“Hey,” she said, stepping forward. In two steps she had crossed the tiny room and was pulling Clare into her arms, her chin against the smaller woman’s soft cloud of hair. She smelled familiar, like black tea and strawberry jam. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.” Clare buried her face in Jamie’s sweater. “Fucking fuck.”
Jamie ran her fingers through Clare’s hair the way she knew she liked. “Can you at least give me a hint?”
“Do I actually have to?”
Jamie hesitated. There were two options here, so she went with the easier one. “I told you, I don’t have to go back until January.”
Clare pushed away from her, eyes red-rimmed and wide. “Really? That’s what you’re going to lead with after making a fool of me for the entire world to see?”
“What are you talking about, Clare?”
Her girlfriend wiped her eyes. “You tell me. I wasn’t there, was I?”
She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the counter again. “I take it you’ve seen the photo.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the photo. God, what bloody cheek! I honestly can’t believe you right now, Jamie.”
“I’m not being ‘cheeky.’ Nothing happened. We were on the same flight and got lunch together when my connection was delayed, and then some fans recognized her. That’s all.”
Clare was already shaking her head. “She was your first love, Jamie, and you’ve spent two weeks in California with her. What am I supposed to think when I see a photo of you posing together like the most perfect couple ever?”
“You’re supposed to think you can trust me. I told you, nothing happened.” Unless you counted having a drink or holding hands during a bumpy landing. But none of that was important, was it? Shoshanna, her old therapist, had always said that thoughts didn’t matter. Actions did.
Brow furrowed, Clare stared at her. “I want to believe you, I do, but there’s already fan fiction being written about the two of you.” She shook her head. “It’s disgusting. It really is.”
Fan fiction about her and Emma? Jamie frowned. Femslash stories were supposed to be about fictional characters, like Beca and Chloe from Pitch Perfect, or Elsa from Frozen and Merida from Brave, one of her other favorite pairings. Fan fiction wasn’t supposed to be about real people, was it?
“It’s called fiction for a reason,” she pointed out. “Just because some random stranger wants Emma and me to be together doesn’t mean we are.”
“Random stranger? I don’t think you understand how big this is. That Tumblr post was reblogged more than a thousand times, Jamie. A thousand. And that doesn’t even include all the Twitter and Instagram mentions.”
Wow. She had apparently missed a few things by sleeping the day away. “I’m sorry, Clare, but you know as well as I do that I can’t control what football fans say or do. This comes with the territory of being openly queer in the national team pool. If they weren’t shipping me with Emma, it would only be someone else.”
“But it is Emma.” Clare reached for her tea cup. Her voice sounded quieter now, and the eyes she turned back to Jamie were less angry. “All day I had to walk around school wondering if my friends and family had seen the posts of my girlfriend with one of the ten most beautiful football players in the world. Did you know she made that list? How am I supposed to compete with that?”
Jamie stepped closer. “You’re not. It’s not a competition. You’re my girlfriend and she’s someone I work with. That’s it.”
“I wish I could believe you,” she repeated, her voice even quieter now.
Jamie wanted to be angry with Clare for not having faith in her. But in reality, she couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t felt drawn to Emma at camp, just as she had the night she saw her standing at an empty ice machine in a hotel near San Diego all those years ago.
Clare was watching her, and Jamie rubbed a hand across her face. “What do you want me to say? That I don’t have any feelings for her at all? I already told you I can’t do that. I’ll always care about Emma, just like you’ll always care about Jess. But I love you. I’m in a relationship with you. For the last time, I did not cheat on you. Whether you believe that or not is up to you.”
“Can you guarantee that you won’t? Can you promise me that if you make the national team, you won’t fly off to Canada or Texas or Brazil and fall in love with her all over again?”
“Jesus, Clare, can you guarantee that if I’m away for a week or a month, or longer even, that you won’t meet someone else? That’s not how this works. There are no guarantees, and you know it.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed. “Longer than a month, Jamie? What does that even mean?”
