Page 42 of Rumor Has It

“Wren, I am so sorry,” Becky said when she finally got close enough for Wren to hear her.

Wren’s green eyes were filled with pain. “Fuck off, Rebecca.” Her voice was strained through gritted teeth.

Her pain jolted through Becky like a bucket of ice water. Becky felt numb. She hadn’t meant to hurt her. The last ten minutes had gotten so out of hand. Wren pulling her hair had lit a fuse, and she’d lost sight of the bigger picture. The bigger picture that involved more beyond the scope of this field in a regular league season game.

Courtney Sinclair, captain of Riptide, as well as the United States Women’s National Team, had just joined her midfielder to engage in a heated exchange with the referee. Becky didn’t need to be any closer to know what Courtney was saying. She was laying out Becky’s play for the past ten minutes and how she’d deserved far more than a yellow.

Shame. This feeling coursing through her was shame. She hadn’t been able to keep up with Wren, and her response to that had just potentially ruined a whole lot of things.

Her own captain, a woman named Amy Alvarez, jogged over. Amy had over 100 caps in the PWSL. She’d been on and off the National Team earlier in her career, but she hadn’t been for the last several years. Her dark eyebrows knitted together. “You good?” She asked, placing both of her hands gently on Becky’s shoulders.

Becky nodded, but honestly she wasn’t. She felt like she might puke. “I didn’t mean to,” she blurted out. She had, though. She had meant to slide and stop Wren. She’d made the conscious decision to do so with ample time so that the other team wouldn’t get a penalty kick. She flinched at the thought.

Amy shook her gently, this time her frown looked far more concerned than anything. “Seriously, Kid. You okay?” Amy called all of the rookies ‘kid’. For something that Becky had been so convinced was going to rub her the wrong way, it was oddly comforting now.

Becky immediately started chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she’d broken a long time ago.

“Come on,” Amy nodded off to the side, away from the melee of trainers, refs, and other players. Most players from both teams had returned to their benches to get a quick water break.

When Becky looked around, she realized that everyone had made it over to their sides, standing just inside the touch lines. Everyone but Courtney Sinclair—who was still heatedly and animatedly calling for Becky’s head—Becky, and Wren. Thankfully, from what Becky could see through legs and medical kits, Wren looked okay. It looked like she was just getting all patched up.

“Hey, Kid,” Amy said, softer this time. “I’ve seen the news articles.” She nodded towards Wren. “Are you, like, going through your first professional yellow card and a breakup right now?”

That got Becky to roll her eyes. “No. We’re not— I mean we haven’t—Well, it’s not.” She didn’t really know what was happening between them, but she knew damn sure that this wasn’t going to help. “I don’t think so?”

The frown returned, crinkling a line in the middle of Amy’s forehead. “Convincing.” She paused, tilting her head. “Look, the clock runs out in four minutes. They’ll add probably six of stoppage time. Okay? Can you keep your poop in a group for ten whole minutes? Or should I tell Bob-o to sub you?”

Becky really appreciated Amy’s direct approach. She couldn’t handle the thought of being coddled right now. She shook her head. “I can give you ten solid minutes.”

Amy nodded. “Can we get ten minutes without you picking up a red?”

Becky nodded vigorously.

“Good. I want you in the next match,” Amy said before jogging over to their team’s bench to get some water with the other players.

She wanted to join them. She really did, but she couldn’t look away as Wren’s trainers helped her up. At the way she winced when she put pressure on her skinned leg. Tape had been wrapped around her upper calf and thigh. Becky couldn’t hear what the trainers were saying or what Wren was saying in response, but Wren’s eyes locked on hers and Becky felt her stomach bottom out.

It was worse than rage or even disgust. It was nothing. The thought of how happy Wren had looked to see her before their match had vanished. Becky felt nauseous. This felt like their first match in college all over again, only this time Becky didn’t want to kill the smile on Wren’s face. She didn’t want to see that blank mask fall ever again. But there wasn’t really anything to be done.

As the trainers jogged back off the pitch, thankfully clearing Wren to resume play, all the players jogged back to their places. Her team lined up for defense while Wren’s team got in position for Wren’s kick. Becky couldn’t focus. She stood numbly in the wall of defenders, ten yards in front of Wren. She didn’t even turn to see where Wren’s kick had gone. She already knew. From the second the ball left Wren’s foot and the whole line of defenders did their best to jump in unison, Becky already knew Riptide was going to score. Her foul had been in vain. She’d ruined everything for no reason.

As soon as they made it back into their locker room, Becky sent Wren a text.

Becky Rothschild (9:47 PM): Wren, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for that slide-tackle to be so rough. You got the jump on me. I was just trying to keep you from scoring.

Riptide had won, 1-0. Becky didn’t even care. Hell, she didn’t even care that her family had seen her lose. Her coach had told her good job, that she had made the smart call. It hadn’t worked, but it had been their best bet to stop them from scoring. He was pleased. She knew he had seen the articles. Everyone had. The whole world had. The rumors and speculation. The very real chemistry that was building between them. She knew that he was trying to reassure her that she had made the right decision, but that didn’t make this feeling sinking into her ribs go away. In fact, it might have made it burn even worse.

Becky wasn’t going to cry in the locker room; she wasn’t. She grabbed her stuff and hustled to the ice baths. The water was freezing as expected, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, but it didn’t keep her distracted well enough. Wren’s face, that look of nothing, was seared in her brain.

As soon as her trainer gave her the thumbs up, she climbed out of the ice bath and ripped through her stuff, looking for her phone. Still no word from Wren. She did have a text from Katie though.

Katie Royce (9:59 PM): Yikes. You okay?

Becky Rothschild (10:03 PM): Nope.

Katie Royce (10:04 PM): Danny and I stopped for dinner, but I’m gonna pick up some ice cream for you on my way home.

Becky Rothschild (10:05 PM): I don’t deserve ice cream.