There was a mood to the locker room that, while not necessarily foreign to each player as an individual, was indescribably and entirely uncomfortable for this team.
A tie. A fucking tie.
Anger would’ve been acceptable, some sort of yelling, maybe pointing fingers, maybe blame. But as a team unaccustomed to poor performances, and even more unaccustomed to being beaten — even if the scoreboard didn’t say that, it was how it felt, it tasted like defeat — they were simply quiet.
Especially Hope.
Hope’s anger was always silent, a type of slow burn that was not heard yet was definitely felt. It was all visual, small details, the way she would grind her teeth or press her fists into her knees as she sat in the locker room. Mostly, it was the eyes, the way they narrowed slightly, the way they refused to hold their gaze in any one spot, on any one person, for too long. Right now they traced around the room, fixed on Kelley for a moment, then flitted away.
Nobody said anything to her, but everyone was afraid. They knew what would come the next day in practice. The self deprecation, everything directed inward on herself, the way she would slam her fists into the goal post every time she was scored on, cursing herself, blaming herself, even if she couldn’t help it, even if it was the perfect strike with the perfect curve that nobody had a chance in hell of stopping.
Because Hope’s anger was all internal. Same with the blame. She never assumed that a goal was anyone else’s fault but herself. She might yell at a back for putting her in a bad position, or at a midfielder for a sloppy pass. But in the end? In the end, in her head, she thought it was all her, every time, no questions asked. And it killed her.
“I’m not rooming with her,” Ali muttered to Kelley after their meeting, before boarding the bus, before heading home to face the exhausted silence of her hotel room. "Not tonight."
She was pissed off, more than most. She didn’t mind watching Kelley start before her — it made sense, in fact — but being played out of position, having both of them played out of position, set her teeth on edge. It was unnecessary. And now Hope was slicing her eyes around the locker room, refusing to make eye contact with anyone and at the same time making everyone feel like it was their fault. She shoved the room key into Kelley’s hand, her jaw clenched.
“Do whatever the fuck you do to calm her down,” she said, voice both too quiet and too harsh, but Kelley just nodded. “We need her cool for Saturday.”
She waited. She let Hope sit alone, as most of them did on the ride back. She went to her room, took a second shower with her soap that actually smelled good, sat at the end of her bed and talked through strategy with Pugh. Then, when she knew she had waited long enough, maybe too long, Kelley padded down the hall, slid the keycard into the lock and walked into the mess of Hope’s self hate.
The first thing Kelley saw was Hope's back, shoulders slumped, hands winding through her damp hair. The vision made her soft, made her relax. The room smelled so much of Hope, and a faint smile drifted across Kelley’s face.
“The shower’s all yours,” Hope said, her voice gentle in that tone that she reserved for Ali, for close friends, tender and affectionate. “I’m going to sleep. I’m sorry but I just don’t want to talk.”
Kelley walked quietly across the room. She leaned against the bed, watching Hope’s back, and reached out a hand, running her fingers through Hope’s hair.
“I had this whole plan,” she murmured. “I was going to come over here and shove you into a wall and fuck all the anger out of you. Why do you always ruin my plans?”
Hope’s shoulders twitched slightly, straightening and then relaxing, and she leaned back as Kelley sat on the bed behind her, dropping her left hand to Hope’s leg and winding her right hand through her hair. Kelley laughed, and she felt Hope’s shoulders tremor slightly with the ghost of a laugh.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Hope nodded, but Kelley kept going. “I know how you are. You know that in your head. You don’t know it in your heart. But believe me. You played well.”
She could feel the woman begin to shake her head in disagreement, and she scooted forward on the bed, wrapping her arms around Hope’s waist. Kelley dropped her chin onto Hope’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of her throat.
“I love you, Hope,” Kelley murmured. “You played well.”
It took a moment for her to feel the tremors, this time stronger, as Hope began to cry. She tightened her arms, pulled her tighter, pressed kisses into her cheek and her neck and her shoulder until finally Hope wriggled free and turned around to look at her.
(it took years for Hope to look at Kelley when she cried. years. sometimes, still, she has to force herself to do it, even now, even now that they are so tangled up in something that Kelley likes to call love and that Hope loves to bury herself in whenever she can.)
She didn’t say anything, just traced Kelley’s jawline with her thumb, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You were going to push me against a wall?” Hope asked, and Kelley laughed, a smirk already gliding across her mouth. “What if you injured me, O’Hara?”
“Just another casualty of war, my friend,” Kelley grinned back. Hope wrapped herself around her, dragging both of them down to lay side-by-side in the bed.
“Thank you,” Hope murmured, and her voice was something different now, something she reserved for Kelley, for someone she loved. Kelley nodded back, closing her eyes, curling closer to Hope’s body. “Will you stay?”
Kelley opened one eye, that glint of a joke already tracing her features.
“Hope, please, I’m trying to sleep.”
Hope laughed and pulled the covers over them both. In minutes, she was asleep, her hand resting on Kelley’s side, her body finally relaxed, mouth tracing upwards in the tiniest smile.