8. Boston

EIGHT

boston

My impeccable fucking timing. There we were, the three of us caught in a moment so tense it could shatter with the slightest movement.

Chandler walked out, her hazel eyes avoiding mine. Reese followed her, trying to act casual, but I could see the guilt all over his face. The sight of them cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I should have been numb to this dance by now—should be used to Chandler choosing him—but witnessing it again after all this time? It was an entirely different ball game now.

A muscle in my jaw ticked involuntarily, the only visible sign, I hoped, of my internal turmoil. Chandler stood there not saying a word. I swept my gaze over her—the soft glow of her cheekbones down to the dress hugging her figure in all the right places. I was fighting hard to keep my cool, to hide how much this bothered me.

The silence between us stretched on for what felt like a century, until Reese finally broke it with the gravel of his voice. "I'll see you over there, man." His eyes flickered from me to the crowd gathered around the buffet tables.

I gave him a nod, the slightest dip of my head, but my gaze remained locked on Chandler. He left without a backward glance, and we were alone—together, but miles apart.

"You okay?" The question was all I could come up with at that moment.

"Fine, Boston. Not like you care." Her eyes flashed with hurt, and that surprised me, cutting deeper than I expected.

Fuck me. Despite her reaction, I reached out, fingers gently grasping her wrist, bringing her to me. "I'm sorry," I said, genuinely. "For not responding to your texts, for pushing you away."

"The entire year, though?" she shook her head. “We haven’t talked in months. You didn’t care about me then, so just keep ignoring me, Boston.”

"You're impossible to ignore." My eyes held hers, hoping she would understand the truth behind my words. "It's not you. I've had a lot going on in my head, and I'm working on it."

Her gaze locked onto where my hand held hers, and for a second I hoped she might understand. But then she pulled her wrist free from my grasp, her movement swift and cold. "Glad you're figuring it out," she shot back.

She placed her champagne glass on the table nearby. I wanted to reach out—no, I ached to—but I stayed still. Adjusting my tie, I thought about the hurt in her eyes, how I was the reason for it. She had every right to feel the way she did after all the times I'd retreated when I should have stepped forward.

I needed to be better for her. It was time to pull whatever I could from the depths of myself, to stop pushing her away, or—even worse—back into his arms.

The old Boston seemed like a stranger now, a ghost, even. But if there was a chance, any chance at all to be with her, I had to get out of my own way and fight for her.

A hush fell over the crowd as Coach Levy rose from his seat. Clutching a flute of champagne that suddenly seemed too delicate in my hands, I leaned back against the doorframe, my gaze drifting from Coach to the reason my heart was thumping so erratically.

"Welcome, welcome everyone!" Coach Levy’s voice boomed, his smile as wide as the ball field. "To another year we hope is filled with victories, teamwork, and unforgettable moments."

I should have been listening, nodding along like the rest of the room, yet all I could see and think about was Chandler. Her smile drowned out Coach's words, her eyes sparkled brighter than the twinkle lights on the tables, and the way she threw her head back in amusement with Willow… the air vanished from my lungs. She was extraordinary. She’d been there all along, right in front of me. And then harsh reality hit me—there was a possibility that she wouldn’t always be. My heart clenched in a painful ache as I realized what I could lose if I didn’t do something.

"Here's to making this season one for the history books," Coach finished, raising his glass high.

A chorus of applause echoed around me, glasses clinking in celebration. I remained silent, my thoughts too loud to share space with anything else. I needed to get my shit together—for me, for the team, but most of all, for her—for Chandler.

Parker snapped me back to reality as he clapped me on the shoulder with a carefree grin. "You meeting us at the after-party?"

"No, I'm going to bed early tonight," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray the inner turmoil his sister had just stirred within me.

Parker scoffed playfully, giving me a look that told me he wasn’t letting me out of this one. "No way, man. You've done this all year. It's summer. You have to go out with the team tonight."

A couple of our teammates overheard the conversation and chimed in. "Boston, come on, man, don't be a party pooper."

"Fine, I'll think about it," I conceded.

"Plus, you have to be my beer pong partner," Parker persisted, then whispered, "Everyone else kinda sucks."

"Okay, I'll go for one game, and then I'm leaving."

"Deal!" Parker exclaimed, slapping me on the back with enough force to make me lurch forward.

When I pulled up to Willow’s, I took a deep breath before opening my truck door. People were scattered around the porch and in the front yard as I walked up.

"Riley! Come take a shot with me!" Bailey’s offer was a welcome relief. I desperately needed a drink knowing Chandler would be running around somewhere. He waved a bottle in the air, and I couldn't help but smile at him.

The porch’s wooden boards creaked under my feet as I walked up the steps and accepted the bottle Bailey thrust into my hand. With a nod to him, I tossed it back. Liquid fire seared down my throat, leaving a trail of heat that settled in my stomach. Bailey clapped me on the back with a grin, oblivious to my internal grimace.

"Ha, that'll rip hair off your chest!" he chuckled.

“Oh buddy, the expression is that’ll put hair on your chest,” I snickered. He shrugged and took another sip.

"Come on, Riley," Bailey said, nudging me toward the house with his elbow. "Let's get this party started. Parker just got here, too."

Willow smiled and greeted us when we walked in, but her gaze stayed locked on Parker. It was clear there were unspoken words and feelings hanging between them, leftover from last summer. She took measured steps toward him, her bubbly demeanor giving way to something more pensive.

"Hey, Parker," Willow said, her voice a blend of warmth and caution as if she was testing out the situation.

