in confusion and concern. But none of it mattered. "You probably won't consider me after this, but if you do, I will never let you down again." I paused, a lump forming in mythroat. "And I'm sorry, but there's somewhere I need to be. I hope you all understand."

The room fell silent, thick with unspoken questions and judgments. The coach's stern eyes watched me as he rubbed his chin—thinking about what I had just said, no doubt. But no words came from him; he simply waited, as if anticipating my next move.

It was the assistant coach who finally broke the stillness, standing up with an ease that seemed out of place. "Son," he said, his voice begging me to reconsider. "I can tell you that you don't want to throw this opportunity away. Is there anything we can do to get you to stay?"

"No," I affirmed. "There isn't."

"Then I guess you've made the decision for us," he said with a note of finality.

I nodded and left the room, closing the door behind me and sealing away the future I would have once done anything for. There was a possibility this didn't just ruin this opportunity, but could ruin my reputation across the board. But she mattered more than any of that. I had to get to her. I had to make things right.

The driver was waiting in the lobby, his expression curious as I panted out instructions. "Hotel. Then airport. It's urgent."

"Right away, sir," he said, and we were off.

In the backseat, my fingers fumbled over my phone, checking flight times, searching for the fastest way back to her, back to everything that mattered. Back home.

I fired off a text to Bailey.

Me

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