Jamie hesitated, and then she typed, “Got to Lizzie’s a little while ago. Now trying to sleep off mimosas with Britt. Remind me never to drink on a plane again.” She paused, and then added, “Sorry about last night. Love you.” And then, before she could rethink it, she hit send.
Not even thirty seconds passed before Emma’s return came winging across the entirety of North America and the Atlantic Ocean: “Thanks for letting me know!! I’m home as well. And *I’m* sorry about last night… I love you too. Talk soon?”
“Absolutely,” she typed. “Call you after dinner tomorrow?” That was the time they’d picked the previous month when she was in Europe and Emma was in Seattle.
“I would love that,” Emma wrote back, “but I also understand if you need time and space to think.”
Jamie bit her lip, staring at the words. She was in Europe and Emma was in Seattle for the next ten days. Shouldn’t that be more than enough time and space to process? Besides, what had Jo said right before the Algarve championship? The simple brilliance had stuck with Jamie: In sport as in life, there is no looking back, only moving forward. She’d also said, scarily appropriate to Jamie’s life, “Leave what happened in France where it belongs: in France.” But that was for a different conversation.
“We obviously need to talk when I get back,” she replied, “but I do understand why you did what you did, even if I don’t like it. Okay?”
“Okay,” came the lightning-fast reply. “Thank you, Jamie.”
“No—thank YOU,” she wrote back, adding a cheesy wink for good measure.
“Dork.”
“Nerd.”
“Now drink some water and get to sleep,” Emma ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jamie wrote back, wondering where her water bottle was but too sick to go looking.
“Sweet dreams, Jamie. I miss you.”
“Miss you too,” she answered, adding a few heart emojis. And then: “Sweet dreams to you too.”
Not that Jamie would be sleeping anytime soon. As she turned off her phone and rolled over, Britt’s snores resounded through the room. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, how did Allie ever get any sleep? That apnea test couldn’t come soon enough, as far as Jamie was concerned.
She readjusted her travel ear plugs, closed her eyes against the London street lights leeching through the blinds, and waited without much hope for sleep to find her.
#
Fortunately, the first leg of the semifinals was in London. That gave Jamie a chance to reacclimate herself to Europe before having to face Lyon. Not that she and Britt had been away from Europe for long. As they visited old friends and old haunts in London, her favorite city ever—other than San Francisco—she was glad for the oddly relaxing week in the UK. Her contract was signed and sorted, the World Cup roster set, and the Nike deal settled thanks to Amanda, her new agent at Sparks Sports Management. Things were moving along nicely. Better than nicely—TREMENDOUSLY.
The federation made the roster announcement official on April 14, the day after Arsenal lost to Lyon 2-1 in the first leg of the semis. She and Britt read it together on Britt’s cousin’s laptop, and seeing her name in print made her selection real in a way she hadn’t expected. She turned to Britt and found that her friend’s eyes were tearing up, too.
“We made it!” Jamie said, grinning at her.
“We totally did,” Britt said, sounding just as astounded as Jamie felt as she pulled her into a bear hug. “Holy shit, James! We’re going to the show!”
Thank god Britt was there. Otherwise, Jamie might have felt lonely and far from home as the calls and text messages blew up her phone. But with her best soccer friend in the world at her side, it was impossible to feel anything other than excited.
That night, they celebrated at the pub with the team, a few others of whom had their own World Cup roster selections to drink to, and it was just like the old days. Except that Allie was back in DC, and Clare was with someone new, and Jamie—Jamie was in love with Emma Blakeley, who had lied to her about something important. The more things changed… Except things had changed. Really.
No looking back, she reminded herself as she sipped her lager shanty and laughed at one of her teammate’s bad jokes. Only moving forward.