"Willow," he replied, looking surprised to see her. His stance softened.

They shared a long hug. A little bit too long. And then Willow planted a kiss on Parker's cheek.

"It's good to see you," she said, rubbing his arm, "but we're definitely going to have a discussion later."

"Sounds good, Will," Parker nodded, a hint of humor flickering in his eyes.

I gave him a knowing look and he shrugged, downplaying what everyone else clearly saw as more than just a friendly greeting.

Crew tilted the bottle back, finishing what was left of it. "Well," he drawled, “guess that's our cue to get this party started."

The television’s neon glow flickered across Parker's face, deep in concentration as we sat hunched over, controllers in hand. Mario Kart—the only game Willow owned—had been set up in the living room. My attention was pulled away from the game by the sound of laughter as Chandler walked by. She had that kind of beauty you could get lost in, and those shorts she was wearing hugged her hips just right. I swear I caught the drift of her perfume—something light and fresh with a touch of coconut.

I forced my gaze back to the screen in time to see Parker’s car go flying off a cliff. He was distracted too—his eyes had been locked on Willow.

"You gonna go talk to her or what?" I set my controller down with a smirk. His eyes met mine for a split second before he put his controller down too, a short laugh betraying his cool exterior.

"Yeah," Parker agreed, nodding toward Willow, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she chatted animatedly with Chandler. "Let’s go see what they’re up to."

"Lead the way," I said, as we rose from the couch.

Parker snatched a beer from an innocent bystander, who gave him a strange but understanding look. He took a long sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed it down.

Willow spotted him first, her face lighting up with surprise mixed with suspicion. "There you are! Way to keep in touch with me this year, you jerk," she said, playfully.

"Woah, I sent you a picture," Parker tilted his head. "You never responded."

I looked at Parker, wondering what kind of picture would elicit such a response—or lack thereof.

"Because, Parker," Willow retorted, hands on her hips and trying to hold back a laugh, "you sent me a picture of your grilled cheese sandwich."

"What kind of picture did you want, baby girl? A dick pic?"

"Honestly, that would have been more entertaining than your burnt sandwich," she said, playfully.

"That’s where I draw the line," he shot back with a smile. "It was not burnt. It was golden-brown. My best one yet. That's why I sent you the picture."

I leaned against the wall, nursing my drink and shaking my head at their antics. But then my gaze drifted to Chandler.

She was standing next to Willow with her arms crossed, her hazel eyes tracking every movement Reese made across the room. She was subtle about it, but I'd known her long enough to understand what she was doing. A pang, sharp and unwelcome, twinged in my chest. After so much time, I thought the stupid feeling would stop.

“Hey," I nodded toward Reese. "You keep looking at him like that, he's gonna catch on. Just go talk to him."

Her gaze snapped to mine, a flash of surprise flickering across her face. "No," she said, firmly. "I'm staying clear of him this summer." She turned away slightly, looking back at the crowd, not quite meeting my eyes. "He ended things. He made his choice.” Her lips pressed into a thin line.

I caught myself staring just a little too long at the way her hazel eyes shimmered under the soft glow of the string lights hanging on the wall nearby.

"Reese might be related to me," I began, the words smooth despite the flutter in my chest, "but you know there's one huge difference between us."

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze skeptical yet curious—a look I'd come to appreciate over the years. "What? I hope you're not about to brag about your batting averages. I’ve heard it many times."

It was easy talking to her like this, even if my heart hammered against my ribs with every word. "Nah," I said, before taking a small sip of my drink. "If I had you, Chandler, I'd never let you go."

The air seemed to still around us, thick with the weight of my confession. She looked intently at me in the dim light and took a step back. There was a vulnerability in that suspended moment that told me my words had landed right where I’d intended.

I wasn't sorry for telling her the truth that had been swelling inside me for far too long. This summer things needed to be different; I needed to be different—braver, stronger. And as I watched Chandler's lips part slightly, her eyes searching mine for sincerity, I knew I wasn't going to hold anything back. Not anymore.

After she had a moment to take in what I said, her eyes darkened and narrowed, pinning me with an accusation. “Well, you had no problem shutting me out this last year,” she spat.

I clenched my jaw. I should have seen that coming.

“Isn't that kind of the same thing? Actually, worse?” she added.

“How is that worse?” I shot back, struggling to keep my voice even. The memory of that time was raw. It was the most fucked up situation. What was the right way to handle it? “I thought you were still with him, anyway. I was sorting through shit.”

“Well, maybe I’m sorting through shit, too,” Chandler retorted, her frustration palpable.

She abruptly turned away, still mad, I could tell, but looking cute as ever. She stepped into Willow's ongoing conversation with Parker, who was deeply engaged, his animated hands punctuating each word.

"Did you say we’re going to the bar soon?" Chandler interrupted him, not bothering to hide her urgency. She clearly wanted to escape. "I think I've had enough of this crowd."

Willow blinked, focusing on the interruption, but before she could respond, Parker's gaze flicked to Chandler, a knowing twinkle briefly overshadowing his usual mirth. He sensed the undercurrents swirling around us, and his protective instincts were rising to the surface.

“If you’re going to the bar, then I’m going to the bar,” he declared with a determined nod towards his sister.

I took a deep sigh, the weight of inevitability settling on my chest. This meant one thing for certain—I was going, too. In Parker’s presence, the air was always lighter, but tonight, even his humor felt like it wouldn’t be enough to bridge the distance between Chandler and me.