Chapter Text
Victory had become comfortable for the team. It was something they slipped into with ease, a golden mood that turned slightly fuzzy at the edges as the nights stretched on, laughter bright and shiny, the edge of game-time stress worn down by the score lit up in neon lights above the stadium.
Noon games were early and hot, and by the time Kelley stepped off the field her hair was almost black with sweat. She could feel the victory in her bones, so natural, so expected, but something she didn’t want to take for granted quite yet. Not yet. She slapped a few hands, grabbed a water bottle and took her spot at the end of the bench.
She kept her eyes fixed on Hope, on the way she took shuffling side steps to stay loose, swinging her arms, on occasion shouting something at Becky, who always hung back as close to Hope as she could. Most of the team wouldn’t notice it, but Hope looked nervous. Nothing big, nothing that would threaten her quality of play, but enough to keep her on her toes, bouncing up and down when typically she’d pace calmly. Kelley had seen it after a particularly close call in the box, when Hope had walked up to Becky afterwards and thrown an arm around her shoulder, speaking too quietly for anyone else to hear but most likely tearing into her for a bad rotation between the backs.
Kelley spent only ten minutes on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, reclined almost casually. She ignored the conversation taking up space among the rest of her teammates. She ignored the ball, the action taking place on the other half of the field. She watched Hope.
She wanted to remember this. Remember the look on Hope’s face when the final whistle blew, watch the smile start small and spread wider with the presence of her teammates. Remember how each of them hugged her, how this team held her up and placed her on a pedestal where she deserved to be, remember how far Hope had come, to now have a team like this that only cared about celebrating their most talented goalkeeper, not tearing her down, not shutting her out. She wanted to remember Hope like this — happy, celebrated, fulfilled. This was her favorite version of Hope.
When the final whistle blew, the players moved slowly towards Hope, wrapping her in huge hugs, each with something special to say to her. Even Mallory was unafraid to throw her arms around Hope, yelling something about her being "the champ" while Hope laughed and steadied the smaller player with two hands and told her not to get overexcited. Kelley hung back for a second, something warm swelling in her chest as she watched Hope congratulated by each of the players.
She finally moved towards Hope, and they didn’t even hug, just offered a high five and a smack on the ass and a smirk and an “I told you so.” But Hope caught her wrist before she could move away, her eyes fixing on Kelley, and that swelling in her chest reached a new level, became warm and held her still, frozen in the July afternoon.
“Thank you for believing in me first,” Hope said. The words were soft, gentle but the way Hope was looking at her almost knocked Kelley off balance. She clenched her jaw, stuttering for a moment before simply nodding and turning away, knowing they would talk about this later. There was always later.
***
Kelley is shy in the locker room. It’s the first time she’s felt this way, tongue tied and cotton mouthed, since sixth grade, perhaps earlier. Her confidence always filled her, floated her like a balloon, knowing that no matter what team she was placed on she would be good enough, better than at least a few other players, loud and funny in a slightly obnoxious and entirely endearing way. But this is different.
She pauses in the door, her hands clutching onto her bag, trying to scan, trying to read this team before they noticed her arrival. She can see the cliques easily, the ways they clump together throughout the room, chattering inanely, those who have been around for awhile checking up on one another, making up for lost time.
She can't help but notice the one player sitting alone across the locker room.
Hope is the first to see Kelley. She lifts her eyes and fixes them onto Kelley, emotionless, untrusting, guarded. The moment sticks, stretches, lasting for three seconds that feel much longer.
One.
Kelley notices the way Hope is wrapping her fingers, carefully, delicately, not even needing to glance down to know that she has the tape aligned.
Two.
Hope drinks in the curve of Kelley’s jaw, the uncertain twitching of her finger tips, the shift of her weight from one weight to another, letting herself smirk slightly at the delicate uncertainty of another young upstart.
Three.
Kelley wrenches her eyes away, presses the moment into the back of her mind and heads to the left side of the locker room. It's time to get down to business.
***
Thanks to Mallory, they don’t celebrate quite as wildly as they used to.
They like to blame Mallory — after all, having a just-turned-18-year-old as the staple of their starting roster makes it pretty difficult to go raise hell at a bar or a club — but it’s honestly a good change of pace. Half of the team is recently married or getting married, and all of the veterans are still exhausted from the Victory Tour. Tobin, who blacked out for the first and last time while still in Canada, likes to joke that she’s still a little drunk from it.
