Page 29 of The Girlfriend Goal

The morning after truth or dare arrived with a vengeance. I woke to the sound of Jared singing in the shower—badly—which meant he'd definitely spent the night in Matt's room. The walls in this cabin were criminally thin, and I'd heard enough to know that their ‘talk’ had gone very well.

I dragged myself out of bed, determined to restore some semblance of normalcy to this trip.

The kiss yesterday had been a mistake, a public acknowledgment of something that should’ve stayed private.

The way Lance had looked at me afterward—soft and hopeful and so genuinely caring—had kept me up half the night.

The kitchen was blessedly empty when I entered, giving me time to make coffee and gather my defenses before facing anyone. I'd gotten through exactly one sip when Jared floated in, looking like a Disney character who'd just discovered love.

"Good morning, sunshine." He twirled to the coffee maker. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"It's cloudy and you hate mornings," I pointed out.

"Not anymore." He sighed dreamily. "Did you know Matt makes these little sounds when he—"

"Nope." I held up a hand. "Best friend code doesn’t require me to hear details about your sex life with Lance's best friend."

"But Rachel," he whined, "I need to process. And you're being emotionally constipated about your own situation, so let me have this."

"I'm not emotionally constipated."

"You're the definition of emotionally constipated. You kissed Lance in front of God and everyone yesterday and then fled like Cinderella if the prince had better abs."

"That's not—" I paused. "Actually, that's pretty accurate."

Jared abandoned his coffee to sit beside me, his expression turning serious. "Rachel, what are you so afraid of?"

The question hit deeper than he probably intended. "You know what happened with Brad."

"Brad was a controlling asshole who tried to make you smaller," Jared said firmly. "Lance looks at you like you're the entire solar system. There's a difference."

"Brad seemed great at first too," I said quietly.

"Supportive, charming, said all the right things about my ambitions.

Then slowly, so slowly I didn't notice at first, he started chipping away.

Missing my games because of his own practice.

Making comments about how much time I spent on soccer versus with him.

Suggesting I could skip training to watch his lacrosse matches instead. "

Jared's face darkened. I'd never told him the full extent of Brad's manipulation, but he was piecing it together.

"By the end," I continued, "I was so turned around I actually considered quitting soccer. Can you imagine? Everything I'd worked for, and I almost threw it away because he'd convinced me that supporting his dreams was more important than having my own."

"But you didn't quit," Jared reminded me. "You dumped his ass and won a championship."

"Only because you literally staged an intervention. You saw what was happening when I couldn't." I wrapped my hands around my mug, seeking warmth. "I promised myself I'd never let that happen again. My career comes first. Always."

"Okay, but consider this wild possibility," Jared said gently.

"What if you could have both? What if Lance actually wants to support your dreams, not replace them?

Do you know what Matt told me last night?

After the talking ?" Jared blushed but pushed through.

"He said Lance has your Seattle interview date circled on his calendar.

He's already looking at flight schedules to visit if you get it. "

My heart did something complicated in my chest. "He what?"

"Yeah. Apparently he's been researching the team, the management structure, even apartment prices in Seattle.

Not because he's trying to follow you or whatever, but because he wants to understand what you're working toward.

" Jared studied my face. "When's the last time Brad even asked about your five-year plan? "

The answer was never. Brad had treated my ambitions like an inconvenient phase I'd grow out of once I realized being his girlfriend was enough.

"It doesn't matter," I said weakly. "I can't afford distractions right now."

"Babe." Jared took my hands. "What if he's not a distraction? What if he's motivation? You've been playing better since you two started your 'casual' thing. You're happier, more balanced. Maybe having someone in your corner isn't the weakness you think it is."

Before I could respond, Lance appeared in the doorway, hair still messed from sleep and wearing joggers that should be illegal. He hesitated, clearly reading the serious mood.

"Sorry, I can come back."

"No, stay," Jared said, popping up. "I need to go check on something in Matt's room. For an hour."

