𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢
Miles POV

There's this dumb phrase that old folks use, something along the lines of 'the world is your oyster.' I was rarely told those words as a kid, and honestly, I've never really understood what it meant.

Not until I met Parker. I didn't believe I could achieve anything I wanted in life or make a difference. That's until our two worlds collided. His impact on me opened my eyes to a world of possibility.

Because if I can land the guy of my dreams, then I sure as hell could find a passion in this life outside of slinging drugs and illegally racing cars. I don't have to be my father.

With this awareness tucked away in my back pocket, it's easy to be optimistic this afternoon as I stroll down to the football field. Usually, I'd be on my way home by now, but this might be the last time I can watch Parker practice before a big game.

I scan the field as I follow the sidewalk down the hill. Aside from the different numbered jerseys, it's difficult to tell who's who out there. Greyson has all the boys decked out in their full gear while running suicide sprint drills.

My heart overheats simply by watching them sprint, stop on a yard line, pivot, and sprint in the other direction. They're lucky it's another cold day. Otherwise, those coaches would be calling the hospital while the boys flopped on the ground like fish out of water.

There's a reason why I stick with basketball: our uniform is a thin jersey and shorts. Not a set of medieval armor.

The sounds of cleats tearing up the turf, clunking gear, and cursing, huffing boys get louder as I approach the field and follow the chain link fence down where Greyson and one of his assistant coaches are parked.

"Working hard or hardly working?" I tease Greyson as I approach, eyeing the giant, hot Starbucks cup in his hand as he lounges in a folding lawn chair.

The assistant coach looks at me like he wants to scold me for not showing the adults respect while Greyson raises his cup at me in acknowledgment.

"My days of suicide sprints are done, kid. Trust me when I say I'm glad I'm not the one out there doing that anymore." Greyson takes a sip from his cup and turns his head to look at me. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I shrug and slide my hands into my sweatshirt's front pocket, watching all the boys run back and forth. It's easy to pick out Parker now that I'm closer to the field: his gait and cadence speak for themselves. Plus, it looks like he, Griffin, and Kendric are hauling ass in an unspoken race.

"Just thought I'd stop by. Mrs. Connor held me to talk after economics. Something about how I should start staying after school on Thursdays. Since my grade is so good, I could participate in an extra-credit project that I turn in to the state school board for a scholarship."

Greyson nods, and I can tell from the smile tugging on his lips that he's impressed with me. "That's a pretty serious opportunity and a great one at that! The state isn't stingy with that scholarship money. Why do you have to think about that?"

The breath catches in my lungs as I remember the fight my mom and I got into last night before I hung up on her. And I never dare to hang up on her. This time, it was justified.

Rather than explaining that shitshow, I say, "I dunno. Same reason why I'm not jumping at the chance to hoop for you this winter."

"Mm." Greyson hums knowingly, and we both go quiet, watching the players in thought. Actually, I'm watching one specific player.

Parker is making this drill look easy with the way his long strides eat up the ground. His head is up straight, unlike some of the boys who are starting to drag in the back, their heads bent down lower than shoulder level. He's as focused as a racehorse on the track.

Until his eyes flick in this direction, and he does a double-take, tripping so hard that I can hear Kendric swear from all the way over here as he manages to dodge Parker.

I grin and flit my fingers at my boyfriend.

Greyson glances up at me and scoffs. "Would you stop distracting my best player? I need him focused."

"Sir, I don't think he's been focused for the past three months," I laugh and slip my hand back into the pocket when the cold wind finds its way up my sleeve.

"And that's just the issue," Greyson mumbles.

I don't take it to heart when he smiles the way he does and stands up, grabbing the whistle around his neck with one hand and blowing into it so loudly that I flinch.

"Alright, boys!" Greyson yells, making his teacher's voice in the classroom sound like a soft whisper. "Grab some water, then let's get our starting defense on the line! Offense group two, pick your asses up from the ground and get over here!"

Once Greysons done shredding his vocal cords, he takes a casual sip of coffee and accepts a small whiteboard from his assistant.

One-half of the team collapses right down on the spot, their chests heaving as they yank their helmets off. Yeah, I wasn't joking around. Greyson was making them run in full-ass gear. The rest who manage to stay upright walk in circles with their hands on their heads or make a beeline for the water station.

Parker is the only one that keeps running right to me with such a big goofy grin on his face that you'd think I'm picking him up from daycare.

Clearing his throat, Greyson glances between the two of us and promptly walks away to give us some space. As he passes by Parker, he says, "You get two minutes, Graham!"

"Yes, sir!" Parker rolls his eyes as he unstraps his helmet and pulls it off in one fell swoop before tossing it to the side.

I smile as he approaches. The rank scent of sweaty-unwashed-man-B.O washes over me, and I pinch my nose before giving him a quick kiss. Thank god we stopped caring what people think about us. Two months ago, that kiss would've sent him into cardiac arrest.

My behavior warrants a laugh from Parker. "Am I that bad?" He asks and lifts his arm to smell it.

