Page 1 of Rival Summer

prologue

Boston

"Bro. You're still here?" Parker's voice was light but I still felt his concern as he leaned against the chain-link fence. "You're always the first one in and the last one out. You gotta give yourself a break."

"I’ll be done soon," I responded, quick and sharp. I set my jaw and took another swing, the ball shooting off into the net.

"Okay, man," Parker said disbelievingly, as if he knew full well that my definition of “soon” was not what he was suggesting. "Just don’t burn out."

I nodded without looking back, my mind already recalibrating for the next pitch. There was comfort in the repetition, in the solitude of the cage where the only expectations I had to live up to were my own. I swung again and again, the echo of the ball against my bat a constant reminder that for now, this was all I allowed myself to feel.

The crack of a bat against a fastball was the only sound that made sense anymore. I stood in the dim glow of the batting cage, my hands calloused and raw from swings that were just as much about releasing stress as they were about form. With each pitch,I tried to obliterate the truth that had shattered my world into a million fucked up little pieces.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Baseball—the game—was where life made sense, where I was no longer just the person everyone could count on, but an unstoppable force that no one could mess with. Now, even here, surrounded by the smell of dirt and leather, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling of betrayal no matter how hard I tried.

There's a darkness in me that never used to be there. I didn't want anyone to see it—to see me like this. I couldn't bear the thought of pulling anyone down into this shitstorm with me, so I pushed them all away—friends, anyone close to me. Every cheer from the stands, every high five from my teammates—all background noise. The roar of the crowd was a reminder of what I'd lost inside, how isolated I had become despite the chaos around me.

"Oh and hey," Parker called out, breaking through my thoughts. "I know you hardly go out anymore, but Saturday is Chandler's birthday party. We'd love to see you there." His voice carried that familiar lightheartedness, but I felt the concern in his tone.

My grip on the bat loosened slightly. I acknowledged Parker with a nod, feeling the weight of those words. A party meant people, laughter, and an inevitable confrontation when I saw her. Chandler.

"I’ll see what I can do," I managed to say. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to step out of the shadows I had grown accustomed to.

Parker shot me an encouraging smile before making his way out of the batting facility, leaving me alone once again with the echo of the ball and my thoughts.

It had been nine months of the same routine—baseball, drills, and working out. I filled any free time from school or baseball with training. Every workout, every run, was an attemptto shove away the revelation of what my mother was hiding from me. I'd always known there was a silent war raging between me and Reese, my rival on the field. A war of his pitches vs. my hits; stolen bases and strikeouts. It was one thing to discover that the girl I’ve always loved was slipping away and drifting toward him, the very person who represented my unraveling world. But what came after that… it was a cruelty I hadn't been prepared for.

I couldn’t absorb the reality of the situation, yet somehow it still clung to me, like heavy chains I couldn't shake off.

I took a staggered breath as another ball hurtled toward me. I swung with ferocity that sent the ball tearing through the air, slamming into the net with a satisfying clang that resonated through my bones. This was my sanctuary, the one place I could pour all of my confusion and anger into something powerful—something that mattered.

But as I waited for the next pitch, my focus shifted. It was always in the quiet moments that I thought about Chandler. She was on my mind in the spaces between drills, during the stretch of tired limbs, in the pause before sleep. The girl who had grown up before my eyes, who cheered the loudest at my games, the one who always saw me.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought of her, but it lingered, persistent and gentle in a way nothing else was anymore. I tried to force those thoughts out of my head when they happened. I was confused and broken, and baseball was all I had left. It was no longer a game but a lifeline, keeping me tethered to something—anything—when everything else had slipped through my fingers. I clung to it—the routine of practice, the adrenaline of games, the predictability of each inning. Unexpectedly restless, I swung my last bat at the cages earlier than usual. The metallic echo of the cage door clanging shut behind me punctuated the end of a long, unchanging chapter.

I headed toward the showers, and once I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel and approached the foggy bathroom mirror. I lifted my gaze, taking in the taut lines of determination etched into my face. Eyes that once held dreams or hope were now clouded with an internal storm. I exhaled slowly, trying to purge the image of Chandler's smile from my mind. Deep down, though, I knew she was the one light I couldn't extinguish, no matter how dark the world became.

But this was my life now, and I’d continue to carry it all—the hurt, the love, the uncertainty—because that's what you do when your whole life changes and everything you thought you knew was ripped out from beneath you.

ONE

chandler

The world was flipped upside down,and my wavy hair dangled toward the floor as I fixed my eyes on the bodies surrounding me. Their hands were steady on my ankles to keep me from falling. I tasted the metallic tang of the keg's nozzle pressed to my lips. I opened my mouth and the beer rushed out—bitter and unexpectedly warm.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" The chant reverberated through the room. As the last drop of beer trickled down my throat, the hands holding me up guided me to the ground, and I readjusted to the upright world.

"Chandler, seriously?" Kristina offered me a water bottle, slightly judging. "Look, I know it's your birthday, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't at least make sure you make it to the candle blowing part of the night."

Her concern, genuine and grounding, was in severe contrast to the wild energy of the party. But it was so Kristina, the mom of the group. She was always looking out for me.

I smiled, accepting the bottle and the memory of the last time I drank more than I should have with equal reluctance. "Thanks," I said before taking a sip of the cold liquid as it promised to shield me against the headache I knew was yet tocome. "You should be celebrating too, you know? It’s not just my birthday—finals are over!"

Kristina's eyes sparked in agreement. We both knew the pain of countless study nights on top of reciting lines together. She gave a noncommittal shrug, the corners of her mouth turning up into a reluctant smile. "Fine," she conceded, "I will take one shot, but only one."

All around me people were laughing, dancing, living in the moment. It was my birthday and the end of another school year. It should have felt liberating, a release from the relentless pressure of essays and exams. And yet I couldn’t shake the worry creeping up. The weight of last summer's memories were closing in on me, heavy like the humidity outside. I tried to lose myself in roles onstage, in the academic grind, hoping to outrun the confusion and hurt that crept up when I least expected it. As the room swirled around me, I allowed my mind to drift back to last summer.

It was an intoxicating blend of sunny days by the lake and wild nights, and a very naïve me had thought she’d discovered the hidden depths of bad boy Reese Carrington. I’d felt like I was unraveling the mystery of him, only for it all to crumble. The thought of falling under his spell so quickly stung, an uncomfortable feeling of regret that kept me awake at night. The sad part was I didn’t think I could even call him my ex-boyfriend. A summer fling, maybe. I don’t know what he was to me, but most importantly—I don’t know if my brain could ever understand the fact that he was Boston’s brother. What in the Lifetime movie kind of story was I living? How could their mother have kept that secret?

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