Page 92 of Matched By My Rival
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, please play, Parker,” Mom implored. “One last game, and then you’ll have the summer to think it over. You don’t have to quitright now.”
And there it was. The resistance I’d expected.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” I said.
“But what harm will finishing out your senior season do? It’s not preventing you from pursuing elementary education after graduation.”
“Because I can’t openly date a guy and be on the team,” I said. “How do you think that would go?”
Her tone sharpened. “I thought this wasn’t for Simon.”
“It’s not. It’s for me, Mom. I don’t want to hide who I am or who I want to date. I want freedom. Football is not my future. I hope Simon will be, but even if he’s not, I have to do this for me.”
“But—”
“Sharon,” Dad cut in. “The boy has made up his mind.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hate to disappoint you.”
“Oh, you could never do that, hon.” She gave a tremulous smile. “Just make sure you’re really ready to walk away. I don’t want you to live with what-ifs like I do. I want you to be so happy, Parker, in whatever you do.”
I agreed. It was an easy promise to make. But while Mom might be worried I’d have what-ifs about football, I knew my own mind. It was losing Simon that would keep me up at night, wondering about the future we might have had.
I didn’t want to live withthoseregrets.
As soon as I got through this day, I was going to talk to him. I would help him understand. And if he felt even a fraction of the love I felt for him, he’d accept my decision. And if he didn’t, well then, that would hurt.
But it was a reality I might have to live with.
25
SIMON
My family had arrived just as Linc and Aidan helped me slide the sofa back into place. I hastily shoved cleaning supplies at them. “Put them away and take off. Hurry!”
I smoothed down my hair and clothes, thankful I’d made time for a shower, before opening the door.
“Honey!” Grandma hugged me tight, smelling of vanilla, flour, and bleach. I wasn’t sure how she possibly smelled that way when surely she hadn’t done any baking or cleaning—but I was extra glad I’d cleaned so thoroughly.
When I pulled back, Grandpa enveloped me in a hug, smelling more of cigar smoke and coffee, but that was no less familiar and made my heart swell. Chelsea stepped forward, smiling, and held out a large plastic container. “Grandma and I made a batch of muffins this morning. You can share with the frat.”
That explained why Grandma smelled of baking. I thought perhaps the smells had seeped permanently into her skin after so many batches of cookies and rhubarb and apple pies. Chelsea had gained her own love of the kitchen from hours spent at Grandma’s side.
I lifted the lid, peering inside. “Blueberry?”
“Your favorite.”
“Looks great, I’ll put these in the kitchen.”
I started to turn when I noticed a guy hanging back near the door. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt, brown hair a bit long and brushing his collar. When I looked down, I saw that my nephew Joey was holding his hand.
Chelsea followed my gaze. “Simon, this is Jackson. He’s a good friend.” She raised her eyebrows, and I got the hint that he was averygood friend. “I met Jackson at my job at the bistro. We do a lot of baking there, and Jackson is an old pro.”
“Does that mean I have even more baked goods in my future?” I asked, hefting the container.
Jackson chuckled. “Could be.”
