tell me another beautiful lie (tell me everything i want to hear)

by nochurchinthewild

Summary:

you've seen her broken before, but not like this. never like this.

or

how married life shines a new light on the cracks in the dark.

Notes:

ofc it goes without saying that this is all fiction and many people are OOC (or out of reality, i guess? not really sure how this works for RPFs).

If there's one thing in life that you know for certain, it's this:

You are one-hundred percent in love with your wife.

You're watching her from across the pitch, playing around with Cassius and Roux with a goofy grin on her face. You watch how she practically radiates happiness when she's got one child wrapped around her leg and another securely grasped in that strong arm. She's making these absurd monkey noises, rousing laughter and giggles from the little ones as she spins. They're enamored with her, and she's just as enthralled with their tiny faces and happy smiles.

It shouldn't surprise you, and it really doesn't, but mostly because Ashlyn is a kid herself.

But there's an asterisk next to that one thing, only you never knew it until now.

"Pookie's still ready for a baby," you hear Allie's sing-song voice in your ear. You look over at her from where she's beaming, holding up her phone. Your stomach curdles at her giddy voice as she looks to you knowingly before clapping off a farewell message to her followers. You look back to Ashlyn with uncertainty, who's now sprawled out in the dirt with the kids clambering all over her wildly.

She is ready for a baby, Allie's right.

"You know," your friend says with a smirk, "I don't know why you're waiting. I love my husband to death, but if I was still single and playing for the opposite team, she'd be my MVP without a shadow of a doubt."

You hold back a smile as Allie screams out to Ashlyn, "you're my most valuable pookie!"

You watch Ashlyn's head snap up and she grins like the child she is. "Pookies for life!"

The kids laugh at her antics, and once again your wife is buried under rambunctious toddlers. You hear Sydney telling them to stop and leave her alone in mock exasperation, but even your friend isn't interested in letting the group break up so soon. You know Ashlyn has a special connection with Syd's kids (or any of the team's kids, for that matter), and she needs this. Win, lose, or draw, family is her only constant.

"For real though," Allie says again, bringing your attention back. "She's ready for a kid."

You feel that pit return to your stomach as you hang your head. "I know."

"Then why wait?"

"I...," you trail off, nervous. "I just... I don't know if I am ready to, you know..."

"Be a mom?"

You're quiet a moment before you sigh, "to retire."

Allie frowns. "And that affects your ability to raise a kid by...?"

"I don't want them to grow up alone."

"Bullshit Kriegy," Allie mutters, bite in her voice. "Syd brings her kids everywhere. Same with Rodriguez. Half the time, it's your wife doing the baby sitting. Tell me the real reason why."

"I don't want to bring them into this world," you say as you gesture to the field. "Syd and Dom make it work, but I just... it's not the same for us, you know? We travel everywhere, there's no stable home to come back to. Hell, our dogs even have attachment issues. Imagine it with a kid! I mean, neither of us are particularly young moms either, Allie. It would be a lot of work on both our parts, and it's just... a lot."

Allie gives you a sympathetic glance as you both look over to where Ashlyn is bear-hugging the kids, mournful to let them go back to Sydney's waiting arms. Eventually, she relents. You sigh, looking away.

"I'm just... I'm not ready for that step yet."

Allie's lips purse. "But she is."

You stay silent, unable to respond as Ashlyn walks in your direct with a beaming grin. You wish you could let her stay in that bubble forever, where she's truly and authentically happy. You know she's been down lately, given how poorly the team has been gelling on and off the pitch. Her back line isn't the best, what with the team rebuild and the loans to Europe. They've lost more games than they've done in a season, and while you know that it's not her fault, she's piling on the guilt to her shoulders like she always does.

"Hey babe," she says, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before grinning at Allie. "Pookie!"

Allie and Ashlyn grab each other in a hug, and you hold back a laugh as Ashlyn wrestles Allie under her arm and tousles her hair. They've both been friends for so long, that they're more sisters than anything. The two blondes pull apart with ear-splitting smiles. You can't help but shake your head at their antics.

"I better go," Allie says, with one final shove to Ashlyn's shoulder. "Bati's making tacos."

"Delicious," Ashlyn grins, "send pics, pooks!"

"Trust me," Allie smirks teasingly, throwing her a wink. "You won't want them."

You roll your eyes fondly at the same time Ashlyn makes a gagging motion. "Gross."

Allie leaves after hugging you goodbye, and soon enough it's just you and Ashlyn rounding up the last of your supplies before making your way to the car. Her hand drops down and it clasps with yours, so naturally that you wonder why you ever felt so scared of holding it.

"You're in a good mood," you say as she holds the car door open for you. You blush as she pecks your cheek again. "Did you hit your head or something? Usually, it's not this chipper after a loss to the Reign. Pinoe didn't put something in your water did she?" Ashlyn chuckles and shakes her head, hopping in the driver's seat as she throws her bag in the back. You watch her forearms flex as she grips the steering wheel and she powers the car. Despite the conflict in your mind, you find that familiar spark ignite within you.

