A little while later Will checked his phone and said in a voice that sounded sincere, “I wish I didn’t have to go. It’s been really great catching up.”
“I know what you mean. I’m so glad I ran into you,” she said, and she genuinely meant it, too.
He rose and pulled on his wool pea coat, eyes fixed on hers. “You know, you could call me sometime. I think we would make good friends, Emma.”
“I know. You’re right. I’ll try, okay?”
“Okay.” But he sighed in the old way, like when he used to tell her he wished she would say what she meant. The problem was, she wasn’t always sure what that was.
Now she rose and let him pull her into another warm hug. He gave awesome hugs, just like Ja—she cut off the thought, forced her mind back to the present. Turning her face toward his neck, she inhaled the nearly forgotten scent of the cologne that his mother sent him every Christmas. She hadn’t seen Will in nearly a year, and she was realizing that she had genuinely missed him. He was such a good guy, smart and kind and athletic in a non-contact sport kind of way. If things had been different, if she had been different…
He kissed her forehead. “Don’t be a stranger, all right?”
“I won’t. And congratulations again. Happy New Year, Will.”
“Happy New Year, Emma.”
He carried his dishes to the counter and headed for the entrance. A moment later he was back out on the street waving at her through the window. She waved and watched him stride away, his shoulders braced against the wind that had picked up while they sat inside the yellow-walled coffee shop, offering up bits and pieces of the lives they’d built without each other.
As she worked on draining her giant mug—because no drop of dark roast should ever go to waste—she texted Dani: “Ran into Will. Got coffee. He’s engaged.”
“Ooh. Vivace’s?”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“You could be engaged too if you wanted, according to your Twitter mentions.”
Emma laughed and sent Dani a middle finger emoji.
“Rude,” came her best friend’s reply. And then, “My place later?”
“I thought you were hanging out with Derek tonight.”
“My girls come first. By which I do not mean my boobs, you understand.”
“Naturally. By which I do not mean au naturel.”
“Good one, Blake.”
“Thanks!” She added a smiling emoji.
“It’s called sarcasm, Emma.”
“Whatevs. Later.”
She set her phone aside and wrapped her hands around the mug, mind buzzing with the pleasant jolt of caffeine. It really had been nice to see Will, if not a bit disconcerting. Was he right? Did she prefer the company of women? She usually didn’t think of it in those terms. She’d once heard the human body compared to a car—what was on the outside was interesting and usually what made people notice each other in the first place. That was certainly true for Emma. But what kept her coming back was who someone was inside—their sense of humor, their strength, their willingness to care for others. Their essence.
Will did have a point, though. What she’d had with him had been different from what she’d had with Sam. She and Sam had both loved sports, so they’d spent their free time attending live sporting events or lying around at one of their apartments watching soccer, football, hockey, basketball, and even, one memorable time, curling. Those Canadian women could really throw a good rock. But while Will didn’t mind sports and was a big Sounders supporter, he’d grown up in Boise where football was king and boys like him—smart and techy and a tad clumsier than average—were definitely not. That was one of the reasons he loved Seattle: There were more men like him than he’d even known existed.
The sex was different, too. With Sam, she’d been more vulnerable, more intimate, possibly because she’d trusted her in a way she had never seemed to let herself do with the men she’d been with. In Boston during the off-season, she and Sam would spend entire weekends together having sex and snuggling, raiding the fridge and then having more sex. Will worked long hours at a downtown tech firm, and on the weekends, he couldn’t wait to escape the city for hiking and nature adventures. They’d had a more traditional sex life, and given the fact they only saw each other a couple of times a week, things in that department had seemed a bit more predictable than when she was with Sam.
She thought back to college, the last time she’d seriously dated a guy. Brent Mulvaney, a Virginia boy who had seemed so sweet at first and then turned out to be jealous and possessive—similar to Justin Tate, her second-biggest high school regret, although minus the homophobia. At least with Will she’d finally picked a good man. So why wasn’t that enough? Had it just been timing? Would she be ready to let someone in if and when she finally won a World Cup title? Or was it that at some level she’d been waiting ever since Sam walked out to see if the soccer gods might finally make things right?
Maybe she didn’t prefer women in general. Maybe she preferred one woman in particular.
She rose and deposited her mug in a bin meant for dirty dishes. As she pulled her jacket on and walked outside into the cold, sunny day, Dani’s question from the other night came back to her: Are you going to try to avoid her again? She pictured the photo of Jamie dancing with the woman in San Francisco, her hands on the redhead’s hips. Jamie was probably on the rebound, which meant that avoiding her right now would definitely be the sensible thing to do.
Sometimes Emma hated that she was nothing if not sensible.
#
Flying might have been better after all, Jamie thought as she shoved her bags in her and Ellie’s hotel room and jogged back down to the conference room. Thanks to freeway traffic, she’d missed the team dinner, only arriving in time for the first official meeting of January camp. She paused in the doorway, trying not to feel nervous as she surveyed the packed room. She belonged here. Really.
“Max,” Angie called, waving her over to the row where the U-23s were seated.
