Chapter 11 #2
With a sigh, Erin pushed herself off the couch and shuffled to the door, hampered by the flashes of pain in the back of her thigh whenever she lifted her right leg. At least she didn’t need crutches—she hated how slow and cumbersome they made her. Erin yanked open the door. “Why are you sorry?”
“It was a bad pass.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was a good pass. I was slow, and I overstretched. It was my fault, not yours—now, please leave me alone.”
“You shouldn’t be alone when you feel like this.” Before Erin could reply, Lia slipped past her and flicked on the light.
Having grown used to the darkness, Erin winced as the brightness hit her eyes.
Lia’s lips pursed as she took in Erin’s face, and Erin could guess what she saw: bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes; pink cheeks; and tangled hair. Her eyes traced from Erin’s face to her toes, where Erin rested most of her weight on her left leg. She couldn’t believe that leg was now her good one.
“What’s the diagnosis?” Lia asked.
“Partial hamstring tear. At least three weeks of setback to my recovery.”
“Three weeks isn’t too bad.” Lia seemed to choose her words carefully. “Not compared to what you’ve already done.”
A bitter laugh left Erin’s lips. “A setback is a setback. My body’s failing me.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
Erin shook her head. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Explain it to me.” Without waiting for an invitation, Lia dropped onto the couch Erin had vacated and patted the spot next to her.
Reluctantly, Erin joined her. “You’re young.
You bounce back quickly. But this… I’m not back to full fitness, and I’ve already got another injury.
The risk of an ACL recurrence is twenty percent.
And now my hamstring is weakened because of the surgery to repair the tear.
What’s next? What if I never get back on the pitch?
It’s taken me months to get out there again, and on my third day of team training, I’m back in the treatment room? Is this my life now?”
Every single one of the worries that had plagued Erin’s mind all afternoon—and, if she was honest with herself, since being stretchered off at the FA Cup final—poured out of her.
“I’m terrified that I’ve played my last game.
I’d managed to choke down some of that fear, but today proved I am right to be afraid. ”
For a long moment, the only sound was Erin’s breaths, heaving out of her like she’d run a marathon. When she’d first opened her mouth, she’d expected her admission to feel like a moment of weakness, but saying the words aloud lifted a weight that had sat heavily on her shoulders.
Lia settled a hand on Erin’s leg and squeezed. Her fingers were warm through Erin’s worn sweatpants. “Look at me.”
Erin realised she’d been staring at the floor. She turned so she was looking into Lia’s eyes. Lia was close, leaning into Erin’s space, her gaze intense. Had her eyes always been such a deep blue?
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Lia’s words were soft. “I won’t pretend I do because you’re right—I am young, and I’ve been lucky enough not to suffer from anything like this before.”
“I hope you never do. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
“Good.” Pink lips curved into a smile. “Because I think at one point, that was me.”
Erin managed the ghost of a smile. “Not anymore.”
“No.” Lia squeezed her thigh once again.
“I could open my mouth and tell you a lot of things that you’ve heard before.
That you’ll bounce back, that this is just a bump in the road, that you’re too strong and too stubborn to let injuries curtail your career.
And for the record, I do believe all of those things—but I don’t think that’s what you need right now. ”
Erin shook her head.
“So tell me—what do you need?”
Lifting a hand to brush her hair away from her eyes, Erin shrugged. “I don’t know. To stop thinking. A distraction.” Anything to stop the destructive thoughts whirling through her mind.
“Okay.” Lia bit her plump bottom lip.
Were they as soft as they looked?
Woah—where did that come from? Erin should not be looking at Lia’s mouth—let alone entertaining thoughts about how soft her lips were.
“I don’t think there’s a rage room nearby, and I’m guessing you’re supposed to be resting your leg. I’m also guessing that you don’t want to run into any of our teammates, so that means we have to stay in here.”
Lia flexed her fingers once more on Erin’s thigh. Apparently, a thoughtless motion—Lia didn’t seem to notice she was doing it—but it sent a hot spike through Erin’s stomach. She found her breath catching in the back of her throat.
“We’re limited in here.” Craning backwards, Lia glanced around the room.
All it did was draw Erin’s attention to the long line of Lia’s neck. She swallowed. Why was she suddenly feeling so warm? A discarded ice pack, fresh from being held to her thigh, sat on the coffee table in front of her, and Erin debated placing it on her burning forehead.
Lia turned back to face her, lips quirked into a smile. “But I’m sure we can think of something.”
It was as their eyes met that Erin recognised the feeling throbbing through her. It wasn’t pain, or a fever—it was want. Desire. After laying dormant for months, the impulse reared its head, making her palms clammy and her heart race.
Erin had forgotten what it was like.
But, oh, now she remembered; she ached. Months—nearly two years-—had passed without feeling someone’s hands on her skin.
Had this attraction always simmered between them, beneath the surface? Was that why Lia so easily got under Erin’s skin? Had she been so blind for the past few months that she hadn’t noticed Lia awakening parts of her she tried so hard to keep buried?
“I’ve thought of something.” Erin barely recognised the timbre of her own voice. She should keep her mouth shut; she should stand; she should move away; she should not be thinking about—
“Oh yeah?” A cute crease of confusion appeared between Lia’s eyebrows.
“Yeah.” Before she let common sense take over, before she allowed herself to think it through, and before she could process what any of it meant, Erin leaned forward with the intention of crushing her lips against Lia’s.
A hand splayed against Erin’s sternum, stopping her dead.
“What are you doing?” Lia’s voice was a fractured whisper, her eyes wide.
Could she feel the frantic pounding of Erin’s heart?
See the embarrassment that flooded through her at the rejection?
It stung, but Erin refused to reveal how much.
“I don’t know.” That was reckless, idiotic.
What had she done? Erin leaned away from Lia, pressing her back against the couch’s armrest.
“I thought you didn’t go there with teammates.” Lia eyed her with a guarded expression, pulse thrumming visibly in her neck.
“I don’t.” Or, at least, she never had since Becca. For thirteen years, she’d never wavered in that conviction—until now. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take this up with Shanice. Or Ayla. File a complaint.”
Another frown crossed Lia’s face. “Why would I do that?”
“That’s generally what I’d encourage someone to do when they’ve been harassed in the workplace.”
“Okay, first of all—this isn’t the workplace. We’re off the clock. And second—and most importantly of all—you haven’t harassed me, Erin.”
“Oh really? What else would you call whining about my injury troubles and then trying to kiss you without your consent?” Erin dropped her head into her hands. “Well, at least I’m not thinking about my leg anymore.”
“Erin…”
“You should go, Lia. Before I make even more of a fool of myself.” Unable to look at Lia, Erin kept her head in her hands. She didn’t want to see the expression on her face—be it pity or horror or sympathy. No, she wanted to crawl out of her own skin, wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
What had she been thinking?
“You haven’t made a fool out of yourself.”
“Don’t try and spare my feelings. Can you please go? Let me pretend that this never happened?”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I need.”
With a sigh—and without another word—Lia stood and walked away. A few moments later, the door clicked shut behind her, and Erin let out a long, slow breath. The doctor had told her to get some rest, that sleep would aid her recovery, but there was little chance of that now.
She’d be too busy reliving the last ten minutes of her life, again and again, on an awful loop, and trying not to scream.