Lola POV (20 years later)
I started the car and tapped the steering wheel with my fingers as I waited for the AC to kick in. It was just after 3PM, the sun was still too hot for this time of year, and the school parking lot was packed with honking parents and impatient teens who thought walking like turtles was cute.
Twenty years.
Twenty years since I graduated high school, and here I was—picking up my daughter from it.
Twenty years, two kids, one marriage, and one absolutely wild love story later… life looked completely different. And still, in a weird way, it felt the same.
I had retired from volleyball eight years ago.
Before that, I’d lived the dream. I played for the national team for six years, made it to the Olympics—twice. Gold once, silver the other. People used to call me the “Queen of the Court.” My face was on cereal boxes. There were days I couldn’t go out without being asked for pictures. It was wild.
And Jace?
God. Jace became everything he ever wanted to be and more.
After going pro in motocross, he started racing internationally. Championships in Brazil, Italy, even Japan. The man collected medals like candy. People loved him—Reyes, the Rebel Racer. It had a nice ring to it.
But even with all the fame and all the money, he never changed. He still looked at me like I was the most impressive person in the room. Even when I had spit-up on my shirt and hadn’t slept in two days.
Now, we were both done with the spotlight. Jace coached full-time at the local track, mentoring kids, fixing bikes, yelling at teenagers for not wearing helmets. And I… I taught volleyball in the evenings and made pancakes in the morning.
And our kids?
Viola was seventeen now. Top scorer on her soccer team. Plays midfield like she was born on the field. Ambitious, loud, way too clever for her age.
Thomas was fifteen. He played lacrosse, but his real passion was drawing. I once found a sketchbook with a full-blown anime battle between volleyball titans and motocross riders. I never cried so hard in my life.
Jace and I never pushed them. No pressure. No expectations. We told them to do what made them happy.
They never disappointed us.
My phone buzzed beside me. I reached over and saw a message from Jace:
“Sinclair, bring back some donuts after you pick up V. Chocolate. No compromise.”
I rolled my eyes and replied:
“Are you giving orders now?”
His answer came in seconds:
“I’m the man of the house. I demand donuts.”
“You’re the man who forgot the laundry again.”
“Domestic threats? Hot.”
I laughed, shaking my head. We still bantered like we were sixteen.
Just as I was typing back, the passenger door suddenly opened.
Viola slid in and threw her backpack to the backseat like it had personally offended her. I glanced at her. “What’s up, sweetheart?”
She let out a dramatic sigh and crossed her arms. “Ugh. He’s so annoying.”
“Who’s annoying?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
She jabbed a thumb toward the sidewalk where a boy in a white and red soccer uniform was walking our way.
“Him. Xavier Gonzales.”
Right on cue, the boy passed our car, glanced in with a smirk, and called out through the open window, “See you later, Reyes.”
Viola groaned and slapped her forehead.
“See?” she said, exasperated. “He’s always like that. He plays on the boys’ team, and he always tries to one-up me. Like, always. He’ll literally sprint across the field just to intercept my assist. He’s impossible. And in class—ugh, don’t get me started. We’re like… always head-to-head for top scores.”
I kept my eyes on the road but a sly smile crept onto my face. “So you’re telling me he’s your rival on the field and in class?”
Viola narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. He’s annoying. What’s your point?”
I hummed, still smiling. “Hmm. Enemies-To-Lovers.”
Viola gagged. “Mom. Please. No. Ew. Stop. Gross.”
I laughed as I pulled away from the school parking lot. “I’m just saying, sweetie… rivals make the best stories.”
She crossed her arms and stared out the window, muttering, “We’re not a story. We’re a horror movie.”
I smirked. “Oh, honey. That’s exactly what I said once.”
She glared at me, and we both burst out laughing.
I checked the rearview mirror one last time, and in the distance, I saw Xavier walking away, ball tucked under his arm, humming something smug. And for a second, it was like I was watching teenage Jace all over again.
The only difference now?
I was the woman who married her rival.
And maybe—just maybe—history had a funny way of repeating itself.