A few days later, Jamie was again glad to have Britt by her side as the team coach passed through the outskirts of Lyon, headed for the stadium on the south side of the city. And yet, a decently-sized part of her was disappointed when they arrived at the hotel in Lyon and Emma wasn’t there. That shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Reign had played in Chicago the previous day, and Jamie and Britt had watched the match on YouTube. It made perfect sense that Emma wasn’t here, Jamie told herself as she changed into practice gear in the hotel that was spitting distance from Lyon’s stadium and walked with the rest of the team to their afternoon training session. She had probably been silly to even hold out a frisson of hope.
At the stadium, Britt typed a quick text into her phone and then threw it into her bag. “Have a good practice, James,” she said with a secret smile as she turned away to join the other goalkeeper for warm-up.
And there. What was that? Jamie narrowed her eyes at her best friend.
“Anytime, Maxwell,” their young Irish assistant coach barked.
Right. Head in the game, Jamie told herself, and jogged out onto the field, gazing around the empty stadium. Lyon was one of the few European clubs whose financial support of their women’s team rivaled that of some lower tier men’s teams. That was the main reason why Lyon was a guaranteed contender at Champions League nearly every year. If you invest it, they will come, as Ellie always said.
This stadium, Jamie thought, eyes flickering over the rows and rows of empty seats as she jogged around the field with her teammates, would host the 2019 World Cup final match. She pictured the seats filled, French fans painted in red and blue, American fans wearing replica jerseys and waving American flags. Would Jamie be here with the USWNT? Would Emma?
As she rounded the far goalpost, a movement in the stadium caught her eye, and Jamie stopped dead in her tracks. Wait. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. And yet, it definitely was Emma moving down one of the aisles toward the field, one hand in the pocket of her familiar Sounders blue puffer coat, the other tugging her black carry-on behind her. As her eyes caught Jamie’s, Emma stopped and held up a hand, smiling tiredly.
“Surprise?” she said, making it a question.
Jamie didn’t hesitate. She hopped over the barrier and sprinted up the nearest aisle, cutting through an empty row to reach Emma, who had dropped her bag and was moving nearly as quickly to intercept her. They met in the middle of the row, practically slamming into each other as Jamie threw her arms around Emma and held her as tightly as she dared.
“You’re here,” she murmured, choking it out around the lump in her throat.
“Of course I am,” Emma said, her lips warm against Jamie’s cheek. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Actually, on second thought,” Jamie tried to joke, but the tears spilling over ruined her attempt at humor.
“Sweetie,” Emma said softly, pulling back slightly to wipe Jamie’s tears away.
They gazed into each other’s eyes, and there was so much Jamie wanted to say to her. Deep, important things about open hearts and trust, about grand gestures and overnight flights, about the sheer relief she felt at Emma’s presence beside her in the city that had long shadowed her nightmares. But before she could find the words, Seamus, Arsenal’s assistant, was shouting at her, his words echoing through the empty stadium: “Right, Max, guess we’ll be seeing you on your own time, then?”
Guiltily, Jamie stepped back, letting her arms drop from Emma’s waist. “Um, I think I should…” She gestured over her shoulder.
Emma nodded, smiling. “Go for it.”
“We’re staying at the hotel across the street—” Jamie started.
“I know,” Emma interrupted. “I have a room reserved near yours. I just wanted to
try to catch you before practice.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed again. “Britt?”
Emma waved toward the end of the field where the goalkeepers were warming up. “Of course, Britt. Now go, before your assistant comes up here and drags you away.”
Yikes. Even Seamus’s ears were turning red. Jamie nodded and started to lean in to kiss Emma out of habit. At the last moment, she remembered where they were and stopped. But Emma bridged the narrow distance and kissed her softly, lingeringly.
“I’ll see you after practice,” she promised.
Dazed, Jamie backed away, nearly tripping over a seat. Blushing, she focused on her whereabouts enough to jog back down to field level and vault safely over the barrier. Emma was here, and she would still be here in an hour and a half. For now, Jamie owed Arsenal her focus, even if it seemed unlikely they would score two away goals and earn a shutout against a team that had averaged two goals for and zero against throughout their current Champions League campaign.
