6. Boston

SIX

boston

The door swung open and Parker appeared in nothing but a towel slung repulsively low on his hips. "What time are you leaving?" he asked.

"A couple of hours," I answered, despite my reluctance to commit to even that small certainty.

His gaze drifted to my open and empty suitcase lying on the bed. "Sure about that?" he questioned. “You’re not backing out on me, are you?”

"Nah, I'll get it done." I replied, pushing myself up from the chair.

"Alright." He nodded before continuing. "I need to get away from the women in this town. Last night, the girl I hooked up with told me she likes it rough and I thought, okay, sign me up," he said, a half-hearted chuckle escaping his lips. "But at one point, I think I begged for my life." He rolled his shoulder in a slow rotation. "She almost broke my arm."

"Jesus, Parker..." I exhaled, trying to get that image out of my head. "Where do you find these women?"

"Obviously the wrong places," he chuckled. "Maybe I'll find better options in Bayside."

"Let me know how that goes," I teased.

"You know I will," he said with a small smile as he shut the door with a soft click.

I turned back to face the open suitcase. It was like staring into a void, one that mirrored the unease twisting in my gut. The question wasn't whether I could pack the bag—it was whether I could handle another summer at the lake.

The thought of being around Reese again tightened a knot in my chest. And Chandler—she was a different story altogether. A chapter I wasn't sure I was ready to revisit.

But none of that mattered, not really. I was going for one reason, and one reason alone: baseball. It was my future, my ticket out of here, and the one constant that never failed me. On the field, everything else fell away—the cheers, the bullshit, the weight of expectation. It was just the game.

"Focus on that," I whispered to myself, dragging the suitcase closer. "On the drills, on practice." That was how I'd tune everything else out, how I'd survive the summer. How I'd escape this dark place that clung to me like a shadow.

I grabbed a handful of clothes and began to pack. Each item placed in my suitcase was a silent vow to keep my head in the game. Because baseball wasn't just a sport—it was my lifeline.

And I was determined to hold on.

A few hours later, gravel crunched under my truck tires as I pulled up to my grandpa’s cabin. Numbness had become a constant lately; it was there during every moment of the day. But stepping out into the fresh air was almost comforting for a moment.

The cabin was a reminder of good days, of the best summers, of so much laughter. Its wooden walls still held the smell of my grandpa's famous barbecue drifting in the breeze. I stared out at the landscape, letting the sunlight glimmering off the water wash over me. I breathed in the scent of pine and earth, threading through the emptiness inside me. Here we fucking go. A new summer.

I turned to see Parker in the driveway, grinning from ear to ear as he unloaded his bags.

"Hey, man," Parker yelled on his way inside. "You wanna run down to the Blue Devils’ clubhouse with me? Check out our trophies on the wall this year?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "Bet they've already got our names on the lockers, too."

"Fuck yeah," he chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder as we headed toward the car. "No one should be there today. It'll be badass seeing the place again."

The clubhouse loomed into view, commanding as ever, surrounded by the freshly manicured field. "Here we are," I sighed.

"Time to get in the Blue Devil spirit," Parker added, his eyes lighting up like a kid's on Christmas morning.

The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass as we approached. The facility looked just as glorious as I remembered, unaltered by the last year—walls probably had a fresh coat of paint. We stepped inside, the echo of our footsteps filling the hallway leading to the trophy wall.

"Look at that," Parker whispered in awe, nodding towards the gleaming trophies. Our names were etched alongside legends, a physical representation of hard-earned glory. We shared a look, a silent acknowledgement between us. It was badass—there was no other word for it.

Energized by the sight, we made our way to the locker room, the door swinging open to reveal the space that kickstarted the summer and made it feel real. There they were—our lockers, with nameplates gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Our new jerseys hung neatly inside, the fabric crisp and untouched.

"Man, they've outdone themselves," Parker remarked, running a hand over his jersey. "Badass doesn't even begin to cover it."

Before I could respond, a familiar voice echoed off the tiled walls. "Look who it is. The dynamic duo is back."

I spun around at the sudden intrusion. The excitement that had filled the room moments before shifted with the presence of someone I hadn't expected to encounter—not yet, at least.

Parker and I turned in unison. Two figures leaned casually against the doorframe, Reese with Bailey just beside him. He wore a smirk and his voice lacked any edge—it was almost welcoming, which defused some of my dread.