So instead, it’s dinner at an Italian restaurant, with HAO eating half of the table’s bread and Hope surprising no one by ordering bottles of wine all around and making sure that the under-age girls still get some poured into empty water glasses. The laughter is there, the smiles, and Rapinoe at one point stands and announces that they will each give a toast to Hope, to her accomplishment, to this day that is dedicated to her.
“You are the GOAT, even though you don’t know what that means,” Rapinoe says, and the whole team bursts into laughter.
“You have come so far and we are so proud of you,” says HAO in her turn, and next Ashlyn is standing and coming close to tears as she thanks Hope for teaching her how to be brave on and off the line, on and off the pitch. Carli gives a brief yet passionate speech, and everyone teases the best friends as they hug yet again. Alyssa, in her quiet way, is the one to almost force Hope to get teary, as she quietly explains how her confidence was low when she started, how she never felt that she could live up, how Hope made her feel like she was strong enough to do anything.
They talk and they talk and they talk. At a long table, their chairs too close to one another, their elbows touching, they each stood and spoke and they couldn’t stop speaking about Hope. She couldn’t help but think of nine years ago, nine years ago when she sat in the middle of a circle of chairs, when they couldn’t stop talking about her, when they couldn’t stop ripping her apart at the seams.
God, how far she had come.
Kelley, who sat on Hope’s left, was the last to speak. She stood, unsteady from her third glass of wine, and raised it towards Hope, who openly let her eyes trace up and down the defender’s body.
“You are the best,” Kelley said, loudly, in that goofy, high-pitched voice she got when she was drunk. The whole team cheered and pounded the table at that, and Kelley sat, her speech the shortest of them all. But Hope didn’t mind, because as Kelley sat, she heard the second part of the speech, murmured, not even for Hope to hear, an afterthought of a drunken mind.
“You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”
***
Kelley walks out of the coach’s room in a daze.
Defense. Kelley O’Hara, Defender.
It sounds odd coming off her tongue, as she murmurs it quietly to herself. Defender. A goal-scorer turned defender. Everything she knows about herself, about her athletic drive, flipped on its head. A defender.
What the hell is Pia thinking?
She walks out of the room and almost straight into Hope, who is leaned against the wall, scrolling through something on her phone. She jumps, then turns away quickly, muttering an apology as she tried to walk down the hall. A hand on her wrist stops her, and Kelley turns slowly to face Hope’s eyes.
“I heard.” There's a look on Hope’s face, something different than the harsh, guarded look that normally keeps Kelley at bay. It was soft, a recognition of the struggle Kelley is facing. “I mean, Pia told me. She said you might need some help.”
Kelley laughs, harshly, and Hope’s face hardens a little. She regrets this, regrets making Hope think she was pushing her away, even as she feels the anger bubbling in her stomach.
“Some help?” Kelley scoffs, shaking her head. “I’ll need a lot more than a little help. I’m not a defender. I’ve never been a defender. What the hell does she think she’s doing?”
Hope just nods, her hand still attached to Kelley’s wrist, a look of understanding still quiet in her eyes.
“I mean, for God’s sake, I could put that damn ball in the net if she would play me once, just once, if she would just give me a chance.” Kelley feels close to shouting now, her voice rough. “But I don’t know how to keep the ball out of goal, I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do this.”
She stops talking with her voice strained, and for a moment, the only sound in the hallway is the panting, the rise and fall of Kelley’s chest as she holds in tiny sobs. Hope doesn't take a step closer, doesn't close the gap, doesn't try to offer comfort. But she doesn't pull away, either. She stays, steady.
“Do you like coffee?” Kelley blinks at the question, so inane, so off-topic, and nods once. Hope nods as well, drops her arm, sticks her phone in her pocket, and jerks her head towards the door.
“Then let’s go,” Hope says. “We’ll get some coffee and we’ll talk defense. I’ll teach, you’ll listen.”
She starts towards the door, but Kelley stays where she is, her feet rooted to the same spot. Hope looks back over her shoulder, then swivels, planting her hands on her hips.
“Look, I’m not used to this either,” Hope says. “But you’re worth teaching. You’re talented. And I need you. So please, let’s go.”
