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I grab her arm, and she turns around, one tear sliding down her cheek. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry.” I lace my fingers through hers and squeeze. “I got really, really scared. I’m so scared, but you mean so much to me.”

Her eyes are wide and still spilling tears. “I—I do?”

I nod. I didn’t plan on saying that, but it’s out now, and it’s true.

“You do. Maybe it’s a little crazy of me, but you do.” My voice cracks, and my vision starts to get blurry. I force a chuckle. “Shit, now I’m crying too.”

“Becca, hey, it’s okay.” She frees her hand from mine so she can throw her arms around my neck. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

I sag against her and take a deep, shuddering breath.

“We will.”

We have to. This isn’t just a crush on some girl. I don’t know exactly what this is, but it’s already stronger than any rule I’ve ever made for myself.

She holds me for a few moments and then pulls back to swipe at her eyes, grinning. I start to smile too. It’s hard not to smile when she’s smiling.

“I really should go now. We’ll figure the team stuff out, but not tonight, so I should get back.”

“Right. Yeah. Are you okay to walk alone?”

She slips her hands into her pockets again. “Yeah, it’s only a couple streets.”

“Text me when you get there, okay? I want to know you’re safe.”

She nods, her mouth lifted in a dorky smile, and then hesitates for a second before she leans in to kiss my cheek. I feel the warmth of her lips through my whole body.

“Goodnight, Becca.”

“Goodnight,” I whisper.

She heads out, and I drop onto my bed as soon as I hear the door to our unit close. I crawl under my quilt and shut off my bedside lamp without even bothering to brush my teeth. The exhaustion is immediate, turning my thoughts sluggish and my limbs heavy as I lay there and wait for her text.

We’ll figure it out.

I hold onto her words like they’re a talisman warding off all the ways this probably won’t work out. I’ll deal with the details later. Tonight, I just need to hold on.

15

Becca

The details become a persistent whine over the next couple days, like a mosquito trapped in my head. Hope and I text a bit but don’t make plans to see each other. We have two days off from practice, so we don’t have any lacrosse-related contact either.

The break from being around her has two very opposing effects. One is that I can’t stop craving another night with her—or another coffee date, or another dinner in the park, or even just another smile. It’s almost not even worth going to my lectures; I just sit there thinking about her.

The other effect is that I can’t stop thinking about how truly, deeply fucked up this all is. Hope deserves to know everything, but I can’t tell her everything without pulling Kala into my mess.

Again.

Then there’s the team to contend with. We’ve only just started the season, and we’re aimed at our first real shot at the title. I know far too well how much team drama can throw us off, and I also know exactly what this will look like: like I’m the spoiled scholarship girl who won a big donation for the team and now thinks she can do whatever—and whoever—she wants, no matter the cost. It’s even worse now that I’m captain. I’ve drilled the no-dating policy into the team almost as hard as I’ve drilled it into myself, and now I’m out here doing the complete opposite.

Hope doesn’t even know I’m the reason we have the policy in the first place.

By the time I meet up with Kala for the Tuesday dinner we have planned, I’m a twitchy, nervous wreck. I almost give into the temptation to ‘forget’ about dry season and accept the wine she offers me in her studio apartment. I pull it together enough to ask for water instead; there has to be at least one team rule I can follow.

“Right. I forgot about dry season,” Kala calls from behind the half wall that separates her tiny kitchen from the rest of the room.