Matched By My Rival by DJ Jamison

22

SIMON

I adjusted my laptop bag strap and pulled my vibrating phone from my pocket, then did a double-take at the Caller ID. “Grandma? Everything okay?”

“Simon, honey! Everything is wonderful. I’m so glad I reached you.”

That was Grandma, always sunny and optimistic. In contrast, Grandpa was prone to grousing and grumping everywhere he went.

Not so different from Parker and me.

The thought startled me, but I didn’t have long to dwell. Grandma was chatting excitedly.

“Your sister met the nicest man, and he’s been treating her like gold. She’s taking those online culinary classes already. Did you know?”

“Uh, no.” Chelsea had mentioned the possibility, but I thought I’d have time to change her mind. She shouldn’t have to give up her dream because I’d fucked up. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’ll graduate soon, and I’ll help pay for her to go to a real school.”

“Oh honey, it’s real enough. She’s been baking Grandpa and me the most delectable treats! She wants to open her own bakery. She said the restaurant business is too stressful and the hours are awful. She has to think of Joey too, you know.”

I frowned. “We’d all help with Joey. She should do what she wants, not—”

“This is what she wants, dear. You really need to trust her to know her own mind.”

What could I say to that? I suspected she was trying to be practical. She didn’t think she should work long hours in a competitive field with a child to raise. But that didn’t mean that in her heart, she didn’t long to be a chef. I would help her, though. Grandma and Grandpa would too. Same as they’d done for me.

“I just want her to know I’ll support her in whatever she wants to do.”

“Good,” Grandma said, as if that was the end of the conversation. “But that’s not why I called.”

“No?”

I shifted forward in line at the rec center coffee stand. It was still four deep, but I’d have to wrap this call up soon.

Despite showing me up at Frisbee—and really, I should have known, because Parker always shows me up—he’d offered to meet me at the library to study with me. The least I could do was bring coffee.

“No,” Grandma said. “I wanted to tell you Grandpa and I are coming up for Parents Weekend!”

My heart leapt. “What? Why? Grandma, you remember I’m not in football anymore. I won’t be playing.”

They’d supported me by attending in past years. But I hadn’t expected them to come up this year. There was nothing to see.

“Simon, honey, you know we love you. Football has nothing to do with it.”

“I know, but I won’t be playing, so there’s no reason for you to come all that way.”

“Of course there is.” She sounded indignant. “We haven’t seen you since Christmas, and that wasn’t a happy time for you. You’ve sounded better these past few weeks. Your emails have been more upbeat.”

I edged forward in the coffee line. “I guess I’ve been adjusting.”

“As you should. It’s heart-breaking, of course, but you have a whole life ahead of you.”

A life without football.

Though, perhaps, a life of athletics still awaited. Perhaps I could channel my passion into other aspects of sports. Or even football. With my degree in sports management, I was bound to work with athletic programs in some capacity.

“You’re right, Grandma. Playing football was never going to be forever.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were better than that Hanson kid that got drafted.” She sniffed.

I laughed. That was not even remotely true, but that was Grandma. Supportive, even if it meant deluding herself.

“It’s nice you want to see me, Grandma, but—”

“No buts, no sir,” she said sternly. “We’re coming up. And now that you don’t play football, you can show us the frat. Your father went there too, and we’d love to see it.”

The frat? Oh, hell no. “It’s not really suitable for—”

“We want to see it, Simon. We want to know about your life!”

“Okay…”

“And I especially hope to see you smile again, dear. It’s been too long. We’ll be there by Saturday afternoon. Love you, honey! Bye!”

Like a tornado, she leveled me and then was gone. I re-pocketed my phone and stepped up to the counter in a daze. “A caramel macchiato and an Americano with an extra shot. Thanks.”

I watched the barista make the drinks and handed over my credit card. The whole time my head circulated one question. How can I make our frat house—our beer-stained and condom-strewn frat house—ready for a visit from my grandparents? And on the weekend right after a party too?

I fired off a text to Cooper, hoping he knew what to do. I’d have to get the guys to help me in an emergency cleaning session, and no one would be better at getting them to rally than Coop.

Otherwise, I’d never be able to show my face to my grandparents again.

* * *

PARKER

I arrived at the library before Simon and chose a table in a quiet area on the second floor. While I waited, I texted to let him know where I was and scanned the building for good hookup spots.

When I realized what I was doing, I rolled my eyes. This secret relationship stuff had corrupted me. Before Simon, the only places I’d ever had sex were in a bed—either at hotel or on the sly while my parents were away. That was laughable now.