After another second, Kelley nods slowly, then follows Hope. They walk silently side by side until they reach the cafe, where Hope orders two cappucinos, sits them down at a table by a window and begins to talk.
They don't return to the hotel for hours.
***
When the team returned to the hotel, Hope made an announcement — she had bought more booze. This time it was champagne, although there was a handle or two of vodka in her closet that she wanted to whip out later on in the night.
They piled into the suite that Jill always reserved for them, JJ carrying four or five board games under one arm and two bottles of champagne in the other hand, Alex holding her Beats speakers in one hand, music already pulsating from them. Hope flopped across one of the beds, flat on her back, watching as several of the girls danced in the middle of the room.
Mostly, she watched Kelley, laughing as she tried to do a stanky leg and then tried to hit the whip, both of which were overwhelmingly unsuccessful. Her laughter turned Kelley’s head, and the defender pranced over towards Hope, shaking her hips and pointing both fingers at her keeper, shouting along to the beat.
“Thanks for the alcohol,” she chirped, leaping onto the bed, landing on her knees and holding herself up on her palms, her body suspended partially over Hope, hair dangling so close that she could smell her shampoo.
“No problem,” Hope murmured, her voice raspy, gripping her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching out to drag Kelley closer. “Wanna go kick some ass at Uno?”
“I think we’re playing Settlers first,” Kelley said, and Hope groaned, because Alex always cheated and Tobin always threw things and the last time they played she was pretty sure JJ had cried. But of course Kelley just grinned and leapt back off the bed, grabbing Hope by her wrists and yanking her to her feet, and Hope stood up so that their bodies were too close and their mouths were in a surprising proximity and they just laughed, letting the slight buzz fuel the way their hands always wandered, always searched for a little more skin, a little more warmth.
Alex corralled the group into a circle as Becky popped open another bottle of champagne, and Tobin sternly read out the rules, her eyes daring anyone to try to cheat, even though they all knew that everyone would try to cheat and soon be too drunk to even tell if they were playing by the rules. Kelley leaned into Hope as the game began, her voice already beginning to slur slightly.
“You’re going down, just so you know,” she said, and Hope smirked.
“Am I?” She grinned down at Kelley, who flushed and then gripped Hope’s knee for a half second, sending a different type of flush through her body.
“You ready?” Kelley asked, and she leaned back, away from Hope, mischief taking hold of all her features, a laugh seeming ready to burst through her lips at any moment, and for God’s sake Hope was certain she might burst from happiness, so she just smiled, bit her tongue and picked up her cards.
***
“Hey, are you ready?” Hope’s voice cuts through Kelley’s thoughts. She’s sitting on a bench in the locker room, knees pulled to her chest, eyes squished closed. She’s muttering to herself, the same chant over and over again, trying to convince herself of her own worth, of her own purpose.
You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.
It must show in her eyes, when she looks up at Hope. She’s not ready. She’s not close to ready. And Hope — who has sat next to her at breakfast every day of two camps, who has woken her up morning after morning with texts asking after her training, who has spent hours on the field after practice with her — she can tell in just a second of looking at Kelley’s wide eyes.
“Okay, listen to me.” Hope squats down, resting both hands on Kelley’s knees, and Kelley stares, still shocked at each interaction, at each brush of their fingers and arm around her shoulders after practice, amazed at every second that Hope meets her eyes and holds that gaze as if she’s holding on for dear life.
“You are not Ali Krieger.” Kelley winces and Hope only grips her knees harder. "You’re not. But you don’t have to be. I’m not asking you to be. I’m asking you to attack from the wing. I’m asking you to hold down the defense and then use your offensive knowledge to counter, okay? I’m asking you to be Kelley O’Hara. The best Kelley O’Hara you can be. Okay?”
Kelley nods, and suddenly her throat is thick, clogged with emotion, so she just keeps nodding, stupidly, as Hope searches her eyes for some flicker of confidence.
“Be the best Kelley O’Hara you can be,” Hope repeats, and she knocks her fist gently into Kelley’s bicep. “And you know what? That’s a pretty good person to be. That’s a damn good player to be.”
Now Kelley is doing all she can to hold it in, to keep tears from rising and her face from flushing, biting her lip and tipping her head back, then dropping her chin to look at Hope.
“Thank you,” Kelley says, choking the words out. “Thank you for believing in me.”
