4. Boston

FOUR

boston

Droplets of sweat slid down my temples. My body was still trying to cool down from my earlier workout. My shirt clung to my chest as I carried bags of groceries to the cool marble countertop in Mom's kitchen. If it weren't for these routine deliveries, I often wondered if she'd remember to eat anything at all.

I cracked open the fridge, strategically arranging the fresh produce and dairy where she could easily spot them. I was always careful to place her favorite Greek yogurt front and center—if nothing else, she wouldn’t miss that.

From the dining room, I heard faint voices—Mom's, punctuated by the almost hypnotizing sound of her psychic. Dr. Finkle, with a soothing intonation that could sell our jerseys to opponents, was delivering guidance through the laptop screen. "Greatness is just around the corner," he reassured.

"Greatness is just around the corner," Mom repeated obediently, her voice a reverent echo. I smirked to myself, shaking my head slightly as I tucked away the last of the canned goods. It was hard not to find amusement in the ritualistic way she hung on his every prediction.

"You will feel relief from your worries by the fall," continued Dr. Finkle.

Her faith in his words was unshakeable, and though I may have harbored my doubts, her hope made me smile.

With groceries put away, I leaned against the counter for a moment, allowing my body a second to rest. As their Zoom call ended, I arched an eyebrow as I watched her close the laptop with a satisfied sigh.

"Are you sure this isn't some kind of cult, Mom?" I asked, unable to mask my disbelief. She looked up at me, a playful glint in her eyes as she lightly tapped my arm before reaching into a bag of chips.

"It is not a cult, Boston,” she took a sip of coffee. "Dr. Finkle knows exactly what he's talking about."

"Sure, Mom," I stretched the words out in gentle skepticism.

I knew she was searching for answers—for help with our family situation. Mom and I were okay, but things hadn’t been the same since last summer. When I stopped by her house, I felt the weight of change—a distance between us that never used to be there. My gaze shifted to the living room. I hadn’t stepped foot in there since the day she opened up about everything.

It was my first stop when I got back to town from Bayside. The house had been unsettlingly still—no noise from the television, no movement. Mom sat on the couch alone.

She said tenderly, "Honey, I could tell you were upset when we talked on the phone earlier. I'm so sorry. For everything."

"Mom, please," I urged her, sinking onto the couch across from her. "No more secrets. I need to know everything."

She had looked at me, really looked, and something in her expression shifted, like a dam breaking. The truth was ready to spill out, raw and unfiltered like skeletons locked away in her closet, ready to be released.

"I’m not sure where to begin," she'd started, her voice quiet, as if the walls themselves might betray her trust. But I could tell she was finally going to lay all the cards on the table.

"Just say it, Mom. All of it."

"There was nothing I could do," she whispered, her gaze holding mine with the fierceness of a mother's love. "Reese’s dad was a lawyer, a very successful lawyer."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes lost in a distant memory.

"Mom," I finally said, breaking the silence. "Were you in love with him? With Reese's dad?"

She hesitated and then let out a slow breath, exhaling the weight she had held onto for years. "Maybe," she shrugged. "Or perhaps we were just... caught up in it all. The parties, the Bayside ball, the glamor of those events." She offered a wistful smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "After Reese came into the picture, nothing was the same. We became strangers under the same roof, arguing over everything."

"Couldn't you have left?" I asked, trying my best to understand.

Her smile faded completely. "I wanted to. I told him I wanted to take Reese and move to Stillwater because your aunt was here. But he..." her words faltered as she swallowed hard. "He was ruthless. Said he'd fight me tooth and nail—and he did. He said his child was destined to grow up in Bayside. He was already the most prominent lawyer there, Boston. And now? He's untouchable. What chance did I stand? No money, no influence. He stripped me of all rights—he got full custody. I couldn’t stay in Bayside after that, knowing my son was in the same town, but I could never see him. When I got here I was so depressed. I was drinking a lot, I had a summer fling with your father, and then I almost lost you. I knew from that moment on I’d do anything to protect you. I wouldn’t have survived losing you, too."

I absorbed her words, a surge of protective anger building towards the man who’d caused her so much pain. She rarely ever discussed my father, but according to my mom, after she gave birth to me early at 30 weeks, the doctors thought I wouldn't make it. My father came to see me in the NICU at first, but then he stopped coming altogether. She always said his heart couldn't handle seeing me in such a fragile state, thinking I wouldn’t make it. And then he left town. To this day, I don't think he knows I lived. My mother always called me her miracle baby.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

For a moment there was only the sound of her shaky inhale. "I just wanted to protect you from it all." Her hands clasped together tightly, knuckles white. "I was embarrassed and didn’t want anyone to know I’d lost custody. I feel like a failure. I am a failure."

Pieces of a puzzle I hadn't even known were missing suddenly clicked into place, reshaping the landscape of my life. Everything would be different now.

"You’re not a failure." My eyes searched hers for something, anything, that might help me understand. "But you should have told me."

"Everything I did... Boston, it was never meant to hurt anyone," she said, her voice laced with emotion so raw I thought she might cry. Her gaze held mine, pleading silently for me to understand.

