“And you’re not?” She shook her head, regaining momentum, building a case that she never considered unleashing before. But this wasn’t her Abby. Not this angry, spiteful, version. So, she didn’t need to be her Kate. “You don’t talk about your past, but it’s here, looming, all the time. Not just Audie, but your mom—”
“Don’t.” Abby shifted, her muscles coiled like she might pounce,and Kate nearly shuddered. She knew Abby would never hurt her, but she recognized the same darkness that exploded at the game. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Sorry,” Kate whispered, even though she wasn’t sure she should be. “Why can’t you see how much everyone cares about you? How much everyone wants to help you and see you succeed? Not just me but Isla, Mick, Jill, T.K., Coach, the whole team!”
“Well, maybe I don’t!” Abby paced, scrubbed her hands down the back of her neck. “Maybe I don’t care as much as everyone wants me to!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not whole!”
Kate didn’t realize they’d both been panting and screaming until that moment. Didn’t realize they hadn’t met eyes until then either. Didn’t realize that they both had tears rolling down their red cheeks.
“I can’t fix that for you,” she said with a sniffle.
Abby rubbed her eyes with a fist and snatched up her bag. “I know.”
“How can you leave like this? How can you give up?”
“What am I giving up, Kate? Huh? Berkeley?” Abby sighed. Her body let go with it, losing inches in height. “We both know I don’t belong there. And this fucking game.” Her mouth drooped forlornly, and Kate nearly gave into it. “I only came back to it because of you. I only felt it again because of you. And now…I don’t want to feel like I’m on the outside. Like you might toss me aside whenever you fear coming out.”
“But I can’t be everything for you either,” Kate said. “I can’t be the only reason you keep playing or go to Berkeley. I can’t stand by while you shut down until you blow up. I can’t be the one to pick up the pieces. Not when I’m struggling too.” She dabbed at her tears, stunned that this was where they’d ended up, but she couldn’t imagine another way through. “You’re not the only one, Abby. It’s like you can’t see beyond yourself. You’re always supposed to see me, but right now I don’t think you can at all.”
Abby frowned. “And what should I see?”
“That I’m suffocating beneath you,” she whispered.
It was gentle but cutting. She almost regretted saying it, but it’d come out naturally, like it was the only answer she had in the mess.
“Well, allow me to help.” Abby brushed past her for the door.
“If you love me so much, why are you doing this?” Kate turned to face her. “Why can’t you figure this out with me?”
“Because I don’t need to figure it out. I know where I stand here.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I know exactly how much I love you. No one, not even God, can change that for me. Can you say the same for your parents? Can you even say the same for yourself?”
Kate couldn’t answer. The tears kept streaking, and her arms stayed tight across her chest because she’d never felt so cold or small or lost in Abby’s eyes. She loved her, but she didn’t know how to keep her. Not like this.
“I didn’t think so,” Abby said. Whatever sympathy, whatever hope, whatever love she spoke of just seconds ago, vanished. A glare overtook her bloodshot gaze. “You always played the game like a coward. You love like a coward. I have no doubt you’ll keep living like one too.”
Abby slammed the door, and while Kate shed plenty of tears through their fight, she let herself cry. Really cry. Into her hands, hunched over, covering her mouth to restrain a wail. She let go of it all but gained no clarity. The worst kind of surrender.
The National Tournament:
Semi-Finals
She made it as far as the hotel lobby, but when she confronted the glass doors, her damp, empty face an unfamiliar reflection, Abby couldn’t do it. For one, she had nowhere to go. More importantly, she wasn’t ready to lose Kate completely. She knew if she abandoned the game, there’d be no return. It still bound them together, their start and now, maybe their end. She resolved to see it through.
She made Izzy Palamino switch rooms with her, then spent a restless night before the semi-finals replaying the words she wished she hadn’t said and the ones she wished Kate hadn’t said too. She wished Kate didn’t consider her a burden, wished that she said she loved her unconditionally. She wished she hadn’t called her a coward. She even wished she didn’t blow up the game, didn’t self-destruct, didn’t feed into the curse.
In the morning, through team breakfast and the bus ride to the fields, they kept their distance, not daring to look at each other. They didn’t need to. The rawness, the hurt, radiated between. The rest of the Eagles entered the game on equally shaky ground. Coach Whitley’s one-game suspension deflated everyone’s spirits, and despite Kate’s and Abby’s best attempts at hiding it, the team picked up on their despair.
“We can do this,” Kate assured in the huddle after morose pregamewarm-ups. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but she forced a smile. Abby ached with regret and admiration at how she never gave up. She never let anyone down, no matter how badly she hurt. Abby couldn’t say the same. “I know we’re tired. I know we’re hurting, and I know we wish Whit was here, but we can do this. We’re so close. Just push a little longer.”
When they jogged out to their positions, Abby extended an olive branch. “Hey, you okay?” she asked.
But Kate didn’t say a word.
Meanwhile, Southern Colorado strutted onto the diamond. They enjoyed a home-state advantage and a lineup twice as deep. When they scored first, their fans chanted and rang cowbells while the players’ shirtless boyfriends bumped chests in the stands.