Simon arrived, smelling of aftershave and coffee. His thick, dark hair fell over one eye as he leaned in to set a cup before me. “You really didn’t have to study with me. I know you get plenty of study hours in already.”

I watched him unload his laptop from his bag before settling in the chair across from me. He took a quick sip of his own coffee before setting it aside.

“I’m taking an extra class this semester, so I’m a little behind.” I raised my cup, sweet caramel bursting on my tongue. Simon had remembered my favorite coffee. “Thanks for this.”

“Sure. Why the extra class?”

“I changed the focus of my major from secondary education to elementary.”

I hadn’t yet told my parents about the switch. It meant I’d work with grade-schoolers instead of high school students. It also meant I wouldn’t be doing any coaching unless it was for a rec league.

Which sounded pretty good to me, but I had no idea how they would take it.

“Oh, so what grade would you teach?” Simon asked.

“First grade, I hope. I want to get the kids before they’re totally corrupted.”

He chuckled. “So you can do the warping of young minds?”

“Exactly.” I grinned. “Might as well mold them to be decent human beings.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

I nodded. “I have to finish all my requirements in time for student teaching next spring.”

“I kind of thought you’d teach high school.”

“So that I could coach?” I guessed. When he nodded, I said, “That was the original plan. But… I don’t know. I like younger kids. And if I’m going to leave football behind, I just want to leave it behind.”

Simon smiled wryly. “Wish I could have had that attitude about leaving the team. Actually, that’s what inspired this project I’m doing.”

“What is the project?”

He turned the laptop toward me. The title page read, Life After Sports: A program for student athletes.

“That looks interesting. What’s in this program?”

“Well, I’m still developing it. Mainly it’s a program to encourage athletes to think harder about life after sports. Not just a fallback career. Most of us have that, right? But more about creating a life that’s well-rounded, you know? Like…forming an identity beyond your position on your team. Making friends outside your sport. Finding interests. All those voids that suddenly appear when you have to leave your team or graduate to new things.”

My heart clenched, thinking of how Simon must have hurt when he was cut from the team. How lost he must have felt to create an entire program to address that loss.

“That’s a great idea,” I said.

He shook his head. “I’m struggling with it a little. Is it realistic? I’m not sure I would have listened, even though I knew football wasn’t forever, you know? I loved it, and I was determined to keep loving it and worry about the aftermath later.”

I nodded. “I think…it’s about planting a seed, you know? Getting them to start thinking about it. It won’t work for everyone, but then, what does?”

“Good point.” Simon sighed. “I don’t know. I just felt so unprepared to have my world cut out from under me.”

I reached across the table, clasping his hand briefly. I wasn’t sure I even cared if someone saw. “I get it. Moving on is hard for a lot of people.”

“Well, with any luck, you won’t have to,” he said with a wistful smile. “If anyone at Hayworth can get drafted or signed, it’s you.”

I tensed. “Not too likely.”

Hayworth had a couple of draft successes in its recent history, fueling hopes that it could happen again. It used to fuel my hopes too. Now I wished I could rewrite that history to make my change of heart easier for others to swallow.

It wasn’t something I thought Mom would understand. Dad would be okay. While he loved football and was proud of my accomplishments, he wasn’t as driven by lofty dreams as Mom was. Mom was a superfan, which was great, because she’d always been so supportive of me. But she also checked in with Coach, kept tabs on me a little too much, and watched and read every scrap of sports industry news to feed me tidbits about team business plans, player trades, and drafts.

But I didn’t want to go pro. I wanted Simon in my future—not the limitations that would come with being in the NFL.

I couldn’t be me if I went pro. I couldn’t have the life I really wanted.

I’d continue to be closeted. I’d have to watch what I said and did even more than I did now. And I’d push my body to the brink of its physical limitations, only to last a handful of years.

No, I was ready for something else. Not that anyone would ever understand. Walking away from the possibility of fame and fortune wasn’t easy. Even though I was relatively sure it was right for me, it felt wrong. Like throwing away a winning lottery ticket.

But the ticket came at a steep price.

“You’re a natural talent,” Simon added. “It comes easily to you. Not everyone has that gift.”

I wanted to dismiss his words, but I knew that they cost him. Simon would have rather died than compliment my athleticism a few months ago.

“Life after sports still comes, whether it’s at the end of college or a few years down the road,” I pointed out. “Even if you go pro.”

“I guess that’s true. At least then, you’ve lived the dream, right?”

“Right,” I echoed.

This would be the perfect opening to explain that I didn’t want to live the dream. But listening to Simon’s wistful words, the ache he must feel in his heart where football once belonged, I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t want the one thing he’d longed for most of all.