"I’m sorry for keeping it from you," she added, her lips quivering. "Believe me, I thought about it every day."

For years, she had carried the burden alone, and I could see now the toll it had taken on her.

"Mom," I started again, my heart clenching at the sight of her distress. I wanted to be angry, to let the betrayal wash over me, but as I sat there watching her crumble under the weight of her own secrets, all I could feel was a deep, aching sympathy.

"I wish you didn’t have to deal with that on your own," I said softly, closing the space between us. I reached for her hand, and squeezed gently. "But I get it. You did what you thought was best."

She looked up at me then, her blue eyes swimming with unshed tears, and in that moment I saw not just my mother, but someone who had battled demons I was only just beginning to comprehend.

"Thank you," she whispered, her hand squeezing back, conveying a lifetime of love and sacrifice in a single, fragile embrace.

Standing in the house, now, with the ghost of that conversation lingering between us, I couldn't help but feel a wave of grief for the simplicity of our past. For a time when my biggest worry was what was for dinner, not this tangled web of secrets.

My mom's arms wrapped around my frame, pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts. "Thank you for taking care of me, hunny," she squeezed even tighter. "I love you."

"Love you too," I replied, the weight of our shared struggles momentarily lifting in her embrace. "But I've got to get going. I need to shower and head out for another training session soon."

"Okay, but you better let yourself rest," she said gently, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "Ruth next door said your muscles are getting a little too big. She asked if you're training for one of those Magic Mike things."

That coaxed an involuntary chuckle out of me, a brief pause from the heaviness in my chest. "I told her yes, just to see her reaction," she confessed with a grin. "You should've seen it, Boston—I swear she almost dropped her watering can."

"Goodbye, Mom," I said, giving her an eye roll. "And quit messing with that poor woman."

Stepping outside, I closed the front door behind me with a soft click, sealing away the sanctuary of my childhood home. A deep breath filled my lungs, the outside air refreshing even though it was warm.

I lingered on the threshold for a moment longer. Being near my mom was still hard for me. It was a task to keep it all together for her when every cell in my body felt broken.

With a final exhale, I released some of that burden into the breeze and sat in one of her porch rocking chairs. I traced a crack in the white wood. The world outside felt distant, like I was peering into it from some strange dream as my thoughts drifted.

The sharp thud of knuckles against wood jolted me awake.

In an instant, I stumbled to the door half asleep, and yanked it open. It was her, Chandler Hartford, the moonlight creating a spotlight just for her. Her hazel eyes were wide with concern.

"Chandler," I managed to say, feeling suddenly conscious that I wasn’t wearing a shirt, gray sweatpants hanging from my hips.

She had barely acknowledged my disheveled state, her brows furrowed as she launched into her rant. "Why is no one texting me back? Parker dropped me off and promised to keep me updated, but nothing. And you—you haven't answered your phone at all."

Her words tumbled out in a torrent, each sentence filled with frustration. "Your coach dropped that bomb on us this morning, and I couldn't even think straight the whole drive back. Why is no one else flipping out right now? I’m flipped out!"

I watched as she paced before me, hands flying expressively as she spoke. The rise and fall of her voice, the slight quiver of anger mixed with worry, twisted my heart. But my thoughts were shackled by Reese. He was unraveling my life; his presence in hers wasn’t something I could ever get on board with.

So I did what I had learned to do best—I hid my emotions, locking away the warmth of wanting to reach out to her. I kept calm, my stance rigid as I rested an arm on the doorway and let her finish. It took everything within me not to pull her into my arms, to tell her everything would be alright, even though my own world was shattered.

"Chandler, it’s late," I finally said, my voice low and steady. "I don't want to talk about it—not to you, not to anyone. I just want to be left alone."

It was a lie, at least in part. I craved her presence, I wanted her there, but lines had been drawn in the sand, and she was on the side with him. And even if she wasn’t, I couldn’t pull her into my fucked up situation. There was nothing good I could offer her. She was too good for me, and definitely too good for him.

Her lips parted, ready to protest, but she paused, biting down on her lower lip—a habit I knew all too well. "Boston," she whispered, walking up the steps and inching closer. Her voice trembled slightly. "I want to be here for you. We can talk, I can sit with you—just let me be here."

I looked down at her and she looked up at me, our height difference pronounced. My hand came up instinctively, fingers gently brushing her cheek. The contact, a touch connecting us in the quiet night, sent an ache through me. My thumb traced her softness, lingering on her cheekbone.

"It's not your problem," I whispered, trying my best to push her away. "Why don't you check on... him? He needs you more than I do."

Her eyes locked with mine as if searching for something, Maybe the truth, buried beneath. But I couldn't give it to her. There was nothing for me to give.

"Please, Boston," she urged softly, her voice more tender. I stepped back and the night air swept in, filling the space where our bodies had almost met. "Go home, Chandler," I said, my voice steady despite the fucking dumpster fire burning inside me.

And I turned away, leaving her standing in the darkness. My chest tightened with the effort of pretending I hadn’t just shut the door on her, on my entire world.