18. Eden
EDEN
Over the next ten days, the confusing-as-heck behavior by Connor during the meeting with his sister turns into equally perplexing email exchanges.
When I was at the office, Connor’s quiet intensity was back: the staring, the small touches. As stoic as he is, there are tells that he cares about me, even if our relationship has to stay platonic.
Now that we’re not physically in the same place, he’s returned to a cold formality in his unemotional emails that could be from any business contact.
Four days ago, it had been:
Dear Eden,
Feetlix has come to us with more particulars of their proposal. Please see the attached and feel free to reach out to any of us to discuss further.
Best,
Connor
Or the one that landed in my inbox today:
Dear Eden,
I confirmed with the Soccer City magazine that next Tuesday at four would be a good time for your interview. I will forward an appointment with the Zoom ID by separate email.
Please do not hesitate to reach out with any questions.
Regards,
Connor
Sheesh. Clinical and robotic—thanks, Connor.
Four emails arrive like that in total. I’m not sure what to think. Is this because Milo and Grace are cc’d on these emails? I would not expect anything like our DMs over the summer, but a little human touch in the tone would be nice.
One person who does bring that energy? Grace, when she emails me the details about their suite for the game.
Hi Eden!
We’re so excited to host you and your family in the suite on Sunday! I’m giving the gate attendants and VIP team all your details—of course, they know you guys anyway :) We’re usually there about thirty minutes early.
See you then!
Grace
That’s more like it. At least one Battle knows how to communicate like a friend.
I had dinner at Dad’s house a few days ago, and not surprisingly, Tina’s excited to be included in the Samuels group for the game. Nat is looking forward to seeing Emma again, too.
Did Dad give me a look when I mentioned Grace and Connor had invited us? Yes. But he didn’t push the topic of the youngest Battle.
I read the Soccer City email again, and my brain swims with thoughts of a certain tall blond man, even though I need to finish my Art History reading.
Cold as ice in his dang emails, a slow-burn fire in his eyes when we’re together. Put them together, and it’s cause for mass confusion.
Confusion that’s making my already-cramped room feel extra claustrophobic. I’m going to keep being distracted by thoughts of Connor here.
I should go to the library instead. Change of scenery and all that…
Without dwelling on the decision further, I organize my book bag and head out. It’s about a seven-minute walk from the dorms, but I do it in five with all the nervous energy that’s built up.
“Hey there,” I hear as I reach the door of the library.
Twisting in the direction of the voice, I see Jake with his backpack thrown over his right shoulder.
“Funny seeing you here,” I tease lightly. “I’m about to knock out the rest of Art History.”
“Funny that—same.” He winks as I hold the door for him. “Come join me.”
I nod, and he leads me to an empty study room in the back of the first floor.
“This is the second time you’ve been library-bound when we’ve talked. Is it your go-to for doing homework?” I ask as we unpack our bags on the table.
“I’m definitely a library man,” he says in amused tone. “It’s a shit show at the Hockey House, as you know.”
The so-called “Hockey House” is an off-campus four-bedroom home down the street from the main campus. Some alumni have rented to Tolliver hockey players for years. The exact guys change, but it’s always four juniors or seniors who are starters.
This year, Jake must be living there with Greg, who has been one of the four since last year.
“I don’t know anymore, since Greg and I broke up ages ago. But I believe you.”
He nods, then his brow wrinkles. “That was…okay when it ended?”
“Oh yeah, it was well over a year ago, and of course he’s dating Lucy now.” Greg and I have had no issues keeping things amicable, as he’s spent the last ten months with a really cool player on the volleyball team. “It wasn’t meant to be. Nothing bad happened.”
“Good. Nice.” His face smooths out with that answer.
“So where are you in the reading? You must be further than me.”
“I’m on page 278.” We’re studying the Renaissance this week, and yep, he’s like thirty pages ahead.
“Alright, do your thing, I need to catch up.”
We go quiet, as our textbooks hold our attention. About forty minutes later, he sighs. “Okay, I’m done.”
“Awesome.”
“I’ll stay here though, and go back through to take notes for both of us to use?”
He really is being so generous on that front. “If you don’t mind? They’re so helpful.”
“Absolutely. I need them too.”
Another thirty-five minutes later, I’m finally finished. I let out a yawn, stretching my arms.
“Welp, mission accomplished.”
He gives a little chuckle. “You should be very proud.”
“Proud maybe, relieved definitely.” I check my watch. “I need to get home to change for practice. Do you have yours soon?”
“Yeah, I have to get ready shortly. I’ll walk you out.”
A little déjà vu hits with that phrase. Just like Connor said when he escorted me from the office.
Only my reaction to Jake is nothing like with Connor.
No spark.
No energy.
No tingles.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say, hustling away as soon as I feel the fresh air hit my face through the entryway.
“Bye, Eden,” he calls behind me.
And once again, Jake slips through my mind as soon as he’s out of sight.
My weekly ritual for our Thursday games continues—on Wednesday night, I lock down my mind to focus solely on soccer. The next eighteen hours, nothing else matters.
Happily, the result proves no different when we win our game on Thursday afternoon handily, still undefeated for the season.
When we’re celebrating in a big group hug, I see a familiar face there, in the stands. Megan Garcia, who’s been part of so many of the national training camps with me, since we’re the same age. Unlike me, she opted out of college, going straight to the pros.
“Meg! What are you doing here?” I say as I walk over.
She comes to the bottom of the stands. “Hey, looking good out there. Same old Larsson.”
“Ha. If you’d been in the game, it would’ve been tighter.” An elite defender, she’s stopped me several times in the camps.
“Can’t wait to have you in the pros, and we’ll test that out.” She winks. “You’re still coming to the NWSL next season, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
I’ve been careful about letting anyone outside of my close circle know about the dynamics with medical school versus soccer.
Soccer insiders already think it’s weird I’m completing all four years of college when I could go pro.
I’ve let the general assumption that my parents are making me stay in school linger without correction.
Because if the larger soccer world knew I’d thought about going to medical school instead of continuing to play, it could be a problem. Even be used against me to advance a different striker to the national squad, one “more committed” to the sport.
My secret has stayed contained. Still, Megan’s words are a reminder—I need to decide my actual plan soon. There’s only twelve weeks left before NWSL teams will be allowed to talk to me.
“Awesome. We’re here for a matinee game against Orlando tomorrow.” She gestures to three other women in the stands, who I now recognize—more of her pro teammates. “I said we needed to see you play.”
I wave to her crew. “Oh cool, thank you.”
“We’ll all be waiting for you to join the fun next year.”
“Absolutely.”
Except, there is nothing absolute on this front, yet.