Page 58 of Rumor Has It

“Okay. Well, then I’ll go shower, and then we can share,” Wren said, stepping around Becky. “You know, for the team,” she added before she shut the door behind her.

Wren was leaned back against the headboard of her bed reading a book when Becky emerged from the bathroom. She’d already turned out all of the lights in the room other than her bedside lamp, so all Becky had to do was slide in next to her.

Becky’s nerves were getting the best of her. What if Wren had changed her mind? She cleared her throat. “Do um, do you need anything?” She asked.

Wren’s gaze lifted above the top of the novel in her hands. She shook her head no.

“Okay,” Becky said. She could do this. “And, just to confirm, you still want to share?” She asked.

Wren’s gaze pointedly shifted back to her book. “Yep,” she confirmed.

Without saying anything else, Becky slipped under the covers next to Wren, leaving space between them. Wren jammed a receipt into her book and set it down on her bedside table. “You good with me turning out the light?” She asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Becky couldn’t remember a time she’d been this nervous. She and Wren had had sex before, literally a week ago, but somehow this felt more serious.

The room was plunged into darkness. The whole bed shook as Wren wiggled down deeper under the covers. Becky could feel Wren’s body heat radiating off her, just an inch away.

Without saying anything, Wren rolled on her side, facing Becky, still just out of reach. Becky didn’t know if she should do the same, or if she should roll away. Her heart was pounding in her chest, so loud that’s all she could hear. But then, Wren reached out, her fingertips traced down Becky’s arm until her hand found Becky’s. She laced their fingers together under the covers.

“Goodnight, Rebecca,” Wren whispered. “I hope you sleep better tonight.”

The smallest smile pulled up at the corner of Becky’s lips. “Goodnight, Wren. Sweet dreams,” Becky whispered back. And for the first night since the last time she had shared a bed with Wren Eames, Becky got a good night’s sleep.

The next day before practice the whole team had a mandatory pre-game press conference. Until now, Becky and Wren had managed to not have to attend one of these as they weren’t big enough names yet. And, as Coach Jameson had insinuated previously, they were a detractor from the team’s image and their message on women’s sports. The press only wanted real statements from the more seasoned players like Courtney Sinclair, Danielle Rodriguez, Morgan Prescott, and Allison Martins. The rookies still hadn’t even had to sit through their press training yet, which Becky found shocking that she and Wren hadn’t had to retake some sort of awful, cheesy training video every time the media accused them of something at this point. But she still hadn’t had any formal media training at the national level or for her club team.

She slid into the back row with the other rookies and hoped beyond all hope that the reporters who were there didn’t ask her any questions specifically.

The first thirty minutes or so went exactly as Becky guessed they would. The coaches were asked a lot about Sweden’s team and the USWNT lineup. Some of the big-name players were asked about returning to Sweden to play again for the first time in two years.

Then, surprisingly, a question got directed to the rookies. “For some of you younger players, how does it feel getting to represent your country for the first time on an international pitch?”

Unsurprisingly, the rookies all looked to Wren to answer, Becky included. Wren had that about her, that natural leader instinct. She and Becky were the only two rookies who started and got consistent minutes, so it made sense that she’s who they all turned to for this moment.

“I think getting to wear the crest is still pretty monumental for most of us.” Wren said, easily. She seemed completely natural in this setting. If there was one thing Wren was good at, it was speaking eloquently about football. “To get to represent our country on an international stage is what we’ve spent most of our lives dreaming of. And while we’ve gotten to face international opponents, I think we’re all feeling the excitement of getting to step onto an international pitch and give it everything we’ve got.”

“I have a follow-up question,” a different reporter said. He stood up so they could identify the voice. “In your last club game, you and Rothschild were back at each others’ throats. I’m sure you know, but there’s a lot of speculation about the nature of the relationship between the two of you. How do you plan on keeping that from impacting the rest of your team?”

Wren blanched. She looked frozen in her seat. Worse, she looked like the question might literally make her puke. Becky was not nearly as good at public speaking as Wren, but she was absolutely not going to let that question go unanswered. She leaned forward. “You know, I would like to say that all of those articles, all of the gossip and rumors have genuinely done harm and damage in our personal lives. And, to your question, they’ve already negatively impacted the team and our place on it. I really hope that anyone watching this or writing about this would just keep that in mind. We played against each other for years. Of course a rivalry formed. But when we’re on the same team, wearing the same crest, none of that matters.”

Becky took a second, but continued, “I genuinely think that Wren Eames is the best forward I’ve ever played with or against. I’m honored to be her teammate at this level, and I’ll continue to do whatever I can at the club level to ensure my team is successful.”

Wren’s panic turned into a small smile. She nodded once. “And I’d be more upset with her if she didn’t,” she added, hoping to lighten the mood.

Some of the reporters chuckled at that, but with a nervous glance to the coaches, Becky was pleased to see Coach T give one approving nod.

“So, no comment then about the personal nature of your relationship?” The same reporter asked, though he looked much more smug this time.

Wren’s smile dropped. Rage flashed in her green eyes, but Becky shook her head. Wren could absolutely not go off on this shithead. It wouldn’t help. In fact, it would only make things worse.

So, Becky took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t about to overstep. “I always find it so interesting when women—athletes, actors, celebrities, you name it—get asked these questions. Have you ever asked a male athlete if he’s sleeping with any of his teammates? Has that ever been your assumption? I literally just told you that exact speculation has done genuine harm to us both and you push again? Do better.”

Before the reporter could respond, Coach T cut him off. “Are there any other questions about football?” Her Eastern European accent was clear and commanding. “Or are you just going to speculate more about my team?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

WREN