Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(50)

Another half an hour of tiny spaces jammed with players, forcing my immediate first touch, my constant awareness of the shifting landscape between the ball, my team, and my opponent, as I pass and shoot, then we’re finally done. Drenched in sweat, wiped out, we walk off the field, guzzling Gatorade and stumbling onto the bus that will take us back to the hotel.

I sigh as air-conditioning greets us on the bus. Seated, I press my forehead to the cool window glass and let my eyes slip shut. Rooney drops into the seat next to me. Her gentle nudge draws me back from thoughts of dozing off.

Her hazel eyes are tight with worry as she wraps her arm around my shoulders, then pulls me to her. I don’t say a word, because, with Rooney, I don’t always have to. I just let my mind empty and wander, lulled by the hum of a bus on the highway.

Once we’re back at the hotel, I call Mama. She picks up after the second ring.

“Willa Rose, long time no talk.”

I might have gotten my temper from my grandmother but I got my sass from my mom. “Dang, Mama. Just wanted to check in.”

There’s a wet cough in the background, the rustling of fabric indicating she tried her best to muffle it. “I’m okay, Willa. You need to relax, honey. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

Just yet. Tears fill my eyes. When I blink, they wet my lashes and spill down my cheeks. “It’s hard playing on the holidays. I just want to be home with you. I want our Chinese takeout and crappy nineties sitcom marathon.”

“I know.” Mama sighs. “But the fact is, life is full of change. You like the idea of doing that, but, Willa, the last few years we did, we were both bored halfway through Clueless and ended up playing Words with Friends, which I won, by the way.”

“The hell you did.”

Mama laughs and it doesn’t end in a horrible cough. It makes me smile.

“Willa, on your first day of preschool, you white-knuckled my shirt and screamed when it was time for me to go, even though countless times before that, I left you with Grandma Rose or with your sitters.”

“I remember,” I whisper.

“At first, I couldn’t figure it out. You were always happy for a new sitter friend to come and play at our house, always glad for Grandma Rose to watch you while I was gone, but this…this was different. Because my leaving meant you had to join that classroom. You had to meet the unfamiliar and try new things. It wasn’t so much me leaving as you going that bothered you. It was what you had to do after goodbye that wigged you out, Willa. It’s always wigged you out. You know what that is?”

I wipe my nose, blinking up at the ceiling. “No.”

“Because then you have face the scary unknown and want something from it. You have to live with arms wide open to new things. You have to risk trying and failing. You have to release the baggage from your past, so you have room to welcome your future.”

Unease bolts through my veins. It makes me shiver. “I already want something from my future, Mama. I want to play professionally and be on the Women’s National Team. I want to win the World Cup and be on the Olympic Team. I want to see the world and learn about it. But…I just don’t want to have to let go of what I know or leave behind anyone that I love.”

Mama coughs again. “You have to. And when the time comes, you will. You’ll pick yourself up and you’ll move on and live that beautiful life.”

We’re talking about it without talking about it. I hate it when we do this. Even though the words aren’t being said, it still feels like knives spearing every gap in my ribs. It feels like my throat is scorched and my heart is dissolving in my chest. A world without my mom isn’t a world I want to be in. I hate when she makes me think about it. I hate what I know she’s about to say to me.

“Promise me, Willa Rose.”

I nod as a tear slips down my cheek. “I promise.”





“You snored again.” Rooney stomps around the hotel room topless. She’s a shameless nudie who would literally walk the world naked if it wouldn’t get her arrested. The woman hates clothes like I hate real talk. It scarred me freshman year, but I’ve since desensitized and learned not to notice.

I yawn, trying to make my eyes focus as I check the time. “And? This is significant how? I always snore.”

“And I forgot my earplugs.”

I frown, both because there’s a message on my phone I didn’t expect and because Rooney under-slept is not what we need at today’s game. As Coach said, she needs us well-rested and ready to go.

“I’m sorry, Roo.”

She waves her hand, unearthing a sports bra from her bag and finally putting me out of my misery. As I said, I’m used to the nudity, but it’s not my favorite pastime, talking to my best friend while her mosquito bite tits accurately indicate exactly how low we turned the air conditioner last night.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll be fine. I just need coffee and I don’t give a fuck what Coach has to say about that.”

“You do you, Roo. I support your caffeination, so long as you adequately hydrate.”

“Thank you.” Rooney drops to the bed, then flops on her back. “God, I’m an asshole friend. Here I am complaining about snoring and needing coffee when you’re the one with actual shit going on in your life. You didn’t invite me to the hospital yesterday and I know that’s because you’re worried it’s your last—”