Hope squeezes the same arm, Kelley’s left arm, and smiles a small smile, one that Kelley has been seeing more and more of lately.
“Soon, the whole world will believe in you.” Hope’s smile grows, and her thumb brushes against Kelley’s skin, forcing color to her cheeks and her throat. “But I’m honored to be the first.”
***
She was the first girl that Hope had ever thought of as beautiful.
In the past, she noticed girls who were pretty or hot, girls she wanted to pin into a bed or fuck against a wall, girls she fantasized about without even bothering to put any thought into the details. She noticed the curve of a woman’s hips or the way she walked or licked her lips. She looked for vapidity, for a lack of substance, wanting to briefly attach her attraction to someone and then let it pass, let it fade, let it burn bright and smoke out in almost the same breath.
But God Kelley was beautiful. That was all Hope could think as she sat on the floor next to her, the rest of the team fading out as Kelley came into crisp, sharp focus. She kept leaning into her, letting Kelley rest her head on her shoulder, letting the space between them fade as well. They were splitting their own bottle of champagne at this point, drinking straight from the bottle, and Kelley kept grabbing at it at the precise moment that Hope was trying to take a drink, spilling the liquid more than once, giving Hope the perfect opportunity to give her a shove, to keep her hand on her waist for a few too many seconds.
This was the part of each celebratory night that the team knew well. When it reached the earlier hours of the morning, as the team dispersed and found their ways back to their room, Kelley walked towards Pugh, catching her from behind in a headlock and laughing as they both stumbled for a few steps.
“Hey look—“ Kelley dropped her voice, trying to keep her words level. “Do you mind if Tobin is in—“
“Yeah, yeah, she can stay with me so you can stay with Hope,” Pugh said, her voice a slight whine. “Just let me go, I’m tired.”
Kelley smiled, releasing the younger girl with a soft 'thank you’ and a little shove towards their room. Then she made her way back to Hope, who was leaning against the wall, watching with her eyes slitted slightly, her hands shoved in her pockets in a hopeless effort to keep them to herself.
“You coming?” Hope asked, and Kelley smiled even wider. She didn’t slow her pace as she neared Hope, walking straight up to her until their hips were touching and her hands were on Hope’s waist, pressing her back into the wall. She lifted her chin, as if it was a challenge, their mouths too close, breathing each other’s air.
“You fucking know it.” She kissed Kelley right there, up against the wall, with Pugh and Tobin and at least five other teammates still walking away, their footsteps fading at the end of the hall. It felt like a first kiss, their mouths slow and languid, hands slipping under cloths to grab hold of skin, their touch the only thing anchoring them to the ground.
Hope kissed Kelley and the world melted away.
She wasn’t even sure how long they spent kissing there, but she was shocked out of the moment when Kelley’s hands drifted upwards, fingers tugging at the edge of her bra, hips pressing insistently forward. Hope became very aware of the fact that Kelley somehow, magically it seemed, had worked her shirt up until it was halfway off, had pressed one leg in between Hope’s, had let her lips drop to Hope’s neck.
She was too worked up to form full sentences, but somehow she pushed Kelley back, holding up a room key and dragging her down the hall by one wrist. Halfway down the hall, she turned around, catching Kelley’s other wrist and pulling her by both hands, laughing at the look Kelley was giving her, because if she didn’t laugh she was going to stop walking and press back into Kelley and she needed to get them into a room, behind closed doors, into a private space.
The second the hotel door closed behind them, Hope pinned Kelley against it, pushed her knee forward and spread Kelley’s legs until she audibly heard the girl gasp, pulled her t-shirt off with both hands, pressed Kelley’s shoulders back into the door and let her lips wander from her jaw to her shoulder and back.
“Hope, please.” Kelley is insistent and her hands are under Hope’s shirt, unclasping her bra, blindly tugging off every article of clothing she can reach, her head leaned back against the door, uncertain of what she’s even asking for. Hope pulls back, her eyes covering every inch of Kelley’s bare torso, and she leans in for another kiss, deeper, longer.
“This is all I want.” Hope cradles Kelley’s face in one hand, and Kelley looks at her as if she’s seeing her, truly seeing her, for the first time in days, in weeks, in years. “This. Right now. This.”
