Page 30 of Matched By My Rival
“Just checking in. Seeing how the college boy is doing.”
My gut churned with guilt. “Good. Just picking up a paycheck. I’ll send half of it to Grandma and Grandpa.”
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
My jaw tightened. “Yeah, I do.”
It was the same song and dance I’d gotten from my grandparents. I knew they didn’t want me to feel the burden of paying them back. But why should Chelsea pay for my mistakes?
“No, really,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about my plans.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked warily.
“Culinary school is kind of…a leap, you know? I’ve been working at this little bistro, and I’ve gotten some really good experience. There’s this online program I found that’s about half the cost—”
“Chels, no,” I cut in. “No fucking way.”
“I’d still get the training and degree,” she said. “And I could do it all without leaving home. Joey needs me. I can’t fly off to some fancy school and justleavehim. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I softened, realizing this was about more than just the money. More than just my fuckup. “You were thinking that you’ve got family to help you. You don’t have to go to Paris, but come on, you want more than some online degree that chefs roll their eyes at, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is your lifelong dream. I know you don’t want to be the next Gordon Ramsay and work at Michelin-star, glamorous restaurants, but you still love working with food, right?”
“Yeah, I do. But I have to be realistic. You knew you weren’t going to make the NFL, right? This is the same thing. Dreams change. They have to. Otherwise, we’re bound to go through life in a fog of disappointment. I don’t need a prestigious degree some snooty chef will respect. I’m not going to the big leagues. I want to find a way to pursue my love of food right here, without sacrificing time with Joey.”
“What do you mean, I wasn’t going to make the NFL?” I joked. “You wound me.”
Well, it wasn’t entirely a joke. A tiny part of me had wished, even when I knew how unrealistic it was. But even knowing I’d have to give up playing, it was easier said than done. Some days, I missed it so much I ached. But it had never been a choice for me. Maybe I was struggling to accept my sister’s decision because I never would have made the same one.
“Sorry,” she said lightly. “I mean, you’d have been drafted if it were up tome.You definitely worked hard enough to deserve it.”
I sighed. “So have you. I just don’t want to be the reason you’re holding back.”
“You’re not, I promise.”
“Then you have to do what’s right for you,” I said. “I should go. I’ve got a check to mail Grandma and Grandpa.”
“But Simon, I just explained why that wasn’t necessary.”
“Agree to disagree,” I said, clicking off before she could try to change my mind.
Maybe Chelsea really would pursue a more affordable program. Or maybe she’d change her mind once the financial hardship didn’t weigh so heavily. Either way, I’d cost my family more than I ever intended—and I wouldn’t feel right until I’d repaid their generosity.
If Chelsea didn’t need the money for school or business start-up costs when she finally got the opportunity to open her own restaurant, then my grandparents could use it to fatten up their retirement fund.
Which is where the money belonged anyway.
If not for my father’s irresponsible actions, they’d have a nice little nest egg to last the rest of their lives, instead of using it to take care of his kids.
I went by the post office, still in a dark mood—and not only because I felt guilty about Chelsea’s plans. It would have been easier for her to go to school years ago, while Joey was a baby, but I’d gotten my stupid football scholarship and we’d agreed as a family that I’d go first, then help support Chelsea when it was her turn.
A few of the things Chelsea had said to me had burrowed under my skin. That dreams had to change. That the NFL had never really been my future—which, okay, Iknewthat. But there was knowing, and then there was hearing someone else say it aloud.
I had accepted I wouldn’t go pro. I had a plan for my future. With a sports management degree, I could find a job managing an athletic department or recreation league. I didn’t have to give up sports entirely. But I felt disconnected from that path. I’d spent so much time being a player, defining myself as an athlete, that now I felt like a puppet who’d just had its strings cut.
All the energy and passion I’d channeled into my sport had nowhere to go.
