Chapter 14 #3
As the trainers jogged back off the pitch, thankfully clearing Wren to resume play, all the players jogged back to their places.
Her team lined up for defense while Wren’s team got in position for Wren’s kick.
Becky couldn’t focus. She stood numbly in the wall of defenders, ten yards in front of Wren.
She didn’t even turn to see where Wren’s kick had gone.
She already knew. From the second the ball left Wren’s foot and the whole line of defenders did their best to jump in unison, Becky already knew Riptide was going to score.
Her foul had been in vain. She’d ruined everything for no reason.
As soon as they made it back into their locker room, Becky sent Wren a text.
Becky Rothschild (9:47 PM): Wren, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for that slide-tackle to be so rough. You got the jump on me. I was just trying to keep you from scoring.
Riptide had won, 1-0. Becky didn’t even care.
Hell, she didn’t even care that her family had seen her lose.
Her coach had told her good job, that she had made the smart call.
It hadn’t worked, but it had been their best bet to stop them from scoring.
He was pleased. She knew he had seen the articles.
Everyone had. The whole world had. The rumors and speculation.
The very real chemistry that was building between them.
She knew that he was trying to reassure her that she had made the right decision, but that didn’t make this feeling sinking into her ribs go away.
In fact, it might have made it burn even worse.
Becky wasn’t going to cry in the locker room; she wasn’t. She grabbed her stuff and hustled to the ice baths. The water was freezing as expected, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, but it didn’t keep her distracted well enough. Wren’s face, that look of nothing, was seared in her brain.
As soon as her trainer gave her the thumbs up, she climbed out of the ice bath and ripped through her stuff, looking for her phone. Still no word from Wren. She did have a text from Katie though.
Katie Royce (9:59 PM): Yikes. You okay?
Becky Rothschild (10:03 PM): Nope.
Katie Royce (10:04 PM): Danny and I stopped for dinner, but I’m gonna pick up some ice cream for you on my way home.
Becky Rothschild (10:05 PM): I don’t deserve ice cream.
Katie Royce (10:05 PM): Well, I’m still going to get you some. See you at home later tonight. <3
Becky didn’t care if it seemed desperate. She opened her text messages with Wren back up.
Becky Rothschild (10:06 PM): Wren, seriously. You have to know I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Wren Eames (10:07 PM): What’s your address?
Why in the hell did Wren want her address? Right now of all times. Becky didn’t question it. Wren was responding. She gave Wren her address.
Beck Rothschild (10:09 PM): Are you going to come egg my apartment?
Wren Eames (10:10 PM): No.
Well. That was ominous. Becky sighed. The NC Cougars would have a cooldown and regroup practice tomorrow afternoon, so she was free to go until then.
When she got home, she showered again, standing under scalding water for just a little too long.
When the water started to run a little colder, she got out and pulled on a sports bra, a Cougars sweater, and a pair of grey sweatpants.
She had checked her phone obsessively for the last twenty minutes and still no word from Wren or Katie.
She had just gotten settled in bed with The Great British Bake Off queued up when she heard a rather loud knock on the door. She checked her phone again, even though she had been doomscrolling just seconds before. Maybe Katie’s hands were full? Becky got to her feet and looked through the peephole.
“Shit,” she whispered. Wren was standing on her doorstep. “Shit,” she whispered again. As Wren wound up to knock for a second time, Becky tugged open the door.
Wren’s jaw clenched. “Rebecca,” Wren said, her voice flat, giving nothing away.
“Hey,” she said, nervous as hell. She backed up. “Do, uh—do you want to come in?”
Wren stepped past her, hovering awkwardly in Becky’s entryway. “What the fuck is your problem?” Wren asked, her tone harsh and barbed.
Becky flinched. “I told you in my texts. Wren, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to make a strategically sound play.”
“Funny, I’ve played against other defenders hundreds of times in my life now, and none of them have ever been half as dirty as you.
” Wren got into Becky’s bubble, all but yelling upwards into Becky’s face.
“Why? And don’t give me some horseshit about you play this way against everyone because you don’t.
I’ve watched enough of you on tape to know that this is a Wren Eames special, and I want to know why. ”
Becky’s eyes watered. “I don’t know. It’s like,”—she sighed.
“It’s like there’s something in me that just hates losing to you.
And I just—My family was there tonight,” she said, softer than she had intended.
But that wasn’t what had caused her to play that way, not really.
Becky let out an exasperated growl. “You’re faster than me, okay?
You're the best. Is that what you want to hear?”
Wren’s eyes widened, stunned into silence.
Becky took her silence as reason enough to keep going, “I really, really hate losing to you. It used to be about camp, but now”—
“Now what?" Wren asked, her tone still rough and frustrated, but curiosity cut through, too.
“I wanted to go pro, even when my whole family thought that was ridiculous. I wanted to be the best. I wanted to impress coaches and my parents and their stupid small town newspaper and now,” she paused, throwing her arms up into the air. “Now I think I'm just trying to impress you.”
“Hell of a way to show it,” Wren said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Shit. I know. I'm so so sorry. I wasn’t—I just,”— Becky didn’t even know what. If she said anymore it would be too much. It would put her heart back on the line.
Wren didn’t wait for Becky to find the end of her sentence. “I thought we'd moved past this. I thought we were friends. I thought”—
“Thought what?”
Wren ran her hands over her face and shook her head. “I don’t know, Rebecca. There have been vibes.”
“Vibes?” Becky’s heart skipped a beat. Did Wren feel something between them again, too?
“Yes, vibes. Like looks and flirty text messages,” Wren said, her jaw flexing again.
“There have been,” Becky confirmed. She was doing everything in her power to not get ahead of herself. Flirting and feelings were not the same thing, but maybe, just maybe, Becky’s little crush wasn’t unrequited after all.
“So why the hell did you pull my jersey?” Wren was back to livid, and Becky’s heart plummeted to her toes.
“Because it was the smart play, Wren.” Becky’s voice had almost shifted to pleading. “You have to know that. It was my actual job to keep you from scoring tonight.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Your job? You slid from behind,” Wren’s voice lifted several decibels. She even poked the tip of her pointer finger into Becky’s sternum for emphasis.
Becky really wished she’d go back to talking about the vibes. “And I’m sorry.”
They stood there, way too close for comfort, staring at each other.
The tension of Wren’s rage and Becky’s remorse filled the narrow gap between them in the entryway.
Becky didn’t know how to navigate them from here, how to move them past her behavior tonight and back into those uncertain vibes.
Her eyes flashed to Wren’s jaw, watching as the shorter woman finally unclenched it.
Her gaze caught on Wren’s lips, on the way they were slightly parted, her breathing slightly elevated from all her near yelling.
When Becky’s eyes finally made it back to Wren’s, her heart leapt. All of Wren’s attention was focused rather intently on Becky’s mouth.