Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
BECKY
One week. She would be rooming with Wren for a whole week.
Becky could do this. She could try to get them back to their tentative friendship.
It would be so much harder to do now that they had spent a night together…
And then spent the following week almost entirely radio silent.
Maybe it would be easier now that all of the marks Wren had left on Becky’s neck and chest had faded, leaving her with no proof of their night together other than a few broken picture frames hanging in her hallway.
She couldn’t think about that now. They had a game to win. She pushed open the locker room door and the National Team immediately broke into a chorus of “ooooh’s.” A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Becky’s stomach.
“Coaches want you in their office,” Courtney said, without so much as a hello or a smile.
That made sense. Courtney was the captain for Riptide.
She was probably not Becky’s biggest fan right now, given their last matchup against each other.
Becky’s eyes did a quick pass over the locker room, but Wren wasn’t there.
All of her worst fears barreled into her heart and mind at the same time.
Did the coaches somehow know about their night together?
How would they have found out? Had Courtney caught Wren sneaking back into her hotel room?
Were they about to get kicked off the team?
Becky didn’t even bother setting her bags down.
She pushed into the coaches office overloaded with her shit and was greeted by a very pissed off looking Coach Jameson, an annoyed looking Coach T, and Wren’s back.
A TV monitor was turned on with their last game pulled up.
Becky relaxed by a fraction of an inch. Being in trouble for playing too rough was by far a better outcome than being in trouble for sleeping with her teammate.
Sure, it might result in Becky being dismissed, but hopefully not Wren.
“Rothschild, thanks for joining us,” Coach Jameson said, though he did not sound happy in the slightest. “Take a seat.” He gestured to the open chair next to Wren.
Becky’s heart stopped when she saw yet another magazine cover with her face on it. The headline read, “Trouble in Paradise?” She thought the highlight reel their coach had all queued up was scary. That magazine had Becky actually nauseous.
Wren looked terrified. That was the only way to put it. Becky wanted to pull her into a hug, but that didn’t seem entirely appropriate. So, she dropped her duffle bag next to her rolling suitcase, shrugged out of her backpack, and did as her Coach had instructed.
Without saying anything else, he pressed play on the video.
The next seven minutes felt like Becky was forced to watch her own worst nightmare play out over and over again.
She flinched every time she and Wren clashed together on the screen.
Especially the slide-tackle at the end. Becky couldn’t even watch it.
She kept her face pointed at the screen, but she let her eyes look to the left, not wanting to see Wren go down.
Not wanting to see the look of horror on her own face.
When the video finally, mercifully, came to an end, she turned her attention to Coach Jameson. Coach T was sitting in a chair behind them, so Becky couldn’t even gauge her defensive coach’s reaction to the clips they all just had the displeasure of watching.
“I really thought you two had gotten to the point where you could behave better on a field together,” Coach Jameson said. His voice was eerily calm. Becky would have preferred it if he was yelling. He shook his head. “I thought you two had become genuine friends.”
Wren shrank in her seat. She hadn’t even started it. This was all Becky’s fault. Again. There was only so many times Becky could stomach saying that to the coaches.
“We are friends,” Becky said, softly. Though they hadn’t acted like it this week, she still wanted them to be friends. If they couldn’t be anything else, at least they could have that. “You won’t see it on this field, Coach. Never when we’re on the same team.”
Coach Jameson sat silently for a moment, marinating on Becky’s response. “Was there any permanent damage we need to know about? I’ve asked your club team trainers for injury reports, and they’ve not sent over anything other than a pretty severe turf rash.”
Wren flinched at that. “That’s all it was, sir.”
Becky shook her head. “No injuries from me, sir.”
“Well, that’s good. Coach T and I have talked it over. This trip to Sweden is too important. Do you need to be reassigned roommates?”
“No, sir. We’re fine. I apologized,” Becky said, truthfully.
Wren nodded. “She did. I apologized, too.”
They probably had more to apologize for after everything else that had happened, but as far as the coaches were concerned, everything soccer related had been squared away.
In fairly unconventional methods, but they had both, hopefully, put everything that had happened in their club match behind them.
Coach Jameson took a deep breath before he jabbed at the magazine with a meaty finger. “Any comments on this?”
“We’re just teammates,” Wren said, her voice steady and unquestionable. “We can’t control the media.”
Becky felt like she was having an out of body experience, like she was watching an episode of her least favorite show.
Just teammates should not have felt like a sucker punch, but it had.
She knew that Wren was desperately trying to keep her spot on the team, but hearing herself reduced to just a teammate burned.
“No, you can’t control the media, but you can stop trying to kill each other on the pitch,” his voice was louder that time, not quite yelling, but like he was seriously considering it.
“I didn’t even do anything,” Wren was close to yelling herself.
“Do I need to rewind it so you can see where you pulled her hair?” Coach Jameson’s volume had at least leveled off.
Wren looked livid, and Becky couldn’t do anything but watch.
Coach T finally stepped in. “We’ve decided your punishment.”
The room was filled with an unnaturally heavy silence.
“You won’t be part of the team’s practice today. Four hours of conditioning for the both of you. Maybe puking together will help get that camaraderie back.”
To their credit, neither of them actually puked.
Becky seriously considered it there for a second.
