Page 43 of Matched By My Rival
My brother sidled up to me. “How’s the football star?”
I crossed my arms, keeping my eyes on the kids. I always felt weird talking to Scott about football. He’d played in high school, but he’d never made a college team. My parents had put so much energy into me once his game ended that I wondered if he resented me the way Simon did.
“Fine.”
“Well, that’s an enthusiastic response.”
I glanced at him sidelong. “How did you feel when it was over for you?”
Scott looked surprised by the question. “I was cool with it. I never was as good as you. It was just a hobby for me. Why? Worried it’ll be over for you after graduation?”
“Nah, not really.” If anything, I was more worried about the opposite. Sometimes it felt as if football would never end. As if the strenuous workouts, the game pressure, the need to conform to expectations would never end.
My brother scoffed. “Of course not. You probably expect to go pro, huh? Things have always come so easily to you.”
“That’s not it,” I said, turning to him. “Did you ever think I might want more from life than football?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Freedom? Maybe I want to sleep in, eat junk food, skip the gym for three weeks.”
He snorted. “Poor baby.”
I didn’t blame him. That all sounded extremely shallow when I said it aloud, but I couldn’t give him my other reasons. The desire to be open about my sexuality, to be free to date whomever I wanted without fear, to give my heart and my energy to something other than a game.
Which was ironic, because I loved games. I loved playing. I imagined I had a bit of the Peter Pan spirit about me, which was why I connected with children so well.
But football wasn’t fun anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. It was too driven by ambition and money.
“I know I sound like a spoiled brat,” I muttered. “I just want…a change, I guess.”
He whistled low and long. “Good luck telling Mom and Dad.”
Before I could think of a response to that, a little boy named Brad scored, and Screech wailed at the injustice of losing a point on her birthday.
Scott swept in to give his daughter a pep talk, while the other kids gathered around me for more advice. Mom waded into the masses, never able to resist a bit of coaching from the sidelines. She’d been doing it since my peewee days, after all.
“Don’t get discouraged now,” she told them. “This is a game that takes focus. Parker has spent years learning how to play his best, and one day he’s going to be teaching other players how to win.” She beamed a smile my way. “He’s a good coach, isn’t he, kids?”
A chorus of voices agreed: “Yes” and “Yeah!” and “The best!”
I chuckled. “You guys are too good to me. But you’re the ones out there playing, right? Give yourselves a pat on the back.”
Because they were adorable kids, they all patted their own backs, some of them awkwardly tipping over in their attempt to deliver. The game continued with cheers, protests, and even a few tears—but at the end of the match, they were all smiling.
They were all winners.
And it was the best day I’d had in a long time.
Not because of the football, but because of the children.
I didn’t know if or when I’d ever tell Mom and Dad, but in that moment, I hoped the scouts would bypass me, that I’d get outplayed or sidelined next year. Because I wasn’t sure I had it in me to quit and disappoint the family that had had faith in me for so long—but I also wasn’t sure I had it in me to keep their dreams alive at the cost of my own.
* * *
SIMON
I went to the House Pledge site early, hoping I could lose myself in work before Parker arrived. I dressed in old jeans and a stained tee since we’d be doing more painting. Hopefully more onto the house and less onto each other.