She waved back and started over, almost stopping when she realized that the only open seat was at the opposite end next to Emma. Emma, who was either genuinely captivated by something on her phone or purposely ignoring her. In all fairness, she probably deserved the cool reception. After all, she was the one who’d insisted they exchange numbers and then didn’t text or call for a month. Not exactly the best way to get their fledgling re-friendship off the ground.
Jamie smiled as Angie, Lisa, and Rebecca jumped up to hug her and slap her on the back. Maddie and Jenny offered enthusiastic smiles and waves, but Emma barely even nodded at her before returning to her phone.
The coaches came in just as Jamie slid into the seat next to Emma. She took a breath. “Hey.”
Emma glanced up but didn’t quite look at her. “Hey. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” She hesitated as Emma gazed stoically at the front of the room where the coaches were getting settled around a long table. “How were your holidays?”
“Fine. You?”
“Good. I moved back to the States.”
“Portland, right?” Emma’s tone was polite.
“Eventually. For now I’m staying with my parents in Berkeley.”
The last time Jamie had mentioned her hometown, Emma had gushed about how much she loved Berkeley. Now she only nodded, gaze still trained on the coaches’ table.
The meeting began, and though Jamie tried to focus on the front of the room, she couldn’t help watching Emma out of the corner of her eye. She looked cool and casual in a dark green Nike tank top, her hair knotted in a sleek bun, her shoulders all rippling and smooth despite the unflattering fluorescent lights of the conference room. They were close enough that Jamie could feel the heat rolling off Emma’s body, and she folded her arms across her chest to resist the temptation to lean closer.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she murmured as Craig handed the mic to Lacey for a description of the evening’s workout session.
Emma looked at her quickly and then away again.
“Or text,” Jamie added.
A muscle in Emma’s jaw twitched, but that was it.
“I wanted to. Honestly.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Emma shake her head. “They why didn’t you?” But before Jamie could trot out her litany of excuses—breaking up with her girlfriend, moving halfway around the world, going car shopping for the first time in her semi-adult life—Emma added, “No, forget I said that. We’re teammates, Jamie. You don’t owe me anything.”
Jamie blinked at the unexpected pain trying to crawl its way into her throat. We’re teammates. That wasn’t all they were, was it?
“We should listen,” Emma added, her eyes trained on the coaching staff again.
“Right. Of course.”
She leaned away from Emma, putting as much distance between them as their chairs allowed. She couldn’t blame Emma for wanting to keep things professional. After all, she wasn’t the one who had reached for her hand on the airplane, or stolen her number, or proceeded to ignore her as one year ended and a new one began. For that matter, Emma wasn’t the one who had given up on their friendship all those years ago. She couldn’t be expected to keep waiting around for Jamie to figure out what she wanted.
The meeting was the same as every other training camp meeting she had been to since entering the national team pool a decade earlier. Good thing, too, because she was currently having trouble focusing on the droning from the front of the room. Still, Ellie was frowning at her from a few rows up, which reminded her that this camp was another try-out for the national team. The Freaking National Team. Control the things you can and let go of the things you can’t, she told herself. Attitude, work ethic, and effort—check. Former best friends who apparently weren’t interested in being anything other than teammates? Not so much.
As soon as the meeting was over, Emma slipped her arm through Jenny’s and headed for the door. Jamie lingered near their seats, watching her vanish into the hall. This was not the start she’d envisioned on the drive down. At the end of the last camp they’d been sipping champagne and grabbing lunch together, and now Emma wouldn’t even look at her. Well done. Yet another disaster to add to the growing list.
“Trouble in Blakewell paradise?” Angie asked, wrapping her arm around Jamie’s neck.
“Fuck off,” she replied, her tone more tired than annoyed.
“No, seriously, it’s legit hard to piss off Blake. What’d you do?”
“No, seriously, fuck off.”
“Geez, James. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”
“I’m not. They’re not. Anyway, how was your break?” she asked, heading toward the corridor.
“Better than yours, sounds like. Sorry about Clare. I liked her.”
“Thanks,” Jamie said. “So did I.”
She’d been looking forward to camp as a welcome distraction from the break-up. Apparently she’d expected too much.
Angie elbowed her. “Challenge accepted, by the way.”
“What challenge is that?” Jamie asked, even though she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.
“Getting you laid. I’m an excellent wingman.”
“I am so not hooking up at team camp.”
“Chill, dude. I meant on the last night. We usually have it off, and you need rebound sex. The sooner the better.”
Jamie ducked into the stairwell. “Yeah, I’m going to have to say no to that one.”
“Too bad Britt won’t be here by then for keeper camp,” Angie continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “or we’d be back in business, for reals.”
“Still wouldn’t happen,” Jamie said as they climbed the stairs, the cement stairwell echoing with female voices.
“Why not? Crawdad and I are awesome wingmen.”
“Even if that was actually true, her girlfriend is Clare’s best friend.”
“Oh.” Angie nodded as they reached the second floor. “I feel you.”
They were halfway down the hall when Jamie heard a male voice call her name. She turned to see Bill, the offensive coach, approaching, his mouth its usual unsmiling line. Was she in trouble for missing dinner? It wasn’t like she could help the traffic situation.