"Bailey," Parker greeted, stepping forward with a nod and fist bumping him. Then, shifting his attention, Parker moved toward Reese, and for a fraction of a second Reese extended his arm to shake with him. But before their hands could clasp, Parker's fist shot out, connecting solidly with Reese's manhood.

"That's for breaking my sister's heart," Parker said with a satisfied smirk.

Reese crouched down, trying to hold himself up with one hand on his knee. "Good to see you too, man," he managed to say though pained words edged with humor and understanding.

Parker, satisfied with the delivery, clapped a hand on Reese's back, a sign that the hit was more brotherly discipline than enemy fire. Bailey and I exchanged an amused glance, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as we both tried—and failed—to stifle our laughter at Reese trying to regain his composure.

"Nice," I quipped to Parker, offering Bailey a more sedate handshake. We all knew this summer was going to be interesting, and I wasn’t mad at how it had just started.

I was still slightly entertained as Reese straightened, trying to fight a grimace. The memory of my last conversation with him after the season ended came to mind, erasing all humor.

I had to make a stop before I left Bayside, even though it was the last place I wanted to go. I needed to clear my head, to get this shit out in the open before my thoughts consumed me.

"Okay, Boston, just say what you need to say. Get it over with," I coached myself. But it wasn't just about saying it—it was about finally making a change.

I strode purposefully towards Reese Carrington's over-the-top house, a structure that seemed as impenetrable as the man himself.

"Reese!" I called out, voice slicing through the quiet morning while I stood at his door, banging defiantly. "Get out here. We need to talk!"

There was a momentary pause, then the front door swung open, revealing him in the bright sunlight. His expression was unreadable, but I sensed his annoyance from where I was standing.

"Hang on a sec," his voice held an edge, a hint of irritation, or perhaps resignation. He grabbed a gray hoodie draped over a hall chair, pulled it over his head in a fluid motion, then stepped outside.

I walked back to my truck and hopped onto the tailgate with an air of casualness I didn’t feel. My fingers drummed on the cool metal as I waited for him. Reese walked toward me, hood up, hands buried in his pockets.

"Alright, Riley. What's so important that you're showing up at my house?" He leaned against the side of my truck, arms crossed, looking unfazed.

"We need to talk," I said simply. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his guarded demeanor. I needed this, needed to clear the air, though my mind was racing with doubts. Could anything even be done at this point?

"Talk then," Reese prompted, his voice softer now, the facade of indifference faltering as he waited for me to continue.

"I need to know," I started, voice low. "Why'd you keep silent all these years about our mom? About everything?"

He shifted, looking away into the distance. "Who wants to talk about that shit?" he said. "It’s fucked up. It’s not something I ever want to talk about. She walked out, she left. What do you want me to say?"

I watched him closely, saw his jaw clench, the way he shifted uncomfortably.

"Look, I called her," I confessed, my hands tightening on the cold metal. "She told me she'd be there, waiting to talk when I got home."

"And?" His head snapped up, eyes piercing mine. "I could care less what she has to say about it."

I pushed on, urgency rising. "And I need you to know that I never knew, Reese. I never had any idea. But there's gotta be a reason, right? I know you don’t know her, but Mom—she wouldn't just leave a child behind without one hell of a good reason."

The air hung heavy between us as I searched his face for something, anything that might signal understanding. Despite the wind, sweat gathered at the back of my neck from the anticipation of this conversation.

"Didn't take you for the na?ve type," he said, finally breaking the silence. His response lacked its usual bite. His gaze dropped to the ground. "But you find out the information you need… let me know how that goes."

"I do need to know the whole story," I echoed with determination. This felt like it was more than just a conversation, it was a small olive branch, tentative and unsteady, but a connection nonetheless.

Reese leaned back against the side of my truck, his hands still tucked into his hoodie, and I could see the tension in his shoulders as if bracing for a blow.

"Look," he began, his voice sounding softer then, "I know you didn't know the truth." He exhaled slowly, "And I've been an asshole for holding it against you when it’s not your fault."

I blinked, surprised by the apology that seemed so foreign coming from Reese. I didn’t think he was capable of an apology. His admission hung between us like a fragile truce.

"Thank you." My voice faltered, emotions clogging my throat. Years of stress and animosity seemed to dissolve in that confession, even if it was only for a moment.

He nodded, a half-smirk appearing for a fleeting second. "It’s a shitty situation," he continued, shifting again. "But it’s not an excuse for how I’ve treated you."