"You're pretty damn close. Sorry, you're still my favorite, but I'm not crazy for man sweat."

"That's not what you were saying last weekend when things got a little... hot." Parker grins and tilts his head in an eerily accurate representation of me.

Those words make me bark out a laugh. "Shit! I taught you how to flirt well. My job here will be done when the student becomes the master. You better thank your lucky stars that I still have a lot to teach you." With that being said, I let my eyes slide up and down his body, only noticeably pausing on his cute pants. His ass still looks as great in them as it did a few months ago when I noticed it for the first time.

Parker is already pink from running so much, so his face turns an unbelievable shade of red with my audible intention. He snorts and pushes his hair off of his forehead. "I never want you to stop teaching me, then. Sorry, but you're never leaving me. Over my cold, dead body."

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I almost turn around to see if someone dumped ice down the back of my sweatshirt.

I rebound fast, grinning like the lovestruck fool I am as I reach forward and ruffle Parker's drenched hair. He gauffs and swats my hand away.

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll always be around."

Parker smiles, every inch of his face lighting up with the promise. "Want to prove that and come over tonight? We could have another sleepover."

My skin turns pleasantly warm at the thought. I think that I know what he means by that. I start to reply, only to get cut off immediately.

"Parker! Two minutes is up! Miles, what did I say about distracting him?!" Greyson hollers and points his coffee cup at us threateningly.

"One second!" Parker yells back at him over his shoulder before turning back to me. He's probably one of the only kids on the team that has the balls to talk back to the coach. Greyson gives us a stare that screams, you get one more minute before I come over there and drag Parker back here by the neck.

He sighs and picks up his helmet from the ground, letting his gaze catch on every part of me as he stands up straight again. "Sorry, duty calls."

"That's alright. I know how— hold up." I pause and pat my back pocket, pulling out my phone. It vibrates wildly in my hand, and I tilt the screen to read the caller's name. It's my mom.

My eyebrows raise in shock. She should be working right now.

That means more news, then.

I glance at Parker, his face contorted with worry, before picking up the call. "Hello?"

My mom speaks in hurried Spanish on the other end. "Miles? Are you going to be home soon? I heard from..."

"What is it?" Parker stage whispers, his eyes wide as he watches how my grip tightens around the phone.

"Hang on a second, mom." I put a hand over the speaker and turn to him. "I'm sorry, but I'll need to take a rain check on that sleepover, okay? Everything's fine. Something just came up with— with the insurance company," I stammer, the lie sitting like a burning coal in my chest. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I wish I could wait to hear Parker's reply, but my mom has hardly stopped talking over the past ten seconds. I furrow my eyebrows and hurry away before anyone can catch wind of this conversation.

This isn't something I want anyone to hear. Especially Parker.

I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk away, although I'm terrified to turn around. He knows me too well by now, and if he read the look on my face, he would know that we have a problem.

- - -

I spend the entire drive home sweating when I hang up with my mom. Everything in the world feels like it's being sucked up in a vacuum, the edges slowly unraveling before breaking loose to meet its fate.

In my case, before going inside to meet my fate, I park my car in the driveway and do something that I haven't done since before my dad was thrown in jail.

Sit. Breath. Put head on steering wheel. Suck back tears, no one can see the emotion. Breath. Pull myself together.

Someone has to be the strong one.

Counting to three in my head, I immediately stop throwing myself a pity party and jump out of the car. The keys jingle way too happily in my hand as I go inside and slip my shoes off.

Mom instantly comes around the corner of the kitchen, her hands on her hips. She still speaks Spanish as she asks, "Did you talk to Parker?"

"Yes. No." I throw the keys down on the countertop. The last bit of happiness is silenced. "Not about this."

Scoffing, mom flourishes her hand dramatically. "Miles. This will only become more difficult to discuss. It would be better to get it over with sooner than later."

I turn away from her sensibility and rest my palms down on the countertop, stretching my back out as I squeeze my eyes shut and let my head hang down. "I know."

"If you knew, then we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. That poor, sweet boy doesn't deserve to—"

My palms slap against the countertop as loud as a gunshot. So loud that the scar on my shoulder throbs. If it weren't for that fucking incident happening in the first place, we wouldn't need to have this conversation.

But I also wouldn't have met Parker.

Mom goes silent. There are enough trauma responses engraved in both of us to send a therapist into retirement.

Slowly, I straighten up and turn to face her. I have to keep one hand on the countertop to steady myself as I speak. "Mom. I know. Please let me do this on our own time. Please. This is easier said than done, and besides, the time isn't right. You don't know him like I do, and I don't want to scare him when we don't know the facts yet. Okay?"

We both search each other's eyes for a moment. She looks so distressed, so hurt on behalf of Parker that it makes me feel tears swell in my eyes.

If the mere idea of Parker's reaction hurts her, then he might die on the spot.

That thought in my head does not help my case. There's no holding back the sob that escapes my mouth as I stagger forward and collapse in my mom's arms.

He is going to die.