He practically ran out, leaving Lance and me in loaded silence. He moved to the coffee maker, giving me space while the tension built.

"Jared's not subtle," he said finally.

"He really isn't." I watched him move around the kitchen, noticed how he automatically grabbed my favorite mug for a refill without asking. "He says you have my interview date on your calendar."

Lance froze for just a second before continuing his pour. "Matt has a big mouth."

"Is it true?"

He turned, leaning against the counter. "Would it freak you out if it was?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"I want you to get it," he said simply. "The Seattle job. Even though it means you'll be across the country. Even though the thought of not seeing you makes me..." He stopped, seemingly remembering our rules. "You've worked too hard not to get everything you want."

"What if what I want isn't simple?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Something flared in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

This was dangerous territory, but Jared's words echoed in my head. What if?

"I grew up with nothing," I found myself saying. "Not poor like 'we can't afford name brands.' Poor like 'the electricity got shut off again' and 'breakfast is sleep because there's no food.' My parents worked three jobs each and it still wasn't enough."

Lance set down his mug, his full attention on me in that way that always made me feel seen.

"Soccer was my ticket out. First with scholarships, then the possibility of going pro before I tore my ACL junior year of high school.

" I touched my knee absently. "When that dream died, I pivoted to sports management.

New plan, same goal—success that means my parents never have to choose between groceries and keeping the lights on again.

"I send them half my scholarship stipend. They don't know. They'd never take it if they knew. But I make it work because that's what you do. You sacrifice. You focus. You don't let anything derail the plan."

"And I'm derailing the plan?" His voice was carefully neutral.

"You're making me want things I can't afford to want," I admitted. "When I'm with you, I forget about the plan. I forget that I can't have both. That something always has to give, and it can't be my career. Not again."

Lance crossed to me then, stopping just outside my personal space. "What if I don't want you to give up anything? What if I just want to be there while you conquer the world?"

"Everyone says that."

"I'm not everyone," he interrupted, rare frustration bleeding through. "I'm not Brad. I'm not going to make you smaller or ask you to choose. Your dreams don't threaten mine, Rachel. They inspire me."

My eyes burned with unexpected tears. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand." He moved closer, voice dropping. "Tell me why it has to be either or. Explain why caring about each other means you can't also care about your career. Because from where I'm standing, you're already doing both. You're just torturing yourself about it."

"My brother had a full ride to play hockey," I said quietly.

"Then Greenfield recruited someone better and pulled his scholarship last minute.

Hockey killed his dream, and nearly killed him when the depression hit.

He's better now, but for years..." I shook my head.

"I watched what putting all your faith in someone else's system does.

What happens when you let feelings override logic. "

"That wasn't feelings, that was business."

"Everything's business when money's involved. Your scholarship, my internship, us. It's all transactions when you strip away the pretty words."

"Us isn't a transaction," Lance said fiercely. "Whatever this is between us, it's not some equation you can solve by ignoring it."

"Watch me," I said, but it came out weak.

"You already tried that, remember? How'd that work out?" He gestured between us. "We're here, having this conversation, because pretending we don't care about each other is exhausting both of us."

He was right. I hated that he was right.

"I don't know how to do this," I admitted. "I don't know how to want you and want my career and not have them conflict."

"Maybe they don't have to." He reached out, telegraphing the movement so I could stop him if I wanted.

I didn't. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen.

"Maybe I can just be the guy who celebrates when you succeed and holds you when it's hard and reminds you to eat during finals week. "

"That's not casual," I whispered.

"No," he agreed. "It's not."

We stood there, his hand on my face, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. Every instinct screamed to run, to rebuild my walls before he could get closer. But I was so tired of running.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"Me too," he said, which somehow helped. "But I'm more scared of missing this chance because we were both too stubborn to try."

I leaned into his touch, just for a moment, allowing myself to imagine what "trying" might look like. Lance supporting my dreams instead of competing with them. Me letting someone in without losing myself. Us, together, as more than a transaction or casual arrangement.