***
The first time Hope kisses her, it’s quick, unexpected, a moment in a hotel room that almost doesn’t happen.
At first, it almost happens on the field, after the semifinal game against Canada, when Kelley runs to Hope and into open arms, picked up off the ground for a moment, her face buried into Hope’s neck. They’re both drenched and sweat, they’re both beyond elated and beyond exhausted, but there’s something between them that crackles, something that’s been building momentum for weeks, for months, for God knows how long.
She pulls back from Hope’s arms and sees something in her eyes, sees the way her eyes flit down to her mouth, and it’s all she can do to break away completely, because she knows that if she ever does get a chance to kiss Hope she doesn’t want it to be in a stadium in front of a team she’s falling in love with a crowd chanting “USA” at the top of their lungs. Instead, she smacks Hope on the ass like always, grinning, and floats away.
But the second they’re back in their hotel room, Hope is pushing her backwards and Kelley barely has time to loop her arms around Hope’s neck before they’re kissing, hard and fast and panicky, Hope’s hands moving to touch her face, her neck, her waist. There’s a moment where Hope’s hands are gone, and then she’s picked Kelley up as if she weighs nothing, pushed her back into the door again, and Kelley is wrapping her legs around Hope and digging her fingers into her shoulders and trying to keep herself from letting out something between a gasp and a sigh and a scream.
It’s ten minutes, maybe a little more, and then Hope is pulling back, still holding Kelley up, her eyes fixed on Kelley’s swollen lips.
“We need to stop.” Kelley closes her eyes at the words, then opens them quickly.
“Right, right.” Her feet are back on the ground but her legs shake so violently that she’s not even sure if she can stand. Instead, Kelley leans against the door, and Hope remains leaned into her, one hand tracing her face.
“For now,” Hope added, and Kelley let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “I just… I can’t keep doing this or I won’t be able to stop.”
Kelley shivers at the words, noticing the way Hope’s hips are still pressed into hers, breathing in and aching for the taste of her mouth again.
“Okay,” Kelley says slowly, trying to force herself back into normalcy, trying to find a smile despite the way her body trembles. “Let’s go then.”
Hope grins slightly, taking a step backwards and nodding, shoving her hands back into her pockets, suggesting that they change to go to the bar. For the first time, Kelley stays turned around while she changes, not even trying to look at Hope as they attempt to maintain a casual conversation.
All that Kelley can think about as she changes is where this came from. Eating breakfast should to shoulder ever morning, Kelley stealing fruit off of her plate, the whole team watching with confusion as she leaned into Hope’s shoulder and Hope simply leaned back into her. The fond little smiles, the quick hugs before kick off. The night she couldn’t sleep because of a thunderstorm, the night that Hope made a blanket fort between their beds, dragging a mattress onto the ground and crisscrossing blankets between their beds, then forced Kelley to lay down there, watching TV and talking softly until they drifted asleep facing each other, their legs lightly pressed into one another.
She thinks about the way their hands always reached for each other, the way that Hope always smiled around her, the way that she opened up suddenly and swiftly. She thinks about the Thursday night when she came back and Hope was crying, curled on one side in bed, and Kelley wrapped her in both arms and held her, never asking what was wrong, just making sure that things were eventually right.
She thinks about the first time that she noticed just how damn beautiful Hope is, and she thinks about every time after that, every time she’s noticed the beauty under the harsh exterior. She thinks about how long she has hoped to kiss her, every single time she’s lost focus thinking of the way Hope’s mouth would feel against hers.
Mostly she thinks, no, she obsesses over the way that Hope held her face in one hand, how tenderly her fingers stroked her jaw, how gentle that moment had been. She’s noticed a softening in Hope in the past few months, a new side of the keeper that laughed at jokes and encouraged her teammates and felt comfortable, perhaps even safe, around people, at least for moments at a time.
It’s all she can think about. Hope is all she thinks about. The team goes out in skin-tight black dresses and limits their drinks to three apiece and for hours Kelley tries to dance, tries to sing along to her favorite songs, tries to act as crazy as possible. But she can feel Hope’s eyes on her, and every time she glances over she catches her gaze, too intense, too intimate, and she’s forced to look away because that look is making her feel an all new type of crazy.