One of their trainers, Craig, was a sadistic asshole who had them run the bleachers in the entire stadium—up one row and down another—for an hour straight.
The craziest amendment to that task was that, at any point in time, he could yell “touch,” and if they were too far away from each other to be able to reach out and at least high-five, they both had to stop and give him ten burpees.
When it was finally over, Becky couldn’t feel her legs.
She and Wren were the last two players on the field.
So, Becky silently followed her into the locker room drenched in sweat and already in pain.
When the locker room door shut, Wren limped to her locker and ripped the door open, the loud clang echoed in the empty room.
“I’m so sick of this,” Wren said, her voice low and cutting. Her back was still to Becky, but Becky could feel her frustration coming off her in waves. She could see it in the tension in her back, in the way her knuckles had gone pale around the edges of her locker’s door.
“Wren,” Becky whispered, nervously checking that the door from the locker room into the coaches’ office was fully closed.
When she looked back at Wren, she saw the other woman’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy, mildly concerning breaths. “My leg really, really burns,” Wren bit out. “Turns out sweat in an abrasion is fucking horrific.” Wren’s volume ticked up a notch.
Panic cut through Becky. They couldn’t do this here.
Not when the coaches could hear them and determine their punishment hadn’t worked.
Becky wasn’t entirely sure what Wren was ‘sick of,’ but she certainly did not want to find out where the coaches could potentially hear.
She grabbed Wren’s wrist and started tugging her towards the showers.
“Let go of me,” Wren said, snatching her wrist away.
“Please shut up,” Becky said, desperately. She pointed at the coaches door and then towards the showers.
Wren sighed and trudged towards them, her running shoes making dull thudding sounds as they went, the soles echoing in the empty locker room.
When she finally turned around to face Becky, Wren looked like she was about ready to cry.
Becky didn’t exactly know what to do about that, but she could do her best to give them a modicum of privacy.
She put her pointer finger to Wren’s lips.
“Just, wait a second,” she said, softly. She reached into one of the shower stalls and turned the water on. She pushed into a second stall and turned it on, too. “Okay, now go, but maybe keep your voice down. I don’t want to have to do this again tomorrow.”
Wren crossed her arms over her chest, the move made her look unsure in a way Becky had never seen from her before. “I’m so sick of almost being kicked off the team over shit you start.”
Becky didn’t really have an argument to make.
That was fair. Honestly, all she had wanted to do was hug Wren from the second she saw her in the coaches’ office.
She hated that Wren was this upset because of her again.
Becky had really hoped that at some point they could just talk about everything.
She had done a lot of reflecting with Katie, and she had been so hopeful that they could make it through this week without any more hiccups. That didn’t seem possible now.
“I know,” she said. “Me, too.” She hated how small she sounded.
Where Wren was concerned, all of the fight had left Becky sometime around when Wren had kissed her for the first time in her entryway.
All that was left in its place felt like heartbreak.
“It won’t happen again.” Becky shrugged, defeated.
“I’m just your teammate, right?” She asked, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.
Wren looked like she had been slapped. “I tried to apologize for how I left—for the circumstances—and you shut me out, Rebecca. You ghosted me. Again.”
“You left,” Becky said, louder than she meant to. “You chose, Wren. You picked this.” She gestured around them at the now steaming showers. “What was I supposed to do this week?”
“I don’t know,” Wren said, her green eyes watering. “But everything fucking hurts. And it just feels like no matter what I do, I lose.”
God, Becky wanted to fix this. She wanted to tell Wren the truth, that if she’d been allowed to chose, she would have picked Wren a thousand times over. Instead, all she could say was, “I’m sorry.”
Wren looked defeated, blinking back her tears, but she nodded reluctantly. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”
Becky wanted to pull Wren into the world’s tightest hug. She wanted to kiss her and promise to never ghost her again, but she couldn’t. Wren had chosen and Becky had to respect that.
Wren looked back at the locker room and sighed. “I should go get my clothes so I can shower before we head back to the hotel.” Wren started to limp back towards their lockers.
“Wren,” Becky said, stopping Wren in her tracks.
“Just get in. I’ll get your clothes.”
Wren frowned at her, not responding.
“Come on. You’re in actual pain, and it’s my fault. So, don’t fight me on this. Just get in. I’ll set your clothes on the bench outside the curtain.” Becky stepped around Wren, careful to not make contact with her.
“Thanks,” Wren whispered as she slipped past.
Becky heard the stall door thud shut as she leaned her forehead against her own locker. Wren’s words looped through her mind on repeat. You ghosted me. Again. No matter what I do, I lose.
Wren had looked so sad, so hurt. It was all Becky could do to not break down in the middle of the locker room.
She almost wished she had asked the coaches to give her a different travel buddy or that she had agreed to it when they offered.
She hadn’t wanted to make anything worse, but it didn’t feel like sharing a room with Wren could possibly make anything better.
She heard the water pressure change and knew that Wren had probably gotten in by now. With some effort, she kept herself from thinking about how Wren might look taking a shower and instead focused on getting her clothes together and then moving to Wren’s locker to gather an outfit for her as well.
At this point, she’d seen Wren pack her team-issued soccer bag a few times and knew where her after-practice outfit would be stored. Somehow knowing such an innocuous detail about Wren left her heart burning even more.
Her hazel eyes watered, but she willed herself to not cry.