Jamie rubbed her palms against the soft fleece of her sweats. Crap. She hadn’t meant to let it slip like that. “It means there are some things we need to discuss. I was hoping we could talk over dinner.”
“Tell me,” she said, and shook her head. “I’m tired of waiting.”
This was not how their reunion was supposed to go. Maybe she hadn’t figured out how it should go but this was definitely not it. Clare was looking at her so warily, her brown eyes bleaker than she’d ever seen them. But she didn’t look surprised, and Jamie suddenly remembered that Clare had been avoiding her calls for the last two weeks. Maybe this was how it was always going to go.
“Fine.” She gave in. “But can we at least do this in the living room?”
Clare nodded and walked out, leaving Jamie alone in the tiny kitchen. She tried to will away the tight knot in her stomach as she poured a slug of tea into her favorite mug, a plain red one with “Stanford” written on the side in all caps. Laurie, her college girlfriend, had given it to her their first Christmas together, and it had traveled with her ever since. Briefly Jamie closed her eyes, inhaling the steam and trying to convince herself that they could still fix this. People made long-distance relationships work all the time, didn’t they? The fact that she was probably almost definitely moving back to America didn’t mean they had to break up, right?
In the living room, Clare was already curled up on the sofa under a fleece blanket Jamie’s parents had sent them as a house warmer when they moved in together. Technically, Jamie had moved in with Clare, since she’d had the flat long before they met. Jamie’s name had never been on the lease, a point that had never really seemed to matter. Now it felt symbolic—as if her presence here was only ever going to be temporary.
“Can I sit with you?”
Clare nodded, hands wrapped around her cup. Jamie sat next to her and tucked herself under the blanket. The flat was chilly as usual. They had tried turning up the heat, but there was another flat above theirs in the terraced house and the extra heat only escaped upward.
“So,” Jamie said, wondering where she should start. “I already told you camp went well and that they invited me back.”
“Yes, and I am genuinely happy for you about that part,” Clare said, touching her hand.
“Thanks.” She tried to lace their fingers together but Clare pulled hers away, not meeting her gaze. Jamie lowered her chin and continued on with the story of her conversation with Melanie, ending with Ellie’s offer to talk to the Thorns GM and hook her up with her agent.
Clare shifted away from her on the couch. “Portland. That’s in Oregon, isn’t it?”
Jamie nodded.
“And when would you need to be there?”
“I’m not sure. It might not even be an option if I can’t get out of my contract—”
“When, Jamie?”
She toyed with the fleece blanket. “Soon. Pre-season starts in March.”
Head bent and tea cup cradled to her chest, Clare didn’t speak for a little while. When she finally did, her words weren’t at all what Jamie was expecting: “Rachel Ellison is the one who stayed with you until the ambulance got there, isn’t she?”
“Exactly. If I played on her team, I would have her to mentor me. Plus they won the
league championship, and more than fifteen thousand people attended some of their games. The club is affiliated with the MLS franchise in Portland, which means they have better resources and management.”
Clare reached for her hand again, tracing the tanned skin near her wrist. “You know I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your football dreams, right?”
Jamie paused, swallowing against the rising lump in her throat. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. Honestly, they’d been headed in this direction since the moment the national team manager had called to invite her to December camp.
“Right,” she said finally, her voice low. “I would never want to stand in the way of your dreams, either, Clare.”
She nodded. Then she pulled away and tucked herself into the corner of the sofa, turning so they could face each other more easily. “So. You might have noticed I’ve been a little distant lately.”
Jamie gripped her mug in both hands. “You haven’t been that subtle.”
“That’s fair. But I had my reasons.”
“Other than me spending the last two weeks with Emma?”
Clare frowned at her bitter tone. “That was part of it, yes. But it was more that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I want out of all of this. And the thing is, well, I don’t really know anymore.”
