Chapter Text
Of all the Friday nights to get tired early, this is not a good one, Ashlyn thinks, pouring herself yet another cup of coffee. She’s jittery with excitement because Olympic qualifiers start today for the U.S., including some of her best friends from college and the National Team. Including Ali. She’s not really sure where she fits right now. It feels weird to just call her a friend among all her other casual soccer pals, but they’re not technically more than that, either.
Ashlyn has been thinking lately she might love her, like actually fully love her, but Ali is kind of hard to read. They spend time together one-on-one, and there has been plenty of cuddling and kissing and sometimes a little more, but nothing solid to define what they are. And as far as she knows, it’s a brand new experience for Ali, one she doesn’t seem keen to discuss. She tries to refocus on the game, which should be starting soon. They’re playing the Dominican Republic, and it’s sure to be a blowout in the U.S.’s favor, but her nerves still feel like they’re on fire.
She scrolls back through her texts, past HAO, Alex, Tobin, Carli, Hope, all the girls who she’d chatted with after wishing them luck earlier, and finally gets to Ali. She’s been holding off on texting her back beyond her initial simple “good luck!,” and Ali’s “Thank you! Wish you were here ;)” She knows better than to read into the wink, considering it’s Ali’s favorite emoticon, but she still lets her mind wander a bit.
It’s probably weirder to text back three hours later, but Ashlyn suddenly doesn’t really care, more concerned with talking to Ali before she hits the field, which should be any minute now. She hesitates and thinks about her message before typing. “Drinking coffee in your honor and cheering for you from Buffalo! Can’t wait to see the win. Get a goal for me? :)”
She hits send and within seconds sees the bubble indicating the other person typing. Her response is quick. “If I get a goal will you buy me dinner next time we’re in the same city? ;)”
Ashlyn’s heart rate picks up. This is the go ahead. “Deal. Go get ‘em, cougar.”
“I’ll make you regret calling me that,” Ali replies. “Any goal I make (or assist or attempt) is dedicated to you. Heading out now. Eeeeek! ;)”
Ashlyn all but clutches the phone to her chest, grinning like an idiot. It’s not a huge game really, but she knows just from that small exchange that tonight could change everything. She’s been nervous every time she talks to Ali ever since things between them started to shift, and every time Ali makes her wonder why she ever felt she had to be nervous in the first place.
Her stream is on standby, but as soon as the clock hits 10:30, it begins. She says a quick prayer to… well, someone, that the stream will be clear and that she won’t miss anything important. You know, like the famous bun.
Every time she gets a glimpse of even a part of Ali, even the sliver of her eyelashes and forehead in a quick huddle shot, her heart beats wildly, but she tries to focus on the game and is almost grateful for the times the camera isn’t directed at Ali so she can actually see what the whole team is doing.
Abby gets a goal in the first minute, setting the tone for what’s sure to be an easy win, and Carli scores in the fourth minute off a rebound from Abby, whose shot went off the post. Ashlyn is simultaneously thankful that she can sit back and relax watching this game and disappointed because everyone loves a nail-biter… provided it ends in their favor, of course. She texts Carli a quick “YES!” during the replay, eyes glued to the screen so she doesn’t miss anything.
She jumps up when Ali makes an amazing run down the field straight toward goal, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding when a cross intended for Abby—or what Ash likes to imagine might have been a shot, for her—goes out.
Buehler is next with a goal, and it’s starting to look like a game of keepaway from the players in blue, which is fine with Ash. She laughs, imagining Hope leaning against a goal post and looking bored with life. She could probably be sitting on the sidelines and it wouldn’t make much of a difference in this game. That thought, of course, leads to the Dominican Republic getting a free kick and Hope making the most basic save of her entire professional career, so Ashlyn tells her mind to quiet down. Just in case.
The goofiest grin appears on her face when she sees Ali with the ball, game face on, looking for the play. She finds HAO, and Ashlyn cheers to herself, loving the fact that one of her best friends and her, well, whatever she is, play on the same side, making it way easier to fangirl over them simultaneously. Ashlyn would kill to be behind them on the pitch right now.
She laughs when she hears some girls in the crowd sing “chain chain chaaaaain” for Cheney when she goes to take a corner. HAO is the next to score, and Ashlyn texts her immediately to tell her Krieger’s hug was from her.
Abby scores another goal, which at this point isn’t that exciting—even Abby looks bored—because they’re now up 5-0, but Ashlyn cheers nonetheless before the game continues and she finds herself in awe of Ali’s first touch, which is truly a work of art, and the look of sheer determination on her face before a pass is completed.
Tobin scores a few minutes later, and it’s all she can do to keep from jumping on the couch with glee. At least at this point it’s just fun to watch, and there’s no way the girls won’t be out of their minds with excitement after the game, so it’ll be fun to Skype them later. She’ll be able to stay up for it, she thinks. She texts Tobin “YES TOBS! And loving the Carolina blue in your hair. TARRRR!”
