(Leah Williamson and OC)
The days blurred into drills, games, and whispers.
I found myself watching her differently not just with longing, but with fear. Because now, it felt like something was growing between us, quietly, dangerously, and I didn't know if I had the strength to contain it anymore.
One evening after training, Leah pulled me aside.
"Come run errands with me?"
"Sure," I said. I would've followed her to the moon if she asked.
We drove in silence for a while. The radio played something soft, forgettable. Her hand rested loosely on the wheel, fingers tapping. I studied the veins in her hand, the ones that pulsed with every turn, and wondered how it might feel to hold it. Just once.
At the store, she reached for almond milk at the same time I did. Our hands touched. Just for a second. But she didn't pull away.
Instead, she looked up and smiled. "Telepathic teammates, huh?"
"Or maybe I just know you too well," I said.
She held my gaze longer than she needed to. Then turned away. "Maybe you do."
In the car again, she said, "I had a dream about you last night."
My heart stuttered.
"Oh?"
"It was weird," she added quickly. "We were playing in this massive stadium, just the two of us. Passing the ball back and forth forever. I didn't want to stop."
"What do you think it means?" I asked, too afraid to breathe.
She shrugged. "Maybe I miss simplicity. Or maybe I just like playing with you."
I tried to laugh, but it caught on something in my throat.
"That's... nice," I managed.
Back at her flat, she tossed groceries on the counter and opened a bottle of wine.
"Just one glass," she said. "To toast surviving another week of training hell."
"To surviving," I echoed, clinking her glass.
We drank. Talked about the next match. Then drifted into silence, the kind that hung heavy with words neither of us could name.
"Can I ask you something personal?" she said, suddenly.
"Always."
"Have you ever been in love with someone who didn't know it?"
The glass paused at my lips.
"Yes," I said quietly.
"What's it like?"
I looked down at the wine, watched it swirl in the glass like it held secrets.
"It's like running toward a finish line that keeps moving. Like you're always one second too late."
She nodded. "That sounds... exhausting."
"It is," I whispered.
She set her glass down. Moved a little closer.
"Is it someone on the team?"
I met her eyes. My heart screamed.
I didn't answer.
And she didn't press.
________________________________________________________________________________
The next day at training, she was different.
Looser. Lighter. She passed to me more, called out encouragement louder, grinned wider when I made a killer play.
After practice, we stayed behind, juggling balls between us like kids.
"You've got better control than anyone else on the team," she said, kicking it up with her knee.
"Flattery won't save you when we scrimmage tomorrow," I said.
She smiled, biting her bottom lip. "You've always been my favorite opponent."
I caught the ball. Stopped. Stared at her.
"You're playing with fire," I said.
She tilted her head. "Maybe I like the heat."
My stomach turned to lightning.
Before I could say anything else, she jogged off to the showers, leaving me in the middle of the pitch, heart pounding, world tilting.
________________________________________________________________________________
That night, I broke.
I sat on my bed, phone in hand, fingers trembling. I opened our text thread a dozen times. Typed and deleted and typed again.
Me: What are we doing?
I didn't send it.
Instead, I wrote in my journal.
Dear Leah,
Sometimes when you smile at me, I forget that you belong to someone else. And sometimes, I think you forget it too.
I closed the book. Threw it across the room. And cried.
Because this was the part they never told you about in love stories the waiting. The wondering. The living on the edge of a maybe that could break you.
________________________________________________________________________________
Two days later, Leah found me in the locker room alone.
"Hey," she said, sitting beside me.
"Hey."
She was quiet. Then: "I broke up with Elle."
I froze.
My eyes met hers.
"I didn't mean to tell you like this," she said. "I just... I couldn't keep lying to her. Or to myself."
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. "We haven't really been 'us' for a while. I was holding on to a memory."
I said nothing. I didn't trust myself to.
She reached for my hand.
And this time, she didn't let go.
