Emma heard more than one gasp over the Skype airwaves. Jack and Sara, their longtime union reps, were more like friends than advisors.
“I thought you liked them?” Ellie said.
“I do like them. I’m just not sure they’re representing your interests as well as they should be. It was under their watch that the memo of understanding got passed last year, and there’s still no collective bargaining agreement on the books even though both parties agreed there would be by now.”
“Do you have someone else in mind?” Steph asked.
As the former president of the Women’s Sports Foundation and a partner in a New York corporate law firm, Amy was a powerful advocate. But she had said more than once that she was too invested in the national team’s success to be an objective player representative.
“I can think of a few people I could put you in touch with. It may seem premature, but this is the time to start thinking about these issues. If you win the World Cup—sorry, that is when you win the World Cup next summer you’ll be perfectly situated to capitalize on your higher profile. It’s worth thinking about in advance in order to position yourselves as well as you possibly can.”
They ended the chat a few minutes later, and Emma sat back on her couch, trying to process everything that had been discussed. She knew they were lucky to have someone like Amy on their side. To the outside world they were elite athletes fortunate enough to be chosen to represent their country internationally. But behind the scenes, they were women in a male-dominated profession where their careers and working conditions were controlled by people who didn’t always have their best interests at heart. Playing for the federation—and for FIFA—was far more complex than it she had anticipated.
Her phone buzzed beside her laptop and she grabbed it, half-expecting Jamie’s name to blink up at her from the screen. They had been in near constant contact the last twenty-four hours while Jamie hung out at her aunt and uncle’s house waiting for her parents to pick her up and Emma did laundry and caught up on foundation work and otherwise tried to keep occupied during her brief foray into normal life. It wasn’t Jamie, though, and Emma ignored the swoop of disappointment as she answered the call.
“Dude,” she said, resting her sock-clad feet on the coffee table. “That was intense, wasn’t it?”
“I was going to call it a freaking disaster.”
Ellie still sounded pissed, and Emma couldn’t blame her. This would be the older player’s last World Cup unless she somehow defied nature and her own body to keep on through another four-year major tournament cycle.
They chatted briefly about the conference call, and then Emma said as casually as she could manage, “So have you heard from Jamie?”
“We texted a couple of times. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Emma…” Her tone was mildly threatening.
“What?”
“You know I can’t tell you anything about the roster.”
“I only wanted to know if you told Craig about her leg.”
“What do you mean? I thought it was only a bruise.”
Ellie didn’t know about the groin pull? Then again, healing time for a muscle strain could be difficult to predict. Probably Jamie was trying to move forward and hope for the best. So was Emma, really.
“Emma,” Ellie said as she remained quiet, “is the bruise not healing?”
“No, the bruise is fine.” Which was perfectly true. “How are things going with you and Craig, anyway?”
“Don’t get me started. Male coaches are so—male sometimes, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” Personally, Emma could see both sides. Craig may not have the most open communication style, but then again Ellie and Phoebe weren’t enamored with the idea of having to report to any authority figure, let alone a middle-aged man from a foreign country known more for its scenery than its soccer.
“It’s not like he doesn’t know the game,” Ellie added, “but I honestly wish Jo had taken the job when they offered it to her.”
Jo Nichols had been their interim coach after Marty returned to the German women’s pro league, and most of the players had wanted her to stay on. As a former national team star, director of player development, and coach of the U-16 and U-23 sides, she knew everyone inside and outside the federation. More importantly she understood the politics, both at the national and international level. Craig, on the other hand, was a relative outsider who had come to the USWNT by way of coaching pro soccer, first in Sweden and later in WUSA and the WPS. He knew the game, but was that enough?
According to Ellie and Phoebe, it wasn’t nearly.
“Do you really buy that she turned it down because she didn’t want to leave Virginia?” Emma asked.
“That is the official statement. But would you want to coach this team?”
“Not a chance.”
The job wasn’t easy, by any means, which Jo as a former player had to know better than possibly anyone else in the coaching pool. Take twenty-four of the most competitive women in the United States and then ask them to eat, sleep, and work together for weeks at a time while competing for playing time—that alone was enough to break most team managers. Not only that, but as the top team in the world, the pressure to win was immense. The federation didn’t just demand success; they demanded near perfection. Like Amy Rupert, Emma was planning to go in a completely different direction after her tenure on the national team ended. Hopefully that unknown second career was still a ways away, though. She had too much soccer left in her to walk away anytime soon.
They chatted for a little while longer—Ellie’s fiancée was in Paris for work and they had managed to completely miss each other on their travel day, so now they would be going two and a half weeks without seeing each other.
“That’s rough. But at least you live in the same—” Emma started. Then she stopped herself. Whoops.
“I knew it! What happened after the bar? Did she sneak out? Because she was there when I went to sleep and there when I woke up.”
“Of course she didn’t sneak out. That’s not her style and you know it.”
“You didn’t deny that something happened, Blake.”
“It didn’t. We hugged, Ellie, that’s it. Only now I wish…”
“You wish what?”
