Page 51 of Rumor Has It

“Are you okay?” Molly asked in lieu of a greeting.

Wren sighed. No, she wasn’t okay. She was spiraling. Hard. But Molly didn’t even know about what had happened after the game. “I’m fine. My leg will heal. Probably have a pretty gnarly scar, but I think chicks dig those.”

“You’re so dumb,” Molly said with a laugh. She paused for a second before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was heavier, more careful. “I didn’t really mean your leg though, Wren. I meant your heart.”

“You’re such a mom,” Wren groaned. Her heart ached, though. It was moments like this that she wished she could call her mother, that she wished they had a relationship. Hell, she’d even considered calling Linda and trauma dumping on her. Time to rip off the metaphorical bandaid—and maybe her real one. She needed to wash her leg and put something on it or it would scar for real.

Wren cleared her throat. “So, after the game. I might have gone over to Rebecca’s to yell for a bit.”

“Did it help?” Molly asked, her voice not judgmental, but genuinely curious.

“Well, it might have.” How in the hell was she supposed to say this? As fast as possible was her solution. “I said my piece. And then I might have kissed her. And that might have, kind of, turned into me”—Wren paused, suddenly,—“wait the twins can’t hear me, right?”

“There are no kids present. What happened?” Molly all but yelled into the phone.

“Yikes, right. So, I might have fucked her in her entryway and then, well, you know, continued that in her room for like, most of the night.” Wren winced.

“Wren! What?” That was a full-blown yell.

“I didn’t mean to!” Wren yelled back. “She’s just really hot and annoying. And I messed up so hard.”

“Well, wait. Why, though? Shouldn’t this fix everything? Maybe if you two are dating, she'll calm the hell down when you play against her. I mean, come on, this has been building since you were sixteen.” Molly waited. “I mean, unless you don’t like her? Is this like an unhealthy thing? Do I need to stage an intervention?”

That pulled a rough chuckle out of Wren. “No, I don’t think I need an intervention. I think we all know I would be lying if I tried to say that I didn’t like her. But I can’t do this, Molly. I mean, for one there’s the contracts we signed.” Wren gestured around her empty apartment. She realized that Molly couldn’t actually see her. “Shit, I mean, I can’t afford my place without my National Team salary. And I would lose some sponsorships without that contract anyway. I have to pick my career.”

Wren sank down onto her couch and continued, “I mean, she’s so, just like, insanely pretty. And we have everything in common, but I can’t get kicked off the National Team.” She sighed. “If this was a two bedroom and I could just get a roommate, maybe I could risk it, but I’ve got nine months to go on this lease.”

“Do you think she’d wait?” Molly asked.

“I don’t know. I was such a dick this morning. I didn’t even mean to be. I didn’t want to be. I just woke up and realized what had happened.” Wren sucked in a sharp breath. “She probably hates me right now.”

“Oh, Wren. Even when she’s trying to kill you on a soccer field, I don’t think she’s ever hated you. I think that’s been her problem the whole time. It would be a hell of a lot easier on both of you if she did.”

Wren stared at her phone screen. She and Rebecca hadn’t texted since before she had gone over there. Her heart burned at the fact that Rebecca hadn’t asked if she’d died in a fiery plane crash. God, she was so embarrassing. She told Rebecca nothing could happen between them—again. And she meant it. But she hadn’t wanted to lose her friend in the process. Other than Molly, Wren didn’t have many real friends. She was friendly with everyone. All of her teammates from college still checked in or congratulated her after she had done something epic at a National level, but she didn’t have many people that she truly talked to. Really she just had Molly and Barbara, but her relationship with Barbara was limited. She was trying to see Barbara as a young adult, but she would never tell her anything about last night. Part of Barbara would always be that goofy twelve-year-old from five years ago who so clearly just wanted Wren to like her.

The fact was, Wren had grown to appreciate and depend on her budding friendship with Rebecca more than she wanted to admit. And that was painfully apparent now that she felt like she couldn’t text her.

She could. They could be adults. They had to be. They were travel buddies. In four days, the entire National Team was flying to Atlanta for two days of practices, and then they were flying to Sweden for this year’s first overseas game. She was about to be with Rebecca seven nights straight. They had to be able to communicate.

“Fuck it,” Wren said to the silence of her apartment.

Wren Eames (7:53 PM): I didn’t die, by the way.

Rebecca liked the message, but she didn’t respond. Wren sighed. Of course Becky was going to make this difficult. Wren didn’t let herself get annoyed. This morning was weighing on her. The way she left wasn’t right. Not after Wren had kissed Rebecca first. That bit was eating at her. Wren kissed Rebecca first. Hell, Wren fucked her in her entryway. And then the next morning was just like, whoops. Bad idea.

If she was in Rebecca’s shoes, she’d be livid, or worse. This was the second time that Wren had caused Rebecca emotional pain—well, the first time had really been her own doing, but still. This time was absolutely Wren’s fault, but she was determined to not let Rebecca ghost her after it. Not again.

Wren Eames (7:59 PM): I’m sorry about this morning.

She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t regret last night. She didn’t regret anything that had happened between them for the past six years. But that didn’t change her current situation, and it didn’t change the outcome. Rebecca seemed to be having similar struggles because Wren watched those little blue typing dots appear and disappear for five minutes.

Rebecca Rothschild (8:04 PM): I know, Wren. I get it. I’m glad you made it home.

“Fuck,” Wren whispered again. She didn’t know what she had hoped for. Rebecca was respecting her wishes. Wren should be thankful. But instead it all just hurt. She hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt to have Rebecca go cold on her again. Even when Wren was the one who had said in no uncertain terms that this could absolutely not happen again. But holy shit, she suddenly felt like she was sixteen all over again. Confused and alone and unable to talk to the one person she wanted to the most.

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NINETEEN