Jamie hunched her shoulders. “Yes, you do. Just say it.”
“I’m trying. This is difficult for me too, Jamie.” She looked down at her hands and released a breath. “But I guess that’s the whole point. Somewhere along the way it got too hard.”
“What got too hard?”
“This. Us. You missed my sister’s wedding and my parents’ anniversary party. Not to mention all the school events and the other things you’ve missed. I never know where you’re going to be when, and now you say you’re moving back to the States…”
“I’m only thinking about it,” she argued. “It’s not a done deal yet.”
“But that’s the entire point. Nothing is ever a done deal with you. I never know if you’re going to show up for my life or not. For our life.”
“That’s not fair. I can’t help it if football is unpredictable.”
“I never said you could. I recognize that a lot of this is out of your control, I do. But that means football dictates my life too, Jamie. I’m not getting any younger. I’ll be thirty soon—”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“And in two years I’ll be thirty and Lila will be three. I want my children to play with their cousins, not have them as babysitters. But if you make the national team, in two years you’ll have just come off the World Cup and be trying to qualify for the Olympics.”
“I told you, making the national team is still a big if right now.”
“You would take the spot if they offered it, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” As Clare looked down, Jamie realized how that sounded. “I mean, it’s not all I’ve ever wanted. You’re amazing, and I feel lucky to have you in my life, you know that.”
Clare shook her head. “But I don’t feel lucky, Jamie. That’s what I’m telling you. I want someone who’s all in. I want a wife and kids and a home—”
“I want those things, too.”
“Sure, but they’re not a priority right now. I don’t want to have to explain to my children why their mum can’t be home for their birthday or their school concert or any of a thousand other important moments. I don’t want them to stumble across fan fiction about their mum and one of her teammates. I don’t want them to see me like I was today, doubting you, doubting us. Doubting myself.”
Her words were spoken without malice, but Jamie felt the accusation anyway. She set her mug on the coffee table and stood up, squeezing the back of her neck with both hands. “I get that being involved with a professional athlete is difficult, but Jesus, Clare, I was a football player when we met. None of this is new.” She dropped her arms to her sides, shaking her head.
Clare rose and set her hands on Jamie’s hips as if to hold her in place. “I know it’s not new, but I didn’t realize what living with an athlete would be like. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I want to be settled. You’re lovely, and I wish things were different. But at the end of the day, I want someone who’s here with me in body and heart, someone who would never even think of giving up what we have for a chance at a World Cup. Can you honestly say that’s you?”
Jamie looked down, and Clare’s hands fell away.
“You can’t, can you?”
She didn’t want Clare to be right, but not admitting the truth didn’t make it any less true. She took a breath, looked into her girlfriend’s eyes, and shook her head.
“That’s what I thought.” Clare sniffed and turned away, hugging herself.
“I’m so sorry.” Jamie hesitated, and then she put her arms around Clare from behind. Her girlfriend leaned back into her and covered her face, body shaking with the force of her sobs. Jamie felt her own throat tighten. “I’m so, so sorry, Clare.”
They stood together, Jamie wishing she could figure out a way to fix this, to fix everything. There had to be something she could do, didn’t there? But if there was, she couldn’t imagine what it might be.
When Clare’s sobs finally abated, she turned and took Jamie by the hand and led her toward the bedroom. There, they undressed each other slowly. Naked and trembling, Clare tugged Jamie toward the bathroom where she turned on the shower and inserted enough coins in the receptacle to keep the water hot for a long while. Then they stood under the soothing spray, bodies loosely pressed together.
Was this it? Were they over?
Trying not to think, Jamie slowly washed Clare, running the wash cloth over every inch of her skin, memorizing her already familiar body. When she was clean, Clare took the cloth square and washed Jamie in return. They rinsed the soap from each other’s skin, fingers and lips lingering over sensitive spots. Jamie cupped Clare’s breasts in her hands, feeling the weight of her girlfriend’s flesh, mind struggling to accept that this might be one of the last times she touched her like this. A month ago they had enjoyed Thanksgiving with their closest friends, and Jamie had felt closer to Clare than to any other person on the planet. Now they were, what? Planning their break-up?
