Page 36 of Rumor Has It

“You ready?” Coach Jameson asked.

Becky nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go make the difference.”

Becky subbed in for Ali, accepting Wren’s high five as she jogged past. Her fresh legs against the Portuguese team’s tired forwards had her eating them alive. They couldn’t get a clean pass through. And more importantly, she fed Wren and Courtney everything she could. The tide shifted almost instantaneously.

There was something to be said for suddenly playing with your long-time rival. Wren was across the field from her, the left side forward to her right side defender, but that made finding open space for Wren all the easier. She knew exactly where Wren would run before she even had a clean touch on the ball. She’d become so used to tracking her that she didn’t need to even look up to do it anymore.

Becky picked the ball easily from one of the midfielder’s on the other team and cleared the ball up the field, perfectly within reach of Wren’s stride. It only took Wren three touches before she had entirely cleared the other team’s defensive line. With one perfect touch, Wren found Courtney Sinclair’s forehead across the field and they had leveled the game.

Wren and Courtney slid in synchronized celebration towards the fans, but the second Wren popped up, she was clapping theatrically towards Becky, throwing her a beaming smile and a thumbs up immediately after.

Becky returned her smile and thumbs up, but she stayed completely focused. Her eyes checked the clock. They still had twelve minutes left of the match, and they’d probably have a few minutes of stoppage time as well. She’d need to get the ball up the field again, which meant she couldn’t let Portugal hang on to it for long. Disruption was going to be key for the rest of play. Fortunately, Becky was kind of infamous for her aggression, and she had no reason to keep any energy saved up for another half.

Any ball that came even remotely close to her was promptly taken and sent up the field. She slid, she threw a few elbows, but she kept her play clean enough to not attract attention from the referees. She didn’t want to be the player who turned over a set piece, but she also refused to relent. She sent a perfect through ball up the sidelines. Brittany Holcomb, her right winger, was quick to press farther down the line. Becky shifted up with her, quickly glancing at the time clock. They only had ninety seconds left of the match. Becky shifted farther forward than she normally would, signaling to Danielle Rodriguez that she was pushing ahead.

Brittany found her feet easily, open and ready. Becky crossed the ball, getting a clear pass through heavy coverage to Erin Rice, the center midfielder. And with one flick of her foot, Erin found Wren. Becky had hated Wren for her footwork for the last four years, but as her teammate, it was a joy to watch her work. Wren sliced through the last of Portugal’s defenders and buried the ball in the back of the net.

Wren sprinted across the field, headed right towards her. Becky braced for impact, Wren had never run at her like that in joy. She sure as hell had never leapt into her arms. Becky caught her, spinning her around, demanding her heart to not react, and absolutely not letting her mind lose focus. After a few spins, she put Wren down.

“Hell yeah, Rebecca,” Wren yelled in her ear over the thundering applause of the stadium.

The rest of the team had circled them for a big group hug, but Becky really couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that Wren had run to her to celebrate first.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

WREN

They won. They had actually pulled it off, and on top of that, Wren had scored again. She felt like she could fly when the referee blew the final whistle. The whole team was ecstatic. She could feel the energy all but visibly vibrating off her teammates. After their first game, many of the older players had walked along the walls of the field and signed autographs for fans. Wren had joined them for a short time, but not many spectators had known who she was yet. So, while fans had readily accepted her autograph and had asked for photos with her, there hadn’t been anyone there for her.

But now, after their second match, as she looked out into the crowd, her breath caught in her throat. There were more than a few Wren Eames signs. People had been holding signs up with her name on them. She swallowed back her emotions—caught up with the thrill of their come-from-behind victory and the fact that she had actual fans who were there for her—and jogged over to the team bench.

Courtney was passing out markers to everyone while Coach Jameson did his best to hold their attention, despite the entire team’s energy being at an all-time high. Wren slid into the huddle next to Rebecca, letting their shoulders bump together. She threw her teammate an excited smile as she did her best to concentrate on what their coach had to say.

She couldn’t focus though, despite her best efforts. Her eyes were still zipping through the stadium, overwhelmed by all the young people who had come to watch them play, stunned by all the rainbow flags being used as capes, and the way the fans were happily chatting with each other as they waited hopefully for their favorite players to come through and sign stuff for them. It hadn’t truly sunk in after their first match, the sheer number of fans who had come to watch them play.

As soon as Coach Jameson dismissed them, she grabbed Rebecca’s arm, just above her elbow. Wren had noticed that after the first game, Rebecca hadn’t stayed to sign anything. But not only were there Wren Eames signs, there were Becky Rothschild signs, too. Wren nodded up towards the stands. “Come on. Let’s go sign autographs for our fans.” She emphasized the word, wanting to make sure that Rebecca knew that she had fans, too.

When Wren turned her attention back to Rebecca, she found those intense hazel eyes staring intently down at her. Sweat still dripped down the sides of Rebecca’s face. Her freckles practically sparkled under the fluorescent lights of the stadium. Wren forgot how to breathe. They were only recently friends, they were definitely coworkers, and they had literally just told their coaches that there was nothing going on between them. This was just the high from the game and the thrill of having fans. It had to be. Wren absolutely should not be looking at the freckle that kissed the top of Rebecca’s upper lip, just to the left of the bow. Wren felt her grip tighten on Rebecca’s arm as if she had no control over her own actions. She blinked suddenly and stepped back a half step, letting go of Rebecca’s arm as she did so.

Perhaps more startling than the desire that had curled in the pit of her stomach in a matter of seconds was that Wren hadn’t been alone in her moment of whatever that had been. She wouldn’t call it a weakness. She didn’t feel weak for thinking Rebecca Rothschild was hot. It was, however, definitely a moment of disaster. And something she absolutely could not act on. Neither of them could. They had signed contracts. Coach Jameson was already tired of their shit. This had to stop and fast because Rebecca was absolutely staring at her like she was strongly considering devouring Wren right here in the middle of the field.

Wren pointedly looked over Rebecca’s shoulder, back towards the crowd. The crowd who was, without a doubt, watching them and snapping photos of their every movement. “Autographs?” She said, her voice soundly entirely unlike her own.

Rebecca nodded as she licked her lips and shook her head a little bit, like she was physically shaking herself out of whatever had just passed between them. “Yeah, autographs.”

“Come on,” Wren said, forcing all of her attention back to the crowd. “I see our names on some signs over there.”

Their names were in fact on several signs, a few signs had their names on them together. One even said, “Wren + Becky = Wrecky.” Wren stared at it and then looked up at the young woman holding it.

“Is this a thing?” Wren asked, pointing at the sign.

The fan blushed and nodded, maybe a little embarrassed to have actually been noticed by one of the players she clearly admired. If Wren had to guess, the girl was probably in her early to middle teens. Younger than Barbara, but not by much.

Wren threw her head back with a loud laugh. “Hey, Re- um, Becky?” She called out, getting Rebecca’s attention from down the line. They had stayed fairly close together but had put a big enough gap in between themselves that fans had their attention individually.