“I wish I had stayed in California with her.” As Ellie stayed silent, Emma added, “Isn’t this where you usually warn me to stay away from her?”
“Don’t quote me on this, but honestly? I think you guys are good for each other.”
Emma straightened up on her couch. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do. She’s calmer and more focused when you’re around, fairly difficult states to achieve when you’re on the bubble.”
Emma could still remember her own transition days, when she was the youngest player in the pool and she wondered if every new invitation to train with the senior side would be her last. It had been a while since she’d felt the kind of uncertainty—and self-doubt—that Jamie was currently living with.
“She’s good for you too,” Ellie added. “You’re lighter around her, softer somehow. But I do have a warning. Do you want to hear it?”
“Fire away,” Emma said, which reminded her of a certain scene in Pitch Perfect, which in turn reminded her of Jamie…
“If you’re going to do this, you have to do it. You can’t start and then suddenly stop. You have to make it work, and that’s a lot of pressure on a new relationship.”
Hadn’t Emma said something similar to Jamie? Except they weren’t in a new relationship, and not only because they weren’t technically in a relationship. By now they had known each other an impressive number of years—more than a third of their lives, as Jamie had pointed out. In that time they had seen each other at their best and worst, and even now, there was a strong bond of friendship underpinning whatever romantic feelings they may or may not be having. In fact, they were more friends than anything else—though she suspected that would change as soon as
they found time to be alone together away from the team. Or, well, she hoped it would. Like, a frighteningly intense amount.
“I get it,” she told Ellie. “But I’m not in this for a fling and neither is she.”
“I know. Not your guys’ style.” She paused, and then she said, the smile evident in her voice, “You do know the women’s soccer fandom is going to melt down if Blakewell is confirmed, right?”
Emma groaned. “You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”
The thought of the inevitable invasion of privacy awaiting them was almost enough to make her vow never to date again. Actually, no it wasn’t, she decided, remembering the moment she and Jamie had said goodbye at the hotel. Jamie had hugged her, and Emma had burrowed into her chest, enveloped by her heat for a long moment that passed far too quickly. When they’d finally stepped apart, the smile Jamie had given her had been nothing short of luminous. And that smile? It was worth almost anything.
Just before she and Ellie hung up, the older woman said, “We have ten days before we have to be in Texas. If you really wanted to see her you could. It’s not like she’s in freaking Paris.”
Which was true, Emma thought after the call ended. She could book a ticket to San Francisco fairly easily. The question was, would Jamie want her to?
Her mind spinning with possibilities, she rose from the couch and went to assess her kitchen cupboard situation. Downtime between camps and friendlies was always the same—strategic shopping combined with take-out so she wouldn’t be left cleaning moldy leftovers out of her refrigerator the next time she stopped over in Seattle. It was Friday, and Dani and a couple of girls from the Reign had invited her out, but she hadn’t caught up yet on her sleep from camp. Hotel living was something she never seemed to get used to. Even with ear plugs and an eyeshade, she still slept restlessly. Besides, she was in the middle of a good book, and the idea of curling up on her couch in her PJs with a glass of wine to read the night away sounded like heaven. She hadn’t mentioned the reading part of her evening plan to Dani because then her friend would ask what she was reading, and Emma definitely did not want to admit that she was halfway through a Pitch Perfect multi-chapter fan fiction that Jamie had recommended.
Normally cooking dinner and listening to her favorite tunes while reading on her comfy couch in her amazing condo made her happy, but tonight she couldn’t avoid the feeling that something was missing. Even Beca and Chloe and their adorable fake-engagement alternate universe couldn’t hold her attention, and finally she admitted defeat and reached for her phone.
“What are you up to?” she texted.
She didn’t have to wait long for the answer: “You know, dancing a jig around an outdoor fire with my aunt and uncle.”
“Dork.”
“Okay, the outdoor fire part is real but the dance is more freestyle than a specific jig.”
“I say again, dork.” Emma pulled the blanket up around her waist and smiled at the glowing screen. “Cool about the fire though.”
“I had nothing to do with it. Turns out I would be useless in the zombie apocalypse: zero survival skills.”
“You can run fast.”
“True. Not currently, but normally for sure.”
“Even with your sub-par fire-lighting skills I would totally want you on my apocalypse survival team.”
“Aw, thanks.”
“Assuming we were in LA where heat was not required.”
“Thanks rescinded.”
“I feel like I should make sure—you’re not actually dancing, right?”
“Dude. No.”
“Right. Just checking.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Snuggling on the couch with a good book.”
“A literary classic kind or…?”
“The latter.” She took a photo of her iBook app open to the fan fic and texted it to Jamie.
Her phone rang a second later, and Emma tried not to light up too much before remembering that no one could see her semi-ecstatic response to Jamie’s face on her screen. The photo was the one Maddie had taken of them on the van. Jamie was laughing and Emma could almost hear her surprisingly high-pitched peal ring out, and her heart promptly melted inside her ribcage.
