Page 34 of The Girlfriend Goal

The email arrived on a mundane Tuesday morning while I sat in the campus café, ostensibly reviewing game footage but actually watching Lance help a freshman with stats homework two tables over.

His patient explanation, complete with hand gestures and hockey analogies, made my chest ache with familiar want.

Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you a summer internship position with the Seattle Storm...

I stared at the screen, reading it three times before the words sank in.

Everything I'd worked for, sacrificed for, was right there in digital black and white.

The opportunity to learn from the best in women's professional basketball, to build the career that would lift my family from poverty, to prove that a woman from a struggling neighborhood could make it in sports management.

So why did my first instinct involve looking at Lance?

"Oh my God!" Jared's shriek made half the café jump. He'd been reading over my shoulder, apparently. "You got it. You got Seattle!"

His volume drew Lance's attention. Our eyes met across the space, and somehow he knew. His face transformed – pride, joy, and something that looked suspiciously like loss flashing in quick succession before settling on a genuine smile.

He made his way over as Jared continued his celebration, which now included an impromptu dance that mortified nearby patrons.

"Seattle?" Lance asked softly.

I nodded, still processing. "Four months, starting in June."

"That's incredible, Rachel. You deserve this."

"This calls for champagne," Jared declared. "Or at least the finest boxed wine the corner store offers."

"It's ten in the morning," I pointed out.

"Mimosas then. Matt!" He spotted his boyfriend entering the café. "Rachel got Seattle. We're day drinking to celebrate."

Matt's face went through a similar progression to Lance's – quick calculation of what this meant for his best friend, then determined enthusiasm. "That's amazing. When do you leave?"

"Right after graduation." It felt simultaneously too soon and not soon enough.

"Perfect timing," Lance said, voice carefully neutral. "Clean break."

The phrase stung more than it should have. Clean break. Like we were something that needed breaking.

"I should tell my parents," I said, needing escape from the weight of his acceptance. "They'll be thrilled."

"Go," Jared made shooing motions. "We'll plan proper celebrations for tonight. With alcohol and possibly karaoke if I can convince Matt that his dignity is less important than my entertainment."

I gathered my things, hyperaware of Lance watching me. At the door, I turned back to find him still staring, expression unguarded for just a moment. The longing there made me stumble, catching myself on the door frame.

Outside, I called my mom with shaking hands.

"I got it, Mom. The Seattle internship."

The silence stretched long enough that I checked the connection.

"Mom?"

"I'm here." Her voice was thick. "I'm just so proud. My baby, working for a professional team."

"It's just an internship," I downplayed, even as tears pricked my eyes.

"It's your dream. You've worked so hard, sacrificed so much." She paused. "What about that boy? The hockey player Jared mentioned?"

"What about him?"

"Rachel, don't play dumb with your mother. Jared's called me three times about how perfect this Lance is for you."

"Jared needs to mind his own business." I made a mental note to murder my best friend. "And it doesn't matter. I'm going to Seattle. He'll probably get drafted somewhere else."

My mother's knowing hum transcended distance. "You know, your father and I were long distance for two years when he got that construction job upstate."

"That's different."

"Is it? We made it work because love was worth the effort."

"I'm not in love," I protested automatically.

"No? Then why do you sound like your heart is breaking?"

I couldn't answer that, so I changed the subject to safer topics – my siblings, her work, anything but the man I was definitely not in love with who'd looked at me like I was taking his heart to Seattle with me.

That evening's celebration felt bittersweet. Jared had assembled our friend group at a karaoke bar, complete with a cake that read "Seattle or Bust" in messy frosting.

"I may have been pre-drinking while decorating," he admitted. "But it's the thought that counts."

Lance showed up late, fresh from practice, hair still damp from his shower. He'd brought flowers – not romantic roses, but bright gerbera daisies that felt perfectly friendly and made me want to cry.

"Congratulations again," he said, handing them over. "You're going to revolutionize their social media engagement."

"You read my proposal?"

"Jared may have shared it. With enthusiastic commentary about your genius." He smiled. "He wasn't wrong."

The karaoke portion of the evening quickly devolved into chaos. Matt and Jared's duet of "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" involved choreography that cleared a small dance floor. My teammates performed an enthusiastic if pitchy version of "We Are The Champions."

"Your turn," Jared shoved the mic at Lance and me. "Duet time!"

"I don't sing," we said simultaneously, then glared at each other.

"Perfect harmony already!" Jared cued up a song before we could protest further.

The opening notes of "Don't You Want Me" filled the bar. Of course he'd chosen the most dramatic breakup duet in karaoke history.

Lance grabbed his mic with surprising confidence. "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar..."

His voice was actually good – rough but on key, with enough performance flair to make the crowd cheer. I missed my cue, too startled to react.

He raised an eyebrow, continuing alone until my part came around again. This time I jumped in, matching his energy out of pure competitiveness.

By the chorus, we were fully committed, acting out the drama while the crowd ate it up. Lance played the scorned lover with comedic intensity, dropping to his knees during "I still love you" while I strutted around him.

"But you keep telling me no!" I sang-shouted, getting into character.

The bridge had us face-to-face, mics forgotten as we just belted at each other. His eyes held mine, and suddenly the playful performance felt too real. The lyrics about leaving, about choosing ambition over love, about regret and longing – it all hit too close to home.

We finished to raucous applause, both breathing hard. Lance's hand found my waist to steady me, and I let myself lean into him for just a moment before reality crashed back.

"I need air," I mumbled, fleeing to the bar's small patio.

Brad was there. Because of course he was.

"Nice performance," he said, nursing a beer. "Very convincing chemistry."

"Go away, Brad."

