Monthly Bonus Content #2: 'A Lone(ly) Rival' (Reese Version)

[Alternate Text: An image of a black and white swing set that lacks anyone sitting on the swings, so it seems lonely. ‘A Lone(ly) Rival' acts as the title in black with a dull gray shadow.]

[Sidenote: This writing is intended to tug on the heartstrings given its subject. So, if you would like a happier ending, stop after you read this line: "R. Verner means every single word."]

_ _ _

"No," Reese grumbles out the single word with a venom most wouldn't expect from a child.

He's more than a little stressed…

An entire ream of printer paper stolen from his father's study has been reduced by at least a third. Colorful incriminating evidence litters the desk, wadded, balled, and sometimes even torn into tatters to create makeshift confetti. A single contender remains after he impulsively drew an angry red 'X' through his alternative because it's stupid to play on the seesaw after the swing set—the motions are way too similar.

You could get disoriented or, even worse, bored.

This iteration of the itinerary must be perfect.

Reese remains rigid in his chair with a posture that's more painful than it is elegant after catching himself nervously bouncing his knee. It's almost time to leave—to see you—but he's re-reading through a plan that should have been finalized days in advance. His parents always have things done on time, while he tried to, but got hung up on the fine details, even the colors now seem wrong. Did he use too much purple?

He needs a second opinion…

Reese leaves the desk in a hurry, navigating the palatial halls of the Verner mansion that would make most people feel lost in a labyrinth. His pace leaves much to be desired, tennis shoes audibly connecting with the marble floor until he arrives at a massive set of double doors and has the presence of mind to slow down. The golden filigree inlaid in the wood tempts him to find a pristine section of white to lightly knock his knuckles against.

"Dad?" he calls, waiting a second. "Daddy?"

Impatience motivates him to lean up against the door, pressing an ear to it in the hopes of discerning any noises. His father might be on the landline phone; there's a tense yet muffled conversation going on inside of the room. He's straining to listen until a click sounds after he puts more weight on the door, accidentally opening it up. Reese saves the paper rather than fully bracing himself during the stumble.

The cool marble isn't as unforgiving as his own cold anger would be at having ruined this day.

He lands with a muffled oomph, instantly righting himself to seek out his father who must be deeper inside, distracted by a call.

"…off-limits. We need to respect their way."

Now, Reese is just curious about what's wrong; it shouldn't be too hard to listen in on the talk.

"You dare make that move, and I will personally be dealing with you. There are loopholes that I could happily hang you on, if you challenge—"

He freezes when Mr. Verner's reflection in the large standing mirror turns to look at him; there are three duplicates of his father in the panels.

"My little sneak thief, you have been caught," he teases him, smiling before indicating a tie that's laid out on the bed. "One moment, star."

Reese follows the directive by collecting the tie to hand it over; it's a sleek silver with chevrons printed in the expensive silk. He watches his father expertly tie it while continuing to keep the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. The conversation might be boring him. All three of his reflections roll their eyes, earning a laugh from Reese before he remembers to stay quiet during business. He waits for his turn.

"…I will see you soon enough. Do remember the accord, although I shall remind you of it."

Mr. Verner hangs up the phone with a sharp exhale that leaves Reese feeling uncertain about what just happened. 'Soon'…? They need to leave soon. "Who was that?" he asks.

"No one nearly as important as you," he replies, equal parts diplomatic and genuine. "But your mother will need to take you this afternoon. I—"

Reese's attention falls to the painstakingly created itinerary in his hands while his father continues to offer a reasonable explanation about this 'sudden complication'. All he hears is the lonely sound of a single swing going back and forth. He even practiced! Getting a lay of the land before selecting which park had the best playground equipment was something he asked his father to help him with days ago.

This is his playdate for you, not yours or his.

The paper being gingerly pulled from his grasp forces his eyes up to meet a pair of steel gray ones that ironically hold a softness for him. He doesn't let go, preferring to crease it until his father gives up. Reese simply stares back, a bit too upset in a way that should earn a scolding.

It's just a little playdate…

A real playdate with you rather than one of the other heirs or an afterthought at a dumb party.

"I know this is important to you," Mr. Verner admits. "Making friends can be ha—"

"We are rivals," Reese petulantly interjects.

"Oh, I see…" The beat of silence contains a hint of good humor, but Mr. Verner remains largely empathetic. "Then that would be even harder. I do believe you have what it takes. [Name]'s mother is still one of my dearest friends; you would do well to have a [Surname] close by."

"They aren't even a bloodline?"

"There is more to life than blood."

Mr. Verner's advice is punctuated by heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. He rises from where he had kneeled down for Reese, greeting Ms. Verner with a fond smile, although she doesn't immediately return it in a way that makes Reese glance between them. It seems like his mother is as enthusiastic about this change in driving arrangements as he is. Unless the phone conversation has affected more than just his father's plans for today…?

