Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
WREN
Wren breathed a sigh of relief as she slid into her seat on the team bus with three minutes to spare.
Courtney Sinclair nodded to her from across the aisle. “How’s your leg?” She asked, the concern sincere in her voice.
Honestly, it stung like a bitch, especially in the pants Wren had brought to travel home in, but she wasn’t about to say that to her team captain.
Call her stupid, but she wasn’t going to let a little field burn pain get back to her coach—for either of her teams—and be the reason she couldn’t practice or play.
She shrugged. “It itches,” she said, which was true.
And if she wasn’t wearing such thick joggers, she’d probably be able to subtly scratch it right now.
Courtney let out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” She looked around the bus, clearly trying to see who was listening, before she slid into the seat next to Wren.
Wren was more than a little aware that Courtney was also the National Team Captain, and while Wren had truly come to consider her a friend over the past month, she absolutely did not want to share a row with her on their trip to the airport—no matter how brief that trip might be.
It was all Wren could do to not tug on the neck of her hoodie.
No amount of concealer had been able to hide a deep bruise that Rebecca had sucked onto her throat.
“Do I need to talk to Coach Jameson and Coach T about your rooming situation for the National Team?” Courtney asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Holy shit. Did she know somehow? The words contract violation scrolled through her mind like a news ticker. “No?” She said, though it was clearly a question. Wren felt like she was walking through a minefield. Give nothing away, she reminded herself.
“Wren, Becky got another yellow card against you,” Courtney shook her head. “I don’t really have any issues with her as a person, but come on, you shouldn’t have to room with her if she’s going to keep playing like that against you, specifically.”
Wren shrugged, trying her best to seem nonchalant about it.
She needed a nap, food, and time to process everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
And most importantly, she desperately needed to keep Courtney focused on Rebecca’s rough play and not on anything else.
“I mean, yeah, she plays too dirty against me. I would agree, but”—Wren didn’t know how to finish her sentence.
Did she wish that Rebecca wouldn’t pull her jersey?
Yeah, obviously. Was that slide-tackle completely out of line?
Without a doubt. But there was also something kind of—hot— about the fact that Rebecca refused to let Wren win—at anything, really.
Oh, Wren was so screwed and so conflicted.
She should let Courtney try to get her reassigned.
She should stay as far away from Rebecca Rothschild as she possibly could.
But she also just kind of wanted to call Rebecca and apologize for this morning and ask if they could just go back to how things were before.
Before the match, when they were texting all the time and flirting.
Before they had rediscovered just how perfect everything could be when they were together.
“I don’t know,” Wren said, thinking about how shocked Rebecca looked to see her pounding on her front door.
To how sorry she had truly been, the way she had looked so guilty in her entryway.
To how incredible it felt to have her pulling Wren’s shirt in a different context.
Wren shook the thoughts from her mind, hoping that her head shaking could be taken by Courtney in a way that meant, no, I don’t need a new roommate.
But did she? Would Wren really be able to not reach for Rebecca again?
She cleared her throat. “It’s just—Part of me gets her.” God that was a lame answer.
“Are you two actually a thing?” Courtney asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I know she was wearing a LAU sweater last week and there was that fan with the Wrecky posters. Please tell me you’re not a thing?”
Contract violation scrolled through Wren’s mind again.
There had been no judgement in Courtney’s voice, but Wren could absolutely not let the captain of the National Team leave this seat thinking anything was going on between her and Rebecca.
“Nah, we’re not a thing.” It was true. They weren’t.
They were a complicated ball of mess, but they weren’t a thing. They couldn’t be.
Courtney nodded, looking visibly relieved. “Okay. So I don’t have to worry about you having some sort of weird rough soccer kink/fetish thing that’s going to get you sidelined with an injury for the rest of the season?”
Wren snorted out a surprised laugh. “A what?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one defending the chick who straight up shredded your leg last night. I’m just trying to make sure that’s not secretly what you’re into,” Courtney held up her hands in surrender, like her suggestion made total sense.
“No, I’m not into that.” Wren let out another breath of a laugh. “I just don’t think Becky’s a shitty person for trying to win.”
Courtney nodded at that, seemingly pleased with Wren’s answer. “Cool, okay.” She held her fist out for Wren to bump with her own knuckles. “Good chat, Eames.”
“Are you okay?” Molly asked in lieu of a greeting.
Wren sighed. No, she wasn’t okay. She was spiraling. Hard. But Molly didn’t even know about what had happened after the game. “I’m fine. My leg will heal. Probably have a pretty gnarly scar, but I think chicks dig those.”
“You’re so dumb,” Molly said with a laugh. She paused for a second before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was heavier, more careful. “I didn’t really mean your leg though, Wren. I meant your heart.”
“You’re such a mom,” Wren groaned. Her heart ached, though.
It was moments like this that she wished she could call her mother, that she wished they had a relationship.
Hell, she’d even considered calling Linda and trauma dumping on her.
Time to rip off the metaphorical bandaid—and maybe her real one.
She needed to wash her leg and put something on it or it would scar for real.
