Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
BECKY
Becky stared out the window of the plane watching the clouds go by.
Her long legs were cramped in the tight space.
She could have sprung for better seats, but she refused to use her parents’ card.
They weren’t exactly pleased with her at the moment.
And honestly, though she’d never admit it, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with them, either.
She had gotten a biology degree, and her parents had really wanted her to go into medical school.
She had done the work, she had gotten the grades and had even been accepted into a prestigious PhD program; but when she’d been invited to the PWSL combine and the North Carolina Cougars had made her an offer, it had been the easiest decision of her life.
Soccer was her greatest passion, and she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.
If only she could get her parents to see it that way, too.
Instead, they were starting to find her dreams a little silly.
Of course they had been proud of her collegiate career at their alma mater, and they had been a little impressed when she had signed with her favorite team in the PWSL, but they both were from long lines of doctors and lawyers, and professional athletes were something they just didn’t equate to that.
Certainly, they would be proud of her making the Women’s National Team.
She just hadn’t told them yet. The truth was that she hadn’t even told them that she had spent the last three days in Los Angeles.
The USWNT’s program had given her a stipend for her travel, her food, and her hotel.
She could have gone a little crazy while she was there if she had wanted.
She could have extended her trip by a night or two and gone to see all the tourist attractions Los Angeles had to offer, but Becky had spent the entire trip with a weird sinking feeling that everyone was silently judging her for her rough, bitchy reputation.
It’s not that Becky was unlikeable. Her teammates at NCU had all loved her—they still did. The volume of text messages sitting unread in her messages app was a testament to that. Anyone who had played against Becky, however, tended to not be a fan.
She had three older brothers and, from an early age, had been instilled an “anything to win” mentality.
It’s not that Becky was proud of her sixteen yellow cards in eighteen games record season or that she went out onto the pitch hoping to draw blood—she just went out determined to win.
And if people got in her way, well, they should have moved.
She sighed against the window and adjusted the airplane’s recycled air above her head.
Of course Wren Eames had been at the camp and of course she had also made the team.
She closed her eyes and was immediately met with the memory of Wren trying to offer a bridge of peace after their second day.
Becky gripped her armrest in frustration as she thought of Wren’s emerald green eyes, her long hair sticking to her neck from sweat after their intense practice.
The way she smiled so damn easily at Becky, her stupid dimples cutting into her tan cheeks.
Did she really not remember? Or worse, did she just not care?
Becky really wished she was a forgive-and-forget type of person, but when you grow up with a dad whose prominent medical career had slowly turned him into something of a hometown celebrity, she had learned the hard way to trust no one and give no second chances.
People were always just looking for gossip and social clout.
Besides, there was too much bad blood between them.
She would just have to avoid her at all costs.
Becky forced her attention down to the contract sitting in her lap.
She didn’t have an agent, so she’d spent the whole first hour of the plane ride reading it over and over again.
The financials seemed simple enough: there was a signing bonus and a win bonus.
Just being on the team gave her a monthly salary that rivaled that of her club team.
The rest of it made sense, too. There were only a few rules that would result in immediate expulsion from the team: arriving to a practice or game under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol, with an amendment for drugs specifically meaning those that are not prescribed by a licensed medical professional.
An additional amendment had been added to clarify that performance enhancing drugs were not allowed under any circumstance, prescribed or otherwise.
There was a sports betting and match-rigging clause that made Becky genuinely wonder what had happened in the organization’s history that had produced the need for that, specifically, to be inked into their contract.
And finally, a fraternization clause that strictly prohibited the beginning of a relationship of any romantic or sexual nature between teammates, coaching staff, team administration, health care professionals, or anyone who works at any of their training facilities.
There had clearly been one women’s national sports scandal too many.
She knew at their first official team meeting, they’d be able to ask clarifying questions about their contracts, but her club team had an identically worded clause.
She’d already had it clarified. Any new relationship would result in the expulsion from the team.
Relationships that pre-dated the contract would be grandfathered in.
Thankfully for Becky, she didn’t think that would be any issue at a club level or a national one. She was there to play soccer.
Two weeks later, all the girls on the National Team roster were called into practice at the Arthur M.
Blank U.S. Soccer National Training Center in Fayetteville, Georgia—their state of the art National Team Headquarters.
They would do a two-week training camp and then would start a circuit of low stakes games.
There would be five “friendly” matches played to get them all gelled and cohesive before the World Cup.
All of their planes were to arrive before noon on Sunday, so they’d have time to catch team shuttles and head to the stadium to check in and receive further instructions.
She guessed they’d get their hotel/room information and get to leave all their soccer gear in the locker rooms so they weren’t carrying it back and forth every day.
They would also probably get practice kits and team gear.
Becky was genuinely thrilled about that part.
Her NCU team chat had been blowing up all day.
Her former teammates were desperate to see photos of all of the National Team swag.
A shuttle was waiting at the airport for her and a few more players set to arrive at similar times.
The driver was an incredibly nice elderly gentleman with a thick gray mustache and coke bottle glasses.
His name tag read “Albert,” and he looked like he made a wonderful grandpa.
Becky almost felt bad letting him load her checked bag into the underside of the shuttle.
She tried to tip him, but he wouldn’t let her.
So, she climbed onto the little bus and waited.
She sighed heavily when she spotted Wren Eames and Courtney Sinclair chatting happily as they rolled their luggage up to the bus.
Courtney handed over her bags, but Wren just followed the old man over to where the luggage was stored and slid her checked bag in for him.
Of course she would just naturally do something like that, Becky thought, rolling her eyes.
She hadn’t even known that was an option.
Her jaw clenched as she watched Wren through the side mirror of the bus.
Her long dark hair was down and unruly. She tossed her beat-up old duffel bag in after her checked bag, leaving her with just a faded Adidas backpack strapped to her back.
Becky wondered if Wren owned any clothes that weren’t strictly geared towards sports.
She looked down at her own outfit, jeans and a plain black V-neck.
Courtney was wearing something similar. But Wren was in her usual track pants and a T-shirt that looked at least a size too big for her.
It rubbed Becky the wrong way. They were going to a team meeting, not practice.
Courtney climbed up the bus steps and cheered loudly when she saw Becky.
“Ayyyy, Becky. Becksters. Beckita my buddy, what is up?” She high-fived Becky and sat down in the seat across from her.
It felt forced and Becky knew it. Sinclair was the obvious choice to be the team’s captain, but she was on Wren’s club team and had gone to LAU.
Wren shot Becky a nervous smile and once again offered her fist, the most basic form of acknowledgement.
Becky bumped her own fist against it. She knew their tension would be obvious to Sinclair.
Hell, Courtney was probably expecting it.
But Becky refused to let Wren Eames get the better of her in front of their other teammates.
If she wanted to pretend their past had never happened, well Becky could, at the very least, try.
They waited for fifteen minutes filled with clunky conversation entirely facilitated by Courtney until another rookie, Ali O’Connell, joined them.
She was short and stocky, with fire engine red hair and completely covered with freckles.
Ali said hello and high-fived everyone. She was going to be a defender with Becky, so Becky fully expected her to sit on her side of the bus, but she didn’t.
She slid into the seat next to Wren and struck up a conversation with her like they were old friends.
Becky’s mind drifted back to Wren’s cocky response after she had told her to go fuck herself.
She swallowed in frustration as Ali started blasting music from her phone.