Another of Ali’s crosses is deflected, but it doesn’t take long to make its way back to HAO, who scores yet another less than a minute later. “Now you’re just showing off,” she texts.
Ash is out of her seat yet again when Ali is in the box with the ball facing multiple defenders and the goalkeeper on her own. Her every effort is denied, and the keeper trips her up, but Ashlyn bursts with pride anyway and has to laugh at the annoyance on Ali’s face when she gets up after the ball is cleared, chanting her name along with the crowd. She texts Ali “All those shots just for me? Aren’t I a lucky lady?” And because she can’t help herself, she adds a wink.
Cheney takes another corner, which is pretty well defended, and Boxxy passes the ball to Ali, who’s right outside the box, unmarked as she runs up. Ashlyn grins as she watches her take another shot and picks up her phone before a shout catches her attention. It could have been someone in the crowd, she rationalizes quickly, but it continues, and the next thing Ashlyn sees is Ali on the ground, fist slamming into the turf.
Her breath catches in her throat as she watches Ali’s face contort in pain and teammates gather around her. She’s clutching her knee, which is never a good sign for a soccer player, and Ashlyn’s brain jumps to the worst case scenario. She’s had her fair share of injuries, including two ACL tears, but it’s Ali. Ali is unbreakable. She’s a survivor, a warrior. She can’t get hurt.
Boxxy is kneeling beside her, and Ashlyn’s heart is now beating out of her chest. “Get up, Alex,” she pleads. “Get up, get up, get up.” Ali is crying now, gripping Boxxy’s hand tight, as trainers finally come over. “Jesus Christ, what took you so long?” Ash exclaims.
She watches the replay in horror, seeing exactly when and how it happened. “Fuck,” she breathes, and an anger heavier than anything she’s ever felt comes over her, staring at the offending player from the other team. She’s torn between a desire to kick her ass and make her wish she’d never been born and a need to be there with Ali, squeezing her hand and letting her know that everything is going to be okay, even if she’s not yet convinced herself of that. Maybe, just maybe, she thinks in the back of her mind, her being there would have changed this, changed something.
She thinks back to their earlier conversation. Ali would have taken that shot anyway, right? She wasn’t just doing it for their stupid bet? Ashlyn tries to shake the thought from her head, but it hangs around in the back of her mind while she watches on, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping when she opens them it’ll all have been a huge mistake.
The other girl gets up, but Ali stays down, and Ashlyn’s fist slams into the coffee table beside her. It hurts, but nothing like what Ali’s feeling right now. Ali’s jaw is clenched in pain, and Ashlyn hears the crowd start to cheer her name as a stretcher is brought on. Fuckfuckfuck.
Boxxy is talking to her, trying to keep her calm, telling her to breathe, and Ashlyn is grateful. Mittsy is on the sidelines, set to come on for her, and a feeling of betrayal comes over Ashlyn, even though she knows it’s all part of the game. They all love Ali, even if it’s not in the same way Ashlyn does.
When they carry her off on the stretcher, she’s alone, and Ashlyn’s heart breaks, wanting—needing—to be there, for Ali to know she’s right there. She’s gripping her phone in her hands, not sure what to do or who to call, feeling completely helpless and useless. She doesn’t understand why the camera is still on Ali, who is clearly miserable and terrified, but she doesn’t know what she’ll do when it pans away and suddenly she can’t keep an eye on her.
The half is almost over, but she knows there will be plenty of stoppage added on, and it’s killing her because nobody will know anything while on the field. Nobody will be able to tell her anything. Her phone buzzes, and she glances down to see a text from Kyle.
“Please tell me you know something,” it says, and it breaks her heart to reply.
“Sorry,” she types back. “Your mom is her emergency contact, she should know something soon.” She thinks back to filling out the stupid forms in HAO and Ali’s room with a bunch of the other girls. They had joked at the time about putting each other as emergency contacts, and Ashlyn suddenly wishes it weren’t a joke. She knows the first priority is giving Ali medical attention and that Deb will get a call eventually, but she can’t stop worrying more every second that passes.
The game is still on in the background, but Ash can’t focus, so it takes her by surprise when she suddenly has texts from HAO, Lori Lindsey, and Alex, one right after the other. Alex just asked “Were you watching that?” Lori said “Hey kid, relax. She’s a trooper.” HAO was the only one who was open and honest.
“She’s not ok,” she wrote. “We all know what this is, and so do you.” Ashlyn’s heart twinged at her wording. We all know. So do you. It’s her ACL. At least. She’ll need surgery, and there’s no way in hell she’ll be cleared to play in time to continue training for the Olympics. And Ali knows too.
So Ashlyn does what anybody would do—anybody who just watched a person they love experience a dream-crushing injury anyway—and starts packing her bags. Whatever the cost of the ticket, Ashlyn would make sure Ali doesn’t have to wake up alone tomorrow into a reality that feels more like a bad dream.
“I’m on my way,” she writes to Ali. “I guess we’ll be in the same city sooner than expected, but you’re getting that dinner. Hang in there. Love you.”
And she doesn’t think twice about hitting send.