“Oi, are you sure you’re ready to join us?” Seamus asked sarcastically as she jogged past him.
“I’m always ready,” Jamie shot back, grinning, which earned whistles from her teammates. She risked a glance back up at the row where she’d left Emma to find her girlfriend seated and watching her.
“Good one, babe,” she was pretty sure Emma mouthed at her, accompanied by a cheeky wink.
Life was good, she thought, turning back to the field. Not perfect, but Emma was here with her in Lyon. And that meant more to her than Jamie thought Emma would ever know.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey,” a soft voice murmured close to Emma’s ear. “Wakey, wakey, sleepy girl.”
Emma twitched at the feel of lips on her forehead, and then she sat straight up, cracking her head on something hard as her surroundings filtered into view. She was in a stadium. A French stadium, judging from the signs all written in French.
“Ow,” Jamie said above her, pressing a hand to her mouth and staring at Emma through wide—amused, she hoped—eyes.
Right. Lyon. Of course. Somehow, Emma had dozed off. Except it wasn’t exactly a secret how she’d fallen asleep sitting in a plastic stadium chair while watching Arsenal practice. She’d barely slept on the plane the previous night. Not only had her usual fears assailed her while crossing the wide, pitch-black expanse of the Atlantic, but she had worried that Jamie wouldn’t be happy to see her, despite Britt’s assurances to the contrary. At least that worry had been alleviated.
Jamie pulled her hand away from her mouth, and Emma winced as she saw her slightly swollen lower lip.
“Oh, shit,” she said, rising clumsily from the seat. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
“That’s what you get for sneaking up on her,” Britt said, appearing at the end of the row. “Hey, Em!”
“Britt,” Emma said, ducking past Jamie with another apologetic glance.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Jamie groused as Britt and Emma hugged. “I was trying not to startle her.”
“Well done,” Britt deadpanned.
Emma smiled up at the goalkeeper. “Well done you with the secret keeping.”
“I know, right? She didn’t suspect a thing,” Britt boasted.
“Yes, I did,” Jamie said.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Children,” Emma admonished, glancing around for her carry-on. Oh, good. It hadn’t wheeled itself off without her.
Britt punched Jamie in the shoulder and then turned to sprint away, only her feet got tangled up and she nearly fell into the next row. Jamie lunged forward and caught her, and they both cracked up, wrestling (unsafely, Emma might add) as they headed back to field level.
Seriously. They really were children.
“You coming?” Jamie asked, glancing back at her.
“Duh,” Emma said, and reached for her bag.
“Cranky much?” Jamie teased as they headed for the stadium exit.
“I’m not cranky,” Emma said automatically. As Britt and Jamie exchanged a look, their eyebrows raised, she added, “I can see you both, you know.” Huh. Maybe they were right, given that she felt like flicking them both at full flicking strength.
“Coffee?” Jamie suggested. “They’ve got an espresso machine in the lobby, or there’s instant in the rooms…”
“Oh my god, yes, please.” Coffee sounded heavenly—not that that was anything new.
Britt snickered and then straightened quickly as Emma glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “Sorry! I’ll just, uh, leave you to it.” And she sped ahead, catching up to a handful of teammates who kept casting avid looks back at Emma and Jamie.
“Your friends are watching us,” Emma noted as they exited onto the sidewalk outside the stadium.
“I mean, can you blame them?” Jamie asked, shaking her hair out of her eyes.
“Good point.” Emma leaned in to drop a kiss on Jamie’s cheek. Back in St. Louis, she’d wondered if Jamie would ever let her close enough to do that again. Now that she knew they were okay, she didn’t want any space between them.
Jamie glanced at her quickly. “What was that for?”
“Nothing.” Emma reached for her hand, winding their fingers together. “I just love you.”
“Oh. Cool,” Jamie said with a goofy smile that more than communicated her own sentiments. She squeezed Emma’s hand, and they walked on together, chatting easily about Emma’s flight, her game against Chicago the previous day, and Jamie’s week in London.