"I'm trying to have a civil conversation." He moved closer. "Heard about Seattle. Congratulations. My dad's company has connections there. Sports marketing, athlete management. I could make some calls, set up meetings."

"I'm good."

"Come on, Rachel." His hand touched my arm. "I'm trying to help. We could start fresh out there. Leave all the college drama behind."

"We?" I jerked away. "There is no we."

"There could be." He crowded closer. "I told you I've changed. Therapy helped me realize how badly I treated you. I want to make it right."

"You can't." My voice shook with years of suppressed anger. "You systematically destroyed my confidence. You don't get to make that right with therapy and connections."

"I was young and stupid—"

"You were cruel." Tears burned my eyes. "You told me that my scholarship was affirmative action. That no one would take a woman seriously in sports management so I should focus on being a good girlfriend instead."

"Rachel—"

"You isolated me from my friends. Convinced me that missing your games made me unsupportive while you never once came to mine. You said my parents' accents were embarrassing and asked me not to bring them to events."

His face darkened. "I said I was sorry."

"Sorry doesn't undo damage, Brad. Sorry doesn't give me back the year I spent hating myself, thinking I was never enough." I squared my shoulders. "I don't need your connections. I earned Seattle on my own merit."

"With whose help? That hockey player?" His sneer was ugly. "Trading one athlete for another."

"Lance has done nothing but support my ambitions," I snapped. "He helped me prepare for interviews while knowing success meant I'd leave. He celebrates my achievements without making them about him. He's twice the man you'll ever be."

"If he's so perfect, why are you running to Seattle alone?"

The question hit like a physical blow because I didn't have a good answer.

"That's what I thought." Brad's smirk made me want to hit him. "You're just as scared of commitment as you accuse me of being. Difference is, I'm trying to change."

He left me on the patio, his words echoing in my head. Was I running? Was choosing career over Lance just another form of self-sabotage?

"Hey." Jared appeared, concern creasing his features. "Matt saw Brad corner you. You okay?"

"He offered to help with Seattle connections."

"That manipulative piece of—" Jared's rant included creative profanity in three languages. "Please tell me you told him where to shove his connections."

"I did." I leaned against him. "But he said something that bothered me."

"Anything that sentient red flag says should be immediately disregarded."

"He said I was running. That choosing Seattle over Lance was just fear disguised as ambition."

Jared was quiet for a long moment. "Is it?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've worked so hard for this opportunity. My family needs me to succeed."

"Your family needs you to be happy," he corrected gently. "And from where I'm sitting, you haven't been happy since you started pushing Lance away."

"I was happy before him."

"You were driven, focused, and determined." Jared turned to face me. "But happy? Really?"

I thought about the past few months – the laughter, the partnership, the way Lance made even mundane things feel like adventures. Then I thought about the last few weeks of self-imposed distance, how gray everything felt without him.

"It doesn't matter," I said finally. "I'm going to Seattle. He'll go wherever he's drafted. We have different paths."

"Matt and I are making it work."

"You're both staying here for now."

"And when that changes, we'll figure it out." Jared's voice went uncharacteristically serious. "Because some things are worth fighting for, Rachel. Some people are worth choosing, even when it's inconvenient."

Inside, Lance was laughing with his teammates, but his eyes found mine the moment I returned. The question there – are you okay? – nearly broke my resolve.

I nodded, forcing a smile. The night continued with more performances, more drinks, more pretending that my chest didn't ache every time he looked at me.

"Walk me home?" I found myself asking as the bar closed.

Lance's surprise quickly shifted to concern. "Of course."

We walked in comfortable silence until I couldn't stand it anymore. "Brad was there, at the bar."

His jaw tightened. "Did he bother you?"

"He offered career help. And called me a hypocrite for running to Seattle."

"You're not running. You're advancing toward your dreams."

"What if they're the same thing?"

Lance stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

"What if I'm using career ambition as an excuse to avoid this?" I gestured between us. "Whatever this is?"

"I thought this was nothing," he said carefully. "Physical attraction without meaning, right?"

The callback to my words after our last encounter made me flinch. "I lied."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Rachel." He faced me fully. "I've known you were lying since the first time you kissed me and ran. But I can't make you brave. I can only be here when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? What if I'm too broken from Brad, too scared of losing myself again?"

"Then I'll be your friend who supports your dreams and celebrates your successes and tries not to die inside when you date other people." His honesty was brutal. "But I'll always hope for more."

"That's not fair to you."

"No," he agreed. "But apparently I'm a masochist when it comes to you."

We reached my building. I should’ve said goodnight, gone inside, maintained the boundaries I'd set. "Want to come up? Just to talk. I promise."

Famous last words.

We made it approximately five minutes before I was in his lap, kissing him like the world was ending. His hands tangled in my hair, and I forgot every reason this was a bad idea.

"Seattle," he mumbled against my lips. "You're leaving."

"Not tonight," I countered, pulling his shirt off.

"Rachel, wait." He caught my hands. "I can't do casual with you anymore. I'm in too deep."

"I know." I kissed him again, softer. "I'm not asking for casual."

"What are you asking for?"

I didn't have an answer, so I kissed him instead, pouring all my confusion and want and fear into the contact. He responded with equal desperation, like he was trying to memorize me.

Later, wrapped in his arms with moonlight painting patterns on my skin, I tried to find words.

"I love you," I whispered to the darkness. "But I don't know if that's enough."

His arms tightened around me. "It's enough for tonight."

We didn't talk about tomorrow, about Seattle, about the expiration date hanging over us. We just held each other and pretended that love could be simple.

In the morning, he was gone, leaving only a note: Couldn't watch you regret this. I love you too, always.

I clutched the paper and finally let myself cry – for what we had, what we could have been, and what I was choosing to leave behind.