Jamie opened the door and peeked inside. Wow. The Sheraton Wall Centre didn’t mess around.
“Let me see,” Emma said, ducking around Jamie to enter the suite only to stop short just inside the entryway. “Damn, this is gorgeous. Too bad we have to be downstairs in like three hours.”
“No kidding.” Jamie let the door fall shut behind them.
At their post-game dinner, Emma’s mom had handed them key cards and said with a smile, “Congratulations, girls. I thought you might want some privacy later.”
Privacy was a bit of an understatement, Jamie thought now. Emma’s mom had rented out a suite near the top of the team hotel, complete with a sunken living room, a kitchenette, and floor to ceiling windows on one side of the room. A door across the living space led into a bedroom that appeared to have more huge windows and a king-sized bed. With thick ivory wall-to-wall carpeting and high ceilings, the space felt larger even than Jamie’s new apartment—if she was remembering her apartment correctly. She hadn’t been there in a while.
As Emma took a seat on the living room couch, Jamie went to the window and looked down at the avenue far below where earlier that day they had walked among a sea of fans to their waiting bus. That walk felt like days ago, given how much had happened in the hours since. Now, at three in the morning, the area was finally empty. She wondered how long the fans had celebrated outside the hotel. They had (still? again?) been out in force when the team returned from BC Place. Which, even dinner seemed like a million years ago now.
“Come away from there,” Emma said, shuddering slightly.
Jamie didn’t tease her for her fear of heights. She simply joined her on the couch, settling in beside her and immediately tugging Emma closer. It was nice to be able to touch her at last. No more team time now—at least, for a few hours. In the morning, the media whirlwind would begin. Angie would probably still be drunk, and she wouldn’t be the only one, either.
It had been quite the celebration. First had been the ride from the stadium back to the hotel, with Queen’s “We are the Champions” blasting on the bus speakers and everyone standing in the center aisle singing along with the most famous victory anthem of the past four decades, still champagne soaked and wrapped in American flags. Their meal room had been set up and waiting, their family members already more than halfway through yet another buffet-style celebratory meal. Only this time, the team hadn’t been restricted to only one drink. The beer, wine, and champagne had flowed until Jamie couldn’t distinguish between the champagne bubbles and the pure happiness bursting through her bloodstream.
Surprisingly, the speeches had been kept to a minimum, but Ellie had finally given in to the insistent sound of spoons clinking against glasses and risen, holding up her beer bottle in a mock salute.
“We are the champions, my friends, and we’ll keep on fighting ’til the end,” she had said in a serious, pedantic tone. As boos and whistles mixed with laughter, she’d smiled. “No, seriously, you guys, I’m standing here and it’s still all just sinking in. Every single member of this team started this journey with a dream when we were little kids. Each of us managed somehow to hold on to that dream, to our belief in ourselves and, eventually, in each other, to get to this moment. And here we are, tonight, literal champions of the world.”
She shook her head and smiled even wider, if possible, as the cheers and whoops echoed through the huge room. “It’s dizzying, you guys, I’m serious. Or maybe that’s just the smoke. I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, something about how we were on fire today while actual wildfires blazed not that far away. Anyway, that’s probably the booze talking. Speaking of booze…” She lifted her bottle of beer again. “To the most amazing group of badass women I’ve ever known—and that’s saying something. Thank you for making my dreams come true. I love you all.”
Jo had spoken too, and Phoebe at much prodding, but Ellie’s was the only speech that brought actual tears to Jamie’s eyes. Probably that had been the booze talking, too.
In truth, she hadn’t had that much to drink. Alcohol and she had never gotten along well, and she’d had no interest in turning the best night of her life into a blurry, nauseating mess. The party had lasted for hours upon hours, so a few drinks spread out across multiple venues had kept her smack dab in the pleasantly tipsy zone.
After dinner, they’d finally had a chance to shower and get ready for the official US Soccer party at the Commodore Ballroom, an event space that was only a few blocks from the hotel. Under strict orders not to carry open containers or otherwise embarrass the federation, players made their way to the bar in small groups only to find their friends and family members already there, dancing to tunes served up by the DJ the federation had hired for the #FanHQ outreach program.
As soon as the entire team had assembled, they’d taken to the stage and Ellie had voiced their thanks to everyone who had helped get them there. A few other people had spoken, including Jo and a couple of federation officials, and then they’d danced. And danced. And danced some more. Each time Jamie had started to feel tired, she would remember the sensation of scoring; or of running around the stadium with Angie and Britt, carrying the flag between them; or of shaking hands with the Vice President and Mia Hamm, who KNEW HER NAME. And then a fresh wave of adrenaline would wash over her and she would shake her booty and laugh even more.
At one point, Angie had complained, “Jesus, you guys, this is like my high school’s all-night graduation bash. You know US Soccer only wants us here so we don’t go out and do something stupid.”