"Or Chandler," I interjected, steeling myself for his reaction. Reese's eyes narrowed slightly at her name, but he didn't interrupt. "I know you were trying to use her to get to me. She doesn’t deserve to be involved in any of this."

The silence stretched on as he digested my words. "Yeah…" his voice trailed off, and then he sighed, nodding once. "You're right. She's got nothing to do with our shit, I know that. But, just so you know, I care about her. It may have started out as something else, but it’s not like that now.”

His eyes softened for a moment, reflecting a sincerity that was rare and a little disarming. Then our gazes locked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was an unspoken agreement between us. It was clear that we both cared about Chandler, and it was a touchy subject. We both needed to tread lightly.

"I know what you mean," I added. "I've loved her since we were kids."

For a second, it seemed like he had stopped breathing. His eyes searched mine, probing for the truth in my words. "Loved her?" Reese echoed with an edge of something like surprise.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I always hoped she'd be the one. Someday." But hope was a dangerous thing, a flame that could either warm you up or burn you to the ground. And the truth was, Chandler was with him. That thought alone was enough to bring me to my knees, the pain of knowing that dream was scorched was unbearable, but my resolve was pushing me through.

It was clear that my confession had hit a nerve, stirring something within him. He stood up straight and let out a long sigh, heavy with something I couldn't quite figure out—regret, maybe. "Damn," he shook his head. "I knew you liked her, but I didn't know it was like that."

I shrugged like it didn’t matter, keeping the storm inside from showing. How could he possibly get it—what Chandler meant to me? No chance.

"Look, Riley," he paused. "I'm not going to be in your way anymore. She's... she's a great girl. She deserves someone like you."

There was raw honesty there, but I could see the internal struggle on his face, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

"Honestly, it might’ve been possible for us to get there. I like her a lot," Reese confessed, a flicker of wistfulness passing through his eyes. "But I'm not where you are. Plus, I'd be selfish to put her through the long-distance thing in college."

I sat there listening, processing. It was clear he actually liked her, and even though he was throwing out other reasons for stepping aside, I knew the truth—it was me. Maybe, after all these years, he had a conscience. He'd been a shitty person, but maybe this was the line he didn’t want to cross.

"I don't need you to do any of that. It's her decision." My thoughts were a whirlwind, but one thing was clear—I had my own demons to battle, my own shit to figure out. "And I've got other shit on my plate I need to deal with.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, then, as if I had taken some of the burden from him. But the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know: this wasn't just about stepping aside. It was about making amends, in whatever way he could.

"I wouldn’t be doing it for you," Reese said. "She deserves better than me."

"She deserves better than both of us," I added quietly, my thoughts flickering to Chandler's bright hazel eyes that held stories of their own—stories I could read over and over again.

"One last thing… Why now? Why did you decide to tell me at the ball after all these years?"

He looked down, scratching the back of his head. "I was tired of being her secret," he finally admitted. "I didn’t want to be that anymore."

I sighed, sort of understanding. "I'm sorry you had to carry that alone."

"Well, anyway, you know where I live if you need me after your talk," Reese said, and for a moment his eyes softened, reflecting a rare glimmer of hope. “And I guess you aren’t that bad of a ball player either.”

"Yeah, yeah," I agreed, pushing off from my tailgate before making my way to the driver's side. "I’ll see you around."

"Alright," Reese grunted, pulling me out of the memory. He straightened his shirt as if realigning his scattered dignity. "Guess I deserved that one."

After taking a moment to regain his composure, he glanced at me, nodding. "Boston." His tone was nonchalant, but I could tell he was cautiously navigating this conversation.

"Reese," I acknowledged him with a nod.

It was a brief exchange but it spoke volumes. The rivalry that had defined our relationship seemed trivial now, overshadowed by this new, uncharted territory we found ourselves in. No longer enemies, not friends—not ready to say what we really were.

"Right," Reese finally said, breaking our silent communication. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and adjusted himself—almost as if he was checking to make sure all parts were still there.

"Guess we've got some work to do if we’re gonna win that championship this year, huh?" he added, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah," I breathed out, the word barely audible. "Guess we do."

Our shared uncertainty was obvious, a bridge still yet to be crossed. But for the moment, we could be in the same room, silently acknowledging the complicated ties neither of us asked for but that nevertheless unexpectedly connected us.