"We need to get going," she says. "I have an important meeting."

"Try to have fun with your rival," Mr. Verner spiritedly encourages his son. "Be safe. No repeat of the obelisk. I will not be there to stop your ascension, star, so behave for [MC_Mom]."

"I promise," Reese vows, lingering a moment by the mirror until his father returns to getting ready for his own meeting. The departing clacks of his mother's heels serve as both a signal and an all-clear. He follows behind her after folding the itinerary into exacting sections, careful to follow the colored lines.

He's determined to make today perfect.

. . .

. .

.

That's definitely not your mom…

Reese peers out the car window at the old man seated on a park bench, while you are off to the side, possibly tracing the wooden slats with a stick since you aren't looking up. Are you okay? There's enough distance between you and your grandfather that another family could come sit on the bench too. His eyes narrow at the judgmental look your grandfather is giving—

"You are meant to actually play on a playdate."

His mother's faintly sarcastic comment spurs him to open the door in haste before she changes her mind about acting as a chauffeur, except he hesitates. Her hands have a too tight grip on the steering wheel, and she's yet to say a single word on the ride over until now. She almost seems taut with tension, potentially pained. A migraine? Reese's love grapples with the more recent distance that's left him feeling cold at times towards her. It's like she wants him to simply grow up, no further obligations.

"Mom?"

Ms. Verner looks at him using the rearview mirror rather than turning around to face him.

"Enjoy yourself while you can. I will pick you up later on, but do not leave this place to wander."

"I understand," Reese agrees, exiting the car quickly once he hears it shift out of park.

He doesn't bother watching her efficiently drive away; instead, he spares one look at your grandfather before striding past. Once was more than enough. The [Surname] patriarch didn't seem very receptive, eyeing Reese in a way that reminded him of his cotillion teacher.

It's like he was searching for a defect…

His fingers subconsciously smooth over the itinerary tucked away inside his pocket as if it's not already ingrained in his memory by now.

The swing set is the perfect starter, a classic.

"I can swing higher than anyone in this entire park," Reese boasts, issuing both a challenge and an invitation. Soft mulch must be to blame for his steps becoming slower, but he refuses to peek in your direction to force anything. It's your choice, even if he secretly hopes you will come to occupy the swing on his left. The seat is better, less wear and tear, with a good view of the lake once its swinger arcs high enough.

He has to lightly bite the inside of his cheek when he spots you tossing that stick before heading over.

Smiling isn't a proper response to a rival.

"So nice of you to join me, [Surname]."

Reese Verner means every single word.

. . .

. .

.

Every single thing went wrong…

The tips of his tennis shoes are now stained with ruddy dirt from the hole he's been continually digging as the swing weakly sways.

This became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Reese is all alone on the swing set, forcing it to make a pathetic squeak with each slow motion rather than the lively arcs it's designed for. He holds the itinerary in one hand, while the other is loosely wrapped around the support chain, numb to the faint pinching of the metal. You didn't seem like you wanted to leave, but now he's uncertain about whether this was just an obligation.

Did your mother make you come today?

Was it a staged playdate? A phony event?

Another slow pass of the swing presents him with the opportunity to fill the grave he dug for his plan. Reese stubbornly holds onto it, torn between flinging it inside or keeping it hidden away as a reminder of this failure. His failure. It would be easier to let it go; he can't. He cares too—

The rocking motion comes to an abrupt stop.

His head snaps up to see his mother grasping the chain firmly with a frigid expression that would be downright alarming, if not for the familiar hand on his shoulder. She hasn't done that in months. He is almost too startled to speak, but not in an entirely bad way. "Mom."

"Why are you without adult supervision?"

"You told me not to leave…?"

"Reese, did that"—Ms. Verner thins her lips, smiling falsely in reproach to curb her true reaction—"did Mr. [Surname] leave you all alone in this park?"

"No, well—they both did leave me, but he said I could ride with him. I didn't believe him, and he took a tone with [Surname], so why would I want to go in his truck? You said stay put. I did. I was listening, Mom. I—I didn't want to leave."

Reese is acutely aware of how he botched that answer from the way his mother glances at the surrounding trees rather than look at him. His throat feels tight, but he knows better than to react like that now. Instead, he proudly locks his jaw to resist any trembling from feelings he should be able to reign in. Disappointment is only possible because he had an expectation—a hope for you to enjoy spending time together.

"You are not at fault here… We should return home."

That isn't the lecture he was anticipating.

His mother's hand takes the shred of comfort he didn't realize he needed. Reese reaches for her without thinking, linking their hands and forcing her heels to sink further in the mulch when she guides him up from the swing. She doesn't shrug off his grip, allowing it, even if her eyes dart away to the slowly sinking sun.

The two of them say absolutely nothing, but they do walk hand in hand back to the car.

It's everything to Reese.