Jamie hadn’t actually seen anything wrong with that plan, either at the secondary school level or here in Vancouver. The Commodore was close enough to the hotel that there wasn’t much chance for inebriated team members to get in trouble. Not that a lack of opportunity had ever stopped Jenny Latham.
Britt, glued at the hip to Allie, her permanently smiling girlfriend, had shrugged. “Yeah, but this party has large quantities of alcohol, so the comparison can’t be entirely accurate. Then again, it is Jersey we’re talking about…”
Ignoring the jab at her home state, Angie had suddenly switched gears—also the booze talking, Jamie suspected. “I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter if Big Brother is watching. We won the freaking World Cup, and now we get to celebrate with all of these beautiful, amazing people?” She shook her head. “Enough said, man. Totally enough said.”
Jamie had known what she meant. The sheer number of friends and family present at the game and at the party afterward had been incredible. In addition to Jamie and Emma’s immediate family, they’d both had aunts, uncles, and cousins in Vancouver for both the game and the after party. Dani and Derek had made the trip up from Seattle, and stayed at the Commodore to celebrate the win almost as long as the team did. Becca and Rhea had put in a few hours as well, simultaneously relieved to be away from the twins and also mildly weepy despite the extended post-game snuggle fest they’d enjoyed with their babies during dinner. Jamie was actually surprised the two moms had made it out twice in one day, but Rhea was the youngest of three, and her parents were experienced grand-babysitters.
“Besides,” Becca had said as she leaned against a pub table with her wife, “this party is once in a lifetime shit. Unless you win it next time, of course.”
“I hope watching you cry into your beer while your babies sleep peacefully three blocks away is once in a lifetime, too,” Meg had said teasingly.
“Whatever,” Becca had replied. “It’s the love hormone, okay? Just wait until you and Todd pop out a baby or two.”
Rhea had started laughing at that. “Um, I don’t think Todd will be doing the popping, sweets.”
Becca had only pulled her wife in close, their smiles competing with those of the players around them.
The love hormone—that would be the perfect name for a club, Jamie had thought later, spinning around and around with her friends and family, love and victory heavy on the air. This was what her and Emma’s wedding re
ception would be like, wouldn’t it? Except without the One Nation One Team banner hanging behind the stage. And without the federation brass, one would hope.
The memory lingered now as Jamie sat beside Emma on the couch, her ears still ringing from the dance music, her fingers toying idly with Emma’s hair. “So you were serious in London when you said you wanted to get married, right?”
Emma didn’t move for a long moment. “What?”
“Someday,” Jamie added quickly, realizing how her middle-of-the-night curiosity had phrased itself. “I mean, the whole marriage and kids thing is still where you see yourself headed, right?”
“It is,” Emma said, her voice calm and steady. “What about you?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Good.”
“Good,” she echoed, tracing the back of Emma’s hand. “Can I ask you something?” As Emma’s gaze shot to her, she added, “No, not—I meant about your dad.”
“Oh.” Emma nodded, her head falling back against the couch. “Go ahead.”
“I just wondered if you felt like he was with you tonight.”
Emma shrugged. “You know I don’t actually believe in things like that.”
“You’re the one who talks about being psychic.”
“Well, yeah,” Emma said, “but I feel like that could be explained by science. We only use ten percent of our brains, as far as we know, so being psychic could easily be part of the other ninety percent. But my dad somehow being here after all these years? That, I can’t see, no matter how much I might wish it were true.”
“Okay,” Jamie said, “I get that. So you didn’t feel like he was physically present, but did you still think about him tonight?”
“Yeah,” Emma admitted, her eyes on their linked hands. “Of course. There was this one moment when we were up on stage cheering and being all rowdy, and I looked over and saw my mom sipping her glass of champagne and smiling, and it was like all of a sudden I could totally picture my dad there with her. It felt almost like a memory that my brain didn’t know wasn’t real. Does that make sense?”
Jamie nodded. She had shared an article once with Emma about how when a person relives a memory, their brain experiences the event as if it’s actually happening all over again in the present. That was why false memories could be so difficult to counter. The human brain, it turned out, could be truly terrible at distinguishing between reality and fantasy.
“You always make sense,” Jamie said, leaning into Emma. “Well, usually, anyway. I mean, you are a United fan, and there’s obviously no rational reason for that.”
“Ha ha,” Emma said, smiling sleepily. She tilted her head, allowing her temple to rest against Jamie’s. “He would have been happy about all of this.”
About their World Cup win? Or about their relationship? Jamie wasn’t sure. Just as she started to ask, a huge yawn overtook her, and then her eyes desperately needed a break from the light; only a moment’s rest, you see…
An indeterminate amount of time later, she jerked awake at the sound of someone snoring. Was it her or Emma?
Beside her, Emma laughed softly. Then she leaned in and kissed Jamie’s cheek before tugging on her hand. “Come on, my little World Cup champion. Time for bed.”