When they get back from the bar, the door barely closes before Kelley kisses Hope. It’s quick and brazen, then hesitant, Kelley pulling back, her hands still on Hope’s waist but her eyes widening with something close to fear, and there’s a half second of dread before Hope is kissing her back.
The night becomes a blur of tugging at clothes and pressing into sheets and Kelley is muttering under her breath and Hope’s breath is fast and ragged. In her head, she’s trying to make this just about sex, she’s trying to make herself believe this is a release, a quick momentary distraction, but she knows it’s not and Hope knows it’s not and she’s damned if she’s going to keep herself from sinking into the moment as deeply as she can.
And that would be fine if it weren’t for afterwards, if it weren’t for Hope’s hands in her hair, Hope’s hands tracing her face, Hope’s hands pulling her closer, not letting her run away, holding her still.
“Don’t go anywhere, please.” Hope’s voice is insistent, quiet, and it’s in this moment that Kelley realizes how much of Hope she holds in the palm of her hand, how vulnerable she is lying next to Kelley, begging her to stay under the covers. “Just stay. I just want to stay like this.”
So she stays. She stays, and in the morning Hope is gone but the bed is still warm and she comes back with coffee that tastes like a peace offering.
She stays. Her chest feels heavy with a future heartbreak, but she stays.
***
Hope had half of her clothes off before Kelley could even register what was happening. They were pressed close, skin on skin, wrapped around one another, and Kelley wanted Hope so badly she could hardly keep her breathing steady. But she slowed them down, pressed her hands into Hope’s stomach and gently held her at bay, broke off their kiss and looked up into her eyes, watching them transform from hungry to curious.
“You okay?” Hope asked, and she nodded, wrapping her arms around the keeper. In this moment, she just wanted to hold on, just wanted to slow down, to stop acting like they were racing time every damn second.
She seemed to understand. Hope always seemed to understand, to see every nuance of Kelley’s body language and to adjust herself accordingly. She rolled onto one side, running her hand up Kelley’s side, tracing her ribcage with one finger.
“Tell me something.” Kelley turned her head to the side, watching Hope’s face. She wanted to remember this. She wanted to remember all of it. Their time together always felt like it was sped up, like it ended too soon, and she was constantly afraid it would be over and she’d have to cling to memories. So she tried to convince herself to memorize each second, every detail, as she looked at Hope, half naked in bed next to her.
“I’m retiring.” The words felt like gunshots in Kelley’s chest. Her eyes widened, and in that second she felt it, felt the moment speeding up, slipping away, the memories already out of reach, Hope already fading away from her. Hope was laying next to her but she was miles away, and Kelley couldn’t breathe, dear God she couldn’t breathe.
“You— what— Hope!” She sat up, pulling away, and Hope’s hands were reaching for her but now her skin felt like fire and Kelley was tired of being burned, again and again.
“Kelley, look, it’s been coming for awhile and I’m not even sure when I’ll—“ Kelley was out of bed, pulling on her sweatpants and refusing to look back, refusing to let Hope pull her back down. She could feel it, she could feel it coming. She was about to get ripped apart again. This time, she wasn’t going to let it happen while she was laying down.
“Shut up, Hope.” Kelley stood, turning around, her heart dropping at the sight of Hope. Her hair was mussed, lips swollen, eyes wide and heavy and inexplicably broken, as if she wasn’t the one doing the breaking, as if she wasn’t finding a way to rip Kelley apart just when she thought she was back to a semblance of normalcy again. “Just shut up.”
“I wanted you to be the first to know,” Hope said weakly, and Kelley shook her head, grabbing her shirt from the ground.
She couldn’t breathe.
“Shut up, Hope.” She choked it out one more time and then she stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind her, stalking down the hall. She barely made it around the corner before she ran into Becky, and before the defender could ask what was wrong she had collapsed against the wall, tears welling and sobs ripping at her throat as she sank into the ground. She heard Becky murmur something soft — what did she say, was it “not again” or did Kelley just imagine that? — and then she felt arms around her.
What did they have without soccer? What held them together besides national team camps and NWSL games twice a season? They fell for one another under showers of gold confetti, they learned to love and hurt and forgive and accept under the weight of medals. Without soccer, what would keep Hope with her? Without soccer, how could Hope love her? How could Kelley keep her? How could any of this, all of this, make sense?
In Becky’s arms, Kelley felt broken. And God, she couldn’t breathe.