Later, after the water finally cooled and they’d crawled naked into bed, they made love slowly, eyes closed against the ending they both knew was coming. Afterward, Jamie felt Clare’s fingers painting the lines of her phoenix tattoo, and she knew: Clare was saying goodbye. When the brush of fingertips against her back had ceased, Jamie shifted, pulling Clare against her side and holding her tightly. As Clare’s tears dripped onto her shoulder, she let go and cried too. Cried for the pain she was causing Clare, for the pain she was causing herself by walking away from another person she had thought might be—could be?—in her life for good.
Cried for not wanting the life they’d imagined together enough to stay.
Night had fallen by the time they made dinner and sat at the dining room table, talking through next steps. Jamie checked her email, and sure enough, Carrie Fitzsimmons had sent her a copy of the letter Ellie had suggested she use to secure release from her Arsenal contract. It would take a few days to figure things out with the club, and Clare agreed that Jamie should stay in the flat until she left for the States. But Clare might head down to Cornwall to visit her family earlier than planned, and perhaps Jamie could move up her travel dates? Drawing things out through the holidays would only make it harder on them both. Jamie agreed to be out before Christmas, feeling almost numb as they discussed details of their break-up as if they hadn’t lain in bed naked and crying together only an hour earlier.
Were they really doing this? Was she really leaving Clare and Britt and her other friends and teammates because one of Craig Anderson’s assistants had said they might, possibly, maybe if she was lucky offer her a place on the national team? There didn’t seem to be any other choice, though. She couldn’t
stay. Even if she’d wanted to, Clare had already made up her mind. She didn’t want to be a footballer’s wife. And honestly? Jamie couldn’t blame her.
That night, they lay awake in each other’s arms. Clare cried again and Jamie held her, trying to accept that their relationship had gone from seemingly happy to utterly doomed in such a short time. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other. Sure, they bickered like all couples did about silly and not-so-silly things, and personally, Jamie would have been thrilled with a bit more sex. But they were happy together, weren’t they? Or at least, she had been. She thought of Laurie, her college girlfriend. They had loved each other too, but in the end it hadn’t been enough to keep them together either. What was wrong with her that she cared more about soccer than the people in her life?
No wonder some of her friends swore off relationships with non-athletes. Only fellow pros could understand—and accept?—blind devotion to a game that could injure you, destroy your confidence, ruin you in multifold ways. The thing was, it could also enrich your life the way few things could. Being on a team provided you with instant friends who shared your same sense of purpose. Committing to a common goal was as addictive as any number of chemical substances. And, in some cases, nearly as damaging to the rest of your life.
Still unable to sleep at midnight—late afternoon West Coast time—Jamie longed to talk to someone other than Clare about the sudden, rapid-fire unfolding of events since she’d touched down in the UK. An image of Emma appeared in her mind, but she closed her eyes, willing it away. She knew she shouldn’t have spent so much time with her. And yet, there was a reason she’d sought Emma’s advice on her professional future, a reason she wanted to call her now. If the brain was a muscle and not an organ, she would have called it muscle memory. As it was, the heart was the only muscle in the body that also doubled as an organ, and clearly she would be better off not dwelling long on that symbolism.
When they were younger, Emma had been her go-to friend for an entire year. The most important year of her life, in fact, as she’d struggled to put her mind and body back together after the assault in France. Without Emma she didn’t doubt she would still have recovered, but having her there to call or text or email at any time of the night or day had made her feel so incredibly cared for. Emma had been there for her by choice, not out of obligation like her family. When Emma’s father died suddenly, Jamie had gotten a chance to support her in return. And she had done so until their friendship ended.
Game Time Page 13
