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The girl nodded and limped off, and Lauren took a shaky breath while everyone reset.
This wasn’t how to prove herself. Carly had never doubted Lauren was a decent keeper. She’d doubted Lauren was a decent human being.
The final whistle came as a mercy, to a mix of cheers and tired groans.
Lauren yanked off her gloves as Jenna jogged to her side, mud streaked up her legs and her socks at half-mast.
“I’m fed up with this,” Jenna said, crouching to remove her shin pads. “Losing fucking sucks.”
“We didn’t lose. First clean sheet of the season.”
“Same thing. We didn’t score.” Jenna watched Carly walk up the touchline towards the clubhouse, Beth matching her stride. “We’re having a drink. Join us.”
“No way. I’m not getting involved.”
“What’s your problem? I thought you were going to help me.”
“I am helping you. You missed the giant elephant in the room on Saturday night. Carly and Beth have history with me, and none of it’s good.” Lauren glanced towards Carly’s retreating back. “There’s no way she’ll take me seriously until I do some major sucking up.”
And right now, Lauren still had no idea how. A proper apology was a start, but when? At the gym, Carly was either behind reception or shadowed by Beth. Even emails went through the manager. There was no way to get five minutes alone, and the polite nods in passing had settled into a stalemate.
“You’re wrong,” Jenna said, planting her hands on her hips. “Beth filled me in on the history. Sucking up won’t work on Carly. You need to show her you’ve changed.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, but it’s easier said than done.”
Lauren began a slow trudge towards the changing rooms. Jenna trailed behind her.
“Actually, it’s easier than you think,” Jenna said. “If Carly plays here, you can prove it beyond doubt. Show her what a great, supportive teammate you are for real, and replace the old memory with a new one.”
“I’m not an idiot. I know you just want her to sign.”
Jenna stopped and grabbed Lauren’s sleeve, tugging her to a halt. “Hey. That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Lauren folded her arms.
“No,” Jenna said. “It isn’t. Not everyone gets a second chance, and even fewer people take it. I’m your friend. I want to support you. So stop acting like a child and let me.”
Lauren’s arms fell to her sides.
The bite behind Jenna’s words wasn’t frustration. It was care. And suddenly, Lauren understood why this mattered so much.
“Are you thinking about your mum?” she asked softly.
Jenna blinked a few times and then replied, “No. Why?”
“Not everyone gets a second chance,” Lauren said. “She didn’t, did she?”
Jenna looked down at her muddy boots.
“No. I guess she didn’t.”
“That’s why you keep trying to help. Because you couldn’t help her.”
It was the thing that had bonded them in the first place, when Lauren had admitted, half-joking, the mess she’d made of her twenties. Jenna hadn’t flinched. She’d told Lauren about her mum, about the overdose, about wanting the summer tournament to raise money for a drug support charity, so the anniversary had somewhere to go. Two people who’d learned the same lesson from opposite ends of it—that you couldn’t save anyone who didn’t want saving, so you saved whoever would let you instead.
Lauren regretted saying it out loud, but Jenna lifted her head, a small, wry smile playing at her lips.
“This has gone deeper than I expected for a post-match analysis.” She nudged Lauren’s shoulder. “See? You’re insightful. Doesn’t sound like the sort of person Carly used to know.”