At the hotel, Emma checked in while Jamie went back to her and Britt’s room for a quick shower before dinner with the team. Emma, she’d insisted, was absolutely invited for their pre-game carbo loading at a restaurant to be named later.
When Emma had wondered aloud if the rest of the team was aware of that fact, Britt had scoffed. “Are you kidding? They can’t wait for you to buy them a round.” She was referencing Emma’s trip to London to watch Arsenal play in the Round of Sixteen, and Emma didn’t doubt she was telling the truth.
The hotel room was small but cute with a comfortable bed and, most importantly, the electric kettle and instant coffee Jamie had promised. Emma brewed a cup and took it with her into the bathroom, pausing for occasional sips as she stood under the hot spray, muscles slowly relaxing. This was good. Now that she was here, she was glad she had made the trip. Jamie’s reaction made the stress of traveling back to Europe for the third time in as many months totally worth it.
Maybe they would be okay after all, she thought, remembering the look on Jamie’s face as she’d sprinted up the stadium rows toward Emma: determination mixed with unquestionable relief. She’d even cried a little, and Emma’s heart had broken as she’d thanked the powers that be for getting her there safely.
Surprising Jamie had definitely been the right decision.
“Yo, Em!” a voice called from the hallway, startling her. A fist pounded on the door at the same time, and after a moment, Emma sighed, turned off the water, and took another fortifying sip of coffee before reaching for her towel.
Maybe surprising Jamie had been the right decision.
“Just a minute,” she called to forestall additional unnecessary noise. She hoped the team had this portion of the hotel to itself. The rest of the guests hoped that, too, even if they didn’t know it yet.
She let Jamie in and returned to the bathroom for her post-shower skin care routine. It didn’t take her long to get ready even though Jamie did her best to prevent her from getting dressed.
“I like you like this, though,” she complained, gesturing at Emma’s naked body and holding her bra just out of reach.
Emma rolled her eyes and used Jamie’s notorious ticklishness to her advantage. There would be time enough for clothes-free activities later. Right now, Emma was starving and Jamie needed to join her team.
“I can be fast, though,” Jamie said, trying to snag Emma’s skinny jeans.
“Oh, I know
you can,” Emma said, and winked at her before pushing her backward onto the bed. “But I’d rather it be slow, wouldn’t you?”
Jamie shifted onto her side and appeared to consider this question. “Hmm, now that you mention it…”
“Where’s dinner?” Emma asked as she returned to the bathroom to apply her makeup and style her hair.
Jamie followed and leaned in the open doorway. “About that… It looks like we’re not going to the restaurant next to the hotel, after all.”
Her voice held a note of something that made Emma narrow in on her reflection in the mirror. “Where are we going, then?”
“Into the city,” Jamie said, her eyes downcast as she fiddled with a button on her collared shirt. Despite the worry rolling off her in waves, she looked adorable in black skinny jeans, a blue shirt that matched her eyes, and white Converse high-tops. “We only have a few hours until curfew, so the team voted to explore some of the sights.”
“Which sights?” Emma asked, letting her brush drop.
“The historic parts. Like one of the main squares, and I guess Vieux Lyon.”
Old Lyon. According to the guide book Emma had picked up during her layover at Charles de Gaulle, Lyon’s historic district bordered the neighborhood where Jamie had said her club team had been staying the night she and her buddies snuck out after curfew. And now her current teammates wanted to go exploring in that very area?
Not that any of them—other than Britt—knew of Jamie’s history with the city of Lyon.
“We don’t have to go with them,” Emma offered. “We could grab dinner somewhere nearby and have a quiet night in, if you wanted.” She wouldn’t mind that herself. Going out in a foreign city with a group of people she’d only met once would be entertaining, yes, but it would also be exhausting, particularly after flying through the night.
Jamie met Emma’s eyes in the mirror. “We can’t. They would think I was dissing them to hang out with you.”
The Road to Canada Page 17