They should have sex after winning the World Cup, shouldn’t they? Jamie was sure they should. Like, screw team time literally, heh heh. But she had barely enough energy to brush her teeth and set aside her gold medal—which she, like everyone else on the team, had been wearing all night—before falling into the soft as a cloud bed. She was still dressed in her Carhart’s and a tank top Jodie had given her emblazoned with the word “TOMBOY,” despite her luggage stowed by some unknown helper in the corner by the window, and honestly? She was fine with that.
Emma snuggled up next to her and turned out the bedside lamp. In the dark, she said, her voice low, “Thanks, Jamie.”
“For what?” she asked, yawning.
“For being here with me.”
“My pleasure,” Jamie said, wishing once again that she had enough energy to make up for the weeks of federation-enforced abstinence. She reached under Emma’s shirt, fingers brushing against her warm skin, and then her hand drifted to her girlfriend’s hip where she knew Emma had inked a spiral sun compass into her skin as a tribute to her father—and to Jamie, too. Her thumb rubbed gently at the unseen tattoo, and she felt rather than heard Emma sigh. A moment later, Emma’s fingers were warm against Jamie’s bicep, tracing her Sanskrit tattoo in the dark.
“Someone has to look after you,” Jamie said a little belatedly, smiling as she heard the amused huff of air escape Emma’s lips.
“More look I’ll be looking after you,” her girlfriend said. “I’m serious, Jamie, we’re in the eye of the hurricane right now. The media whirlwind was crazy after we lost in 2011. Now that we’ve won?” She shook her head, hair brushing against Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I can’t even imagine.”
Jamie couldn’t, either. It was hard to process that she would be one of the players being pursued by the press the way Angie had been all week after her goal against Germany. Then again, Ellie had scored a hat trick against Japan. It was possible no one would even notice Maddie and Jamie’s goals.
Except, nah. That didn’t really seem like a thing.
In the quiet hotel room, with the lights of Vancouver sparkling outside seemingly close enough to touch, it was difficult to picture the craziness Emma swore—and Jamie believed—was coming. But she knew this moment would pass quickly, and they would be joining the rest of the team in a matter of hours to get their hair and make-up done before going on FOX Sports to receive their new three-star national team kits. After their appearance at the Fox Sports pavilion on the Vancouver waterfront, it was back to LA for a fan rally and celebration at Staples Center. Jamie had even heard rumors of a ticker tape parade in New York City—the first ever for a women’s sports team—and an extended victory tour, so already their post-Canada schedule was shaping up to be a marathon, not a sprint.
Kind of like the World Cup itself.
And here Jamie had been worried about returning to the NWSL and trying to manage her long distance relationship with Emma while playing for rival professional teams. If US Soccer had its way, she and Emma wouldn’t be apart much at all. Not that she minded that prospect.
Jamie snuggled closer to Emma, her eyes closed. In the morning—okay, in like two hours—the whirlwind would resume. But for now, they would lie here in each other’s arms, and maybe they would even sleep, assuming Jamie could get the images of goal celebrations, of fans roaring, of the people she loved alternately cheering and tearing up to take a rest. Either way, she and Emma had made it. They were World Cup champions, and they were in love and thinking about one day, maybe down the road, getting married.
For now, Jamie thought, her arms encircling Emma’s warm, strong body, that was more than enough.
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About the Author
Kate Christie, author of twelve novels including Beautiful Game, Leaving LA, Gay Pride & Prejudice, and the Girls of Summer series, was born and raised in Kalamazoo, Michigan. A graduate of Smith College and Western Washington University, she lives near Seattle with her wife, three young daughters, and the family dogs.
To read excerpts from Kate’s other titles from Second Growth Books and Bella Books, please visit her author website. Or check out her blog, Homodramatica, where she occasionally finds time to wax unpoetically about lesbian life, fiction, and motherhood.
Patreon Supporters
Last year, one of the faithful readers of the Girls of Summer series suggested I start a Patre
on account so that those with the means and desire could help support my work in ways other than purchasing titles. So I did, and the experience has been eye-opening. Not only do I worry less about the business side of writing, but I’ve also formed online friendships with patrons of my work. So much of writing is a solitary slog away from family, friends, and co-workers, but with Patreon I can interact with readers who I know care deeply about my work. That is a really powerful gift, even more than the financial support.
One of the benefits listed on my Patreon page—in addition to behind the scenes glimpses and free e-books, audiobooks, and paperbacks—is the publication of my patron list in the back of my books. So here goes with the inaugural list. Thank you to each and every one of you for letting me know that my books have found their way to generous readers who just might care about my characters as much as I do.
Amanda J., AZ, Barb B., Bernie C., Charley K., Chris Z., Cristina K., Ed M., Erica G., GZ, Hugh R., Jan B., Jessie W., MW, Pat G., Robyn H., Spencer K., Stephanie A., Suzi S.
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