“Later,” Angie said, and squeezed her shoulder before skedaddling away.
“Yes, coach?” Jamie forced her wired body into a relaxed stance, legs slightly apart, arms loose at her sides.
“Heard a rumor that you’ll be with the Thorns this season,” he said, a slight smile softening his wide, square jaw.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, good,” he said, and slapped her arm. “Glad to have you back on this side of the pond, kid.”
And then he walked away, his shoulders ramrod straight again, jaw solid as steel.
Had she imagined that? But no. That had really happened. At least the coaches were happy to see her, even if certain other people who should not be named most definitely were not.
Jamie wasn’t exactly upset that January camp was only eight days long. The first friendly match—assuming she made the roster—was set for the end of the month, which gave her a week in the middle to firm up her long-term plans. She still had to find a place to stay in Portland, and even though Ellie had offered up her spare bedroom, she doubted Jodie, her fiancée, would be thrilled to share their house indefinitely. The meeting with Thorns management had gone better than she’d expected, with Ellie and her agent there as more than moral support. They’d even agreed to Arsenal’s terms—time off for Champions League this March and again the following spring as needed. Somehow she’d managed to get her personal and professional life sorted in the three and a half weeks Melanie had given her.
Well, almost sorted.
After the first day, she’d thought maybe Emma would stop avoiding her. She had truly believed they were past the awkward, fake smiling stage. In fact, she was sure they had been; there was photo evidence from Seattle that proved as much. But every once in a while she caught Emma watching her across the breakfast buffet or the practice field with a look that sucked the air out of her lungs. In those moments, she recognized that beneath the pseudo-friendly façade, Emma’s feelings weren’t neutral any more than hers were.
“I thought your Tumblr nickname was lesbian catnip,” Angie murmured to Jamie on the second day when Emma hesitated near their table before carrying her lunch plate to the opposite end of the room.
Ellie reached out and slapped the side of Angie’s head.
“Ow,” Angie said, glaring at the older woman. “What was that for?”
“Being a douchebag.”
Which, Jamie thought, was fair.
Fortunately, Emma didn’t treat her any differently during practice. On the pitch their connection was just as strong, and she even coached Jamie up a couple of times when they were on the same side, offering her tips on how to tailor her play to the coach’s expectations or how to read the players on the opposite side. She did it for everyone, Jamie knew, so it didn’t mean anything. But still. At least Emma was being professional. It was Jamie who was struggling. December camp had gone well partly because she’d felt like she had nothing to lose. This time she had everything to prove.
On the third day of camp, she woke up hours before the alarm was set to go off and couldn’t get back to sleep. She lay in her hotel bed staring at the paint whorls on the ceiling, trying to fight through the anxiety and doubt that had her stomach acid doing its best to escape through her esophagus. It wasn’t like this was an entirely new experience. On mornings like this, she felt like her feet were mired in tar, except it wasn’t her body trapped in the black, sticky substance but her mind, and she was never sure how to shift her mindset. Normally she used meditation to combat the occasional negativity, but on days like this, with tar mucking up her veins and clouding her mind, she couldn’t get clear enough to start. As her mind spun furiously, conjuring every possible worry it could find to dwell on, she co
uld only try to ride out the wave and stay as far away from other people as possible. Otherwise the barbed quills that had taken up residence in her skin sometime in the night would sting the soft flesh of anyone unlucky enough to get too close.
Keeping her distance, unfortunately, wasn’t a realistic option considering she was basically living in a hotel with twenty-seven other women she was required to interact with for sixteen of every twenty-four hours.
A longer than usual shower helped clear the fog of exhaustion but failed to make a dent in her sense that the world was a shittier place than usual. Though she tried her best to stay quiet at breakfast, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from snapping at Rebecca and Lisa when their food fight spilled over onto her: “Why don’t you guys grow the fuck up already?”
There was a pause, and then Lisa whistled. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Look out, everyone,” Angie added, glancing around the table. “Better steer clear of Max today.”
They were right, but that didn’t stop Jamie from flipping them off as she stomped away with her still half-full plate. If she could have, she would have taken off to the beach or a forest or a mountain and run until she dropped. But she couldn’t flee, so instead she got ready for practice and clamped her noise-canceling headphones over her ears, hoping the other players would take the hint.
As the van rolled down the wide LA street, Jamie leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, right leg jumping faster than the beat in her headphones. She knew that the people around her were not the threat. She knew that she was safe. She knew that anxiety was a feeling that couldn’t actually hurt her. She knew all of these things, and yet still sometimes the old terror overwhelmed her subconscious mind and there was nothing she could do but wait for the feeling to subside.
The jitters stuck with her through the morning session and into afternoon practice, and she could only watch as if from a distance as her brain misfired again and again. Her reflexes were slow, her focus non-existent, and what was worse, she knew that everyone else could see it, too. The other players, the coaches, her friends, the newbies who she was in direct competition with. They all knew she was having an off day precisely when she couldn’t afford one.
Game Time Page 19
