Page 65 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

I throw myself into the game and try to take that frustration out on the field. I run as hard as I can, my body stretched to its limits, and each time I look up to the stands, I’m searching for Rachel’s face. I can feel the anger bubbling beneath my skin, and it’s maddening.

When the match ends, I leave the field in full fury. We’ve won, but it feels hollow. As I push through the sea of teammates, the crowd’s cheers fade into the sounds of my conflicting feelings. I feel like I’m trapped in a tornado.

By the time I make it home, I’m still riding the emotional rollercoaster of the day. I slam the door behind me and take a deep breath to calm the storm inside. There’s something about it that won’t let me shake the feeling I’ve lost something precious, something I can’t put into words.

I’m about to collapse onto the couch when the doorbell rings. My heart races as I freeze for a moment. It’s too late for anyone but family. I don’t really want to go to the door. I brace myself for whoever is on the other side of it.

I open the door to see my mother’s face light up as she sees me. “Vaughn!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you!”

“Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice strained as I return the embrace. Her warm affection is comforting, but my chest becomes more and more tense. Her concern is always well-meant, but it’s a weight, an expectation I’m not ready to carry yet.

She pulls back to look at me. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Her eyes are full of love, but I can’t help but feel that old familiar twinge of guilt. I can tell she wants more of me, more affection, but all I see is the pressure to perform—the pressure to be the son she wants me to be.

“Thanks,” I manage to reply, stepping aside to let her in. I can feel her gaze sweeping over the living room as she enters, assessing and judging. It’s like she’s always looking for signs of my struggles, waiting to swoop in and fix things, but I don’t want to be fixed. I want to be understood.

“Have you been eating well?” she asks, her voice laced with concern. “You look a bit worn out.” Again, I feel the frustration bubbling up.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’ve just had a stressful match, and I want to rest my head.”

Her motherly instinct kicks in, and she huffs softly. “You’re busy, Vaughn, but you need to take care of yourself. You can’t run yourself ragged. You need time to recharge.”

I can see the frustration building, but I take a deep breath to try to keep it together. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got it handled.”

“Handling it how?” she replies, her voice rising slightly. “By working yourself to the bone and ignoring your family?” I can feel the hurt in her eyes, and it’s worse.

I respond, “No, it’s not that simple. You don’t know what I’m going through. It’s not just me—it’s the team, it’s the fans, everything. I can’t just quit everything and spend time with you.”

The words hang in the air. Her expression changes. I can see the hurt, and I watch. The pressure is too much, and I can’t help but lash out. I didn’t mean to take it out on her, though.

“Vaughn, I just want to be there for you,” she says softly, her voice quivering. “I’d like to know what’s going on in your life. I want to help.”

I snap, “I don’t need help,” and the words leave my mouth before I can take them back. I can feel her disappointment—the weight of my words between us, like a chasm.

“Maybe what you need is to let us in,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

But I can’t. They can’t see the cracks in me, the doubts I have. I won’t let them make me feel like I’m not doing enough—that I’m not enough.

Heavy as it is, the silence stretches between us. I can feel my mother’s disappointment in her eyes and the pain in her face. I’ve seen that look before, but this time, it twists like a dagger in my gut more than ever.

She suddenly loses her composure. She steps back, and her voice shakes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Her words come thick with emotion. “I’ve cried for you, Vaughn. I heard about the plane crash, and I’ve been terrified since then. I thought I lost you.”

Her words feel like a punch to the gut. I’ve been so caught up in my own struggles and frustrations that I forgot that my actions affect the people who care about me. It’s a knife to the gut. My mother is not just the voice of pressure; she’s a person who loves me and worries about me every day.

“Mom, I . . .” I start, but the words catch in my throat. A flood of regret and emotions threatens to burst. I’ve let her worry become a burden, and I’ve taken her love for granted.

Her voice breaks as she continues, “I don’t know why you push us away. What I want is to be right here with you. I want you toknow you’re not alone in this. You do not have to bear everything on your shoulders.”

Her tears hit me like lightning, igniting a flame of realization. I’ve been so focused on my career and the expectations I put upon myself that I haven’t paid attention to the relationships that matter. I’ve put walls around myself, believing I had to build everything on my own, but that isolation has become too much.

The emotions overwhelm me, and my voice breaks as I apologize, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep you out. I just . . . I was convinced I could handle it all.”

Waves of sorrow and frustration cross her face as she shakes her head. “Vaughn, it’s not easier. It’s just lonely. And every time you push us away; it breaks my heart.”

I feel my chest tighten as her words sink in. I want to reach out, draw her into my arms, and tell her how grateful I am for her love and concern. But that doesn’t happen. I stand there, frozen, as she wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, her disappointment clear.

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