Ridiculous that the thought of someone else laughing should make her so happy, but there it was.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey. What do you think of the story?”
“You were right. It’s really good. They’re so happy.”
“I know. I love that about fan fiction. It’s nice to take a break from real life, isn’t it?”
Emma hummed a little. “Very nice.”
Jamie paused. “So. Another glamorous night in Seattle, huh?”
“Incredibly glamorous. My PJs have sparklies.”
“They do not.”
“No. But they could.”
“Okay, but should they? I feel like sparklies would come off in the night and end up stuck to your forehead. Or possibly the inside of your nostril.”
Emma laughed. “Good point. How’s the leg?”
“About the same as it was this morning.”
They chatted a little while longer about what they’d been up to since they’d last spoken, and all the while Emma could hear the low murmur of voices in the background. Finally she said, “I should let you get back to your family.”
“I guess. Can I call you a little later?”
“You can call me anything you want,” she said, her voice purposefully raspy.
Jamie released a breath. “You’re channeling your inner Chloe, aren’t you?”
“Totes.”
“And on that note… I’ll talk to you later, dork.”
“Later, nerd.” She hesitated. “Miss you.”
Jamie’s voice quieted. “I miss you too.”
“’Kay, bye.”
“Bye.”
The call ended and Emma leaned back against the pillows again, noting the expansive warmth once again overtaking her chest. Jamie missed her. Jamie was feeling this, same as she was. For a moment she recalled Ellie’s words—If you’re going to do this, you have to do it—and she felt her stomach flutter. Could they do this? Better yet, should they?
Nothing had happened, she reminded herself, and it might stay that way. But Ellie’s other words came back to her, too: If you really wanted to see Jamie, you could. Jamie had talked to her parents the previous night, and the current plan was for them to drive down Saturday, drive her home Sunday, and get her in to see a sports med doctor on Monday, who would hopefully okay her for physical therapy. However the diagnosis turned out, Emma could be there with her. Assuming Jamie wanted her to be.
She picked up her iPad, navigating away from the happy, drama-free world of fan fiction to the Alaskan Airlines website. Wouldn’t hurt to investigate flight options, would it?
#
Jamie’s parents were awesome. Like, seriously. On Saturday, they postponed a dinner party they’d planned in her honor—former soccer parents who’d wanted to see her before she moved to Portland—and drove down to Pasadena. Britt, who was at the mini keeper camp at Stub Hub this weekend, managed to borrow a goalkeeper coach’s car and get away for a few hours, and they spent Saturday evening barbecuing and drinking cocktails that Jamie and Britt mixed just like in the old days when they hosted Stanford soccer parties at their off-campus apartment.
It was great being with her best friend, however short the visit had to be, and it was even kind of sweet to see the two middle-aged couples enthusing over their empty-nest lives. She had spent so much time away from home since high school that she’d rarely gotten to see this side of her parents and their closest relatives. Someday she hoped she and Meg and their spouses would enjoy evenings like this one, sharing secret BBQ sauce recipes and chatting about trips they were finally free to take now that they didn’t have to worry about college tuition payments. And when she said “spouses,” she meant Todd and Emma.
Jesus, she was
smitten. How had that happened so quickly? They hadn’t even kissed yet and she was already planning how they would spend their middle age together.
A little before ten, she limped out to the driveway with Britt. “Thanks for coming, dude. Seriously, it means a lot.”
“I’m psyched it worked out,” Britt said, as she stopped beside the car. “But tell the truth—Emma’s the one who’s been blowing up your phone all night, isn’t she?”
Jamie tilted her head. “How did you know?”
“Maybe because I’ve known you for so long.” She paused. “Or maybe because I cracked your passcode while you were in the bathroom. I can’t believe you still use your birthday!”
“What? It’s not like most people know it.”
“Right, because it isn’t available on your player profile page or the roster for any team you’ve ever played on.”
“Shut up,” Jamie said, laughing. She thought about shoving the keeper but realized it would only put a strain on her already unhappy leg muscles.
“Seriously, you seem happier than I expected,” Britt commented.
She leaned against the car, crossing her arms. “I know. I’m injured again, and Clare and I only broke up a month ago, and yet here I am…”
“You don’t have to feel guilty. You made the right decision for you, and Clare is doing fine.” She hesitated and then said, “I think she might be seeing someone.”
“Really?” Jamie stared at her. “Who?”
“Do you remember Susan, that teacher from the eleventh form?”
Jamie nodded. She knew exactly who Britt was talking about. Susan used to tag along on their group dates, seemingly unconcerned that she was the fifth wheel. Jamie had teased Clare more than once about the other teacher’s crush on her.
No wonder Clare had let her go so easily.
“How long has—?” She stopped mid-question. The answer didn’t matter. She was the one who had left London, after all. She couldn’t begrudge Clare the opportunity to find someone who made her happy, even if the thought of her dating so soon after their break-up made her stomach twist slightly. It wasn’t like Clare was the only one already moving on. “Never mind. Tell her I said hello when you see her, okay?”
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