Wren cleared her throat. “So, after the game. I might have gone over to Rebecca’s to yell for a bit.”
“Did it help?” Molly asked, her voice not judgmental, but genuinely curious.
“Well, it might have.” How in the hell was she supposed to say this? As fast as possible was her solution. “I said my piece. And then I might have kissed her. And that might have, kind of, turned into me”—Wren paused, suddenly,—“wait the twins can’t hear me, right?”
“There are no kids present. What happened?” Molly all but yelled into the phone.
“Yikes, right. So, I might have fucked her in her entryway and then, well, you know, continued that in her room for like, most of the night.” Wren winced.
“Wren! What?” That was a full-blown yell.
“I didn’t mean to!” Wren yelled back. “She’s just really hot and annoying. And I messed up so hard.”
“Well, wait. Why, though? Shouldn’t this fix everything?
Maybe if you two are dating, she'll calm the hell down when you play against her. I mean, come on, this has been building since you were sixteen.” Molly waited.
“I mean, unless you don’t like her? Is this like an unhealthy thing? Do I need to stage an intervention?”
That pulled a rough chuckle out of Wren.
“No, I don’t think I need an intervention.
I think we all know I would be lying if I tried to say that I didn’t like her.
But I can’t do this, Molly. I mean, for one there’s the contracts we signed.
” Wren gestured around her empty apartment.
She realized that Molly couldn’t actually see her.
“Shit, I mean, I can’t afford my place without my National Team salary.
And I would lose some sponsorships without that contract anyway. I have to pick my career.”
Wren sank down onto her couch and continued, “I mean, she’s so, just like, insanely pretty.
And we have everything in common, but I can’t get kicked off the National Team.
” She sighed. “If this was a two bedroom and I could just get a roommate, maybe I could risk it, but I’ve got nine months to go on this lease. ”
“Do you think she’d wait?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know. I was such a dick this morning. I didn’t even mean to be. I didn’t want to be. I just woke up and realized what had happened.” Wren sucked in a sharp breath. “She probably hates me right now.”
“Oh, Wren. Even when she’s trying to kill you on a soccer field, I don’t think she’s ever hated you. I think that’s been her problem the whole time. It would be a hell of a lot easier on both of you if she did.”
Wren stared at her phone screen. She and Rebecca hadn’t texted since before she had gone over there.
Her heart burned at the fact that Rebecca hadn’t asked if she’d died in a fiery plane crash.
God, she was so embarrassing. She told Rebecca nothing could happen between them—again.
And she meant it. But she hadn’t wanted to lose her friend in the process.
Other than Molly, Wren didn’t have many real friends.
She was friendly with everyone. All of her teammates from college still checked in or congratulated her after she had done something epic at a National level, but she didn’t have many people that she truly talked to.
Really she just had Molly and Barbara, but her relationship with Barbara was limited.
She was trying to see Barbara as a young adult, but she would never tell her anything about last night.
Part of Barbara would always be that goofy twelve-year-old from five years ago who so clearly just wanted Wren to like her.
The fact was, Wren had grown to appreciate and depend on her budding friendship with Rebecca more than she wanted to admit. And that was painfully apparent now that she felt like she couldn’t text her.
She could. They could be adults. They had to be.
They were travel buddies. In four days, the entire National Team was flying to Atlanta for two days of practices, and then they were flying to Sweden for this year’s first overseas game.
She was about to be with Rebecca seven nights straight. They had to be able to communicate.
“Fuck it,” Wren said to the silence of her apartment.
Wren Eames (7:53 PM): I didn’t die, by the way.
Rebecca liked the message, but she didn’t respond.
Wren sighed. Of course Becky was going to make this difficult.
Wren didn’t let herself get annoyed. This morning was weighing on her.
The way she left wasn’t right. Not after Wren had kissed Rebecca first. That bit was eating at her.
Wren kissed Rebecca first. Hell, Wren fucked her in her entryway.
And then the next morning was just like, whoops. Bad idea.
If she was in Rebecca’s shoes, she’d be livid, or worse.
This was the second time that Wren had caused Rebecca emotional pain—well, the first time had really been her own doing, but still.
This time was absolutely Wren’s fault, but she was determined to not let Rebecca ghost her after it. Not again.
Wren Eames (7:59 PM): I’m sorry about this morning.
She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t regret last night.
She didn’t regret anything that had happened between them for the past six years.
But that didn’t change her current situation, and it didn’t change the outcome.
Rebecca seemed to be having similar struggles because Wren watched those little blue typing dots appear and disappear for five minutes.
Rebecca Rothschild (8:04 PM): I know, Wren. I get it. I’m glad you made it home.
“Fuck,” Wren whispered again. She didn’t know what she had hoped for.
Rebecca was respecting her wishes. Wren should be thankful.
But instead it all just hurt. She hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt to have Rebecca go cold on her again.
Even when Wren was the one who had said in no uncertain terms that this could absolutely not happen again.
But holy shit, she suddenly felt like she was sixteen all over again.
Confused and alone and unable to talk to the one person she wanted to the most.