Her hand dangles between the gear stick, reaching for yours again. You intertwine your fingers gently as she speaks, her voice smooth and soft. "How could I ever not be in a good mood when I get to play with the kids? Cash is getting so big now, and Roux... the kids are gonna be grown up in a blink, it's unreal..."

The problem is, you don't listen to the rest of what she says. Because when you look at her, at how passionate she is, and how much you can hear the yearning in her voice, you feel nothing short of guilty. Ashlyn was always the patient one between you, always more willing to wait and sacrifice and hold burdens that were never her own, if it made others happy. You know she's still working on this martyrdom complex, but you know that it's just a part of your wife's personality. She would give up the world for others.

And as you look at her, animated in a story about how Cass is getting better at nutmegs and how cute he is when he does a victory dance and how he's got the best of both soccer worlds in him, you find yourself at a loss for words. When she pulls to a stop at a red light, you can't help yourself as you lean over and draw her in for a deep, soulful kiss. Usually, you aren't so open with public affection, even in the car, but there's something deep inside you that is begging, pleading to share in the affection with your beautiful wife.

And predictably, she melts and sighs into the kiss like it's ten years ago. As bittersweet as it is, you know she's always blown away when you kiss her. Though, you suppose years of waiting and wondering do that.

"Wow," Ash sighs as you pull away, her lips curled up in a smirk. "I should lose more often."

You shake your head at her antics as she pulls down the road, her fingers clenching your hand even tighter. Her thumb strokes a soft line up the outside of your hand, and you blush at the goosebumps that line your forearms. You know how this will go as you approach the house, because when Ash is in this mood (when you get her in this mood), she's relentless. Still the romantic sap you've grown to love and cherish, but she's eager and enthralled by you and only you. It's one thing that has never changed over the decade.

To her, you are her moon and stars and everything in-between.

And in return, she's your whole universe.

No sooner is the engine off, Ashlyn is bounding out the door and swinging open your door. You laugh as she swings you up into her arms in a dramatic bridal carry, showing off her effortless strength as she takes you in a romantic, sweeping kiss. You laugh into her lips as she grins harder. You slide your arms around her neck, giggling as she kicks open the door and waltzes inside without ever tearing apart your lips.

But, as soon as the door slams shut behind you, the dogs are barking madly.

"Girls!" Ashlyn groans in exaggeration as she sets you down and nearly gets bowled over by an eager Storm. She fake scolds them. "We've been over this. Sometimes Momma and I need some alone time."

You want to stay in the mood, but when you hear that stern love to Ashlyn's voice, and the words which leave her mouth, you're no longer seeing your two fur-babies, but real babies. You imagine a mini-Ashyln, all swagger and charm and unrelenting energy. You see a mop of brown-blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes, dimpled grin, and giggling laughter. You can hear excited giggles and laughter as you come home.

When you blink, you see Ashlyn swinging the toddler up in her arms, not your dog.

Logan's wet nose and wagging stump of a tail breaks you from your vision. You absently pet the larger of the two, watching as Ashlyn gets slobbered on by the wrinkly pup. 

"Well," you say, diffusing the conflicting thoughts within you, "so much for that."

"Hey now," Ashlyn grins, setting down the dog. "I'm always ready to go for you, babe."

You laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. She flexes her pecs and you sigh. "Unfortunately, you smell like dog slobber and dirt. The only thing you're ready for is a shower." Ashlyn wriggles her brows, smirking.

"A shower for two?"

You give her a teasing, pointed look. She pouts, and you roll your eyes.

"No funny business."

Ashlyn gestures with two fingers over her heart. "Scout's honor."

You roll your eyes again as she bounds her way up the steps, the sting of loss forgotten as the dogs rush after her, barking in their glee at her being home. You take a moment to push down the guilt in your chest before you follow her, thoughts of kids linger in your mind. You know Ashlyn would make the perfect mother, but you're still lost and confused. You follow her eventually, stripping off your clothes slowly.

Ashlyn groans and bites her lip, but you arch your brow. "Think you can keep your promise?"

Your wife sighs and brings you under the steam, shielding you from the scalding water until it tempers to a comfortable temperature. She wraps you in her arms before kissing your forehead, her hands firm and safe as they run up and down your side. You arch your brow up at her as she leans down to kiss your lips.

"Your wish is my command," she murmurs as she smiles, "let's get you clean, Princess."

True to her honor, Ashlyn doesn't do anything (bare for a few naughty touches here and there).

And even as you watch her head downstairs to start on dinner, you still feel dirty.

When you come down to a romantically set dinner, some Ella Gitzgerald playing softly in the background and the dogs asleep on the couch, you find yourself feeling even more guilty. You know Allie is right, as Ashlyn pulls back your chair and kisses your forehead. You linger in her warmth as she talks about some new tattoo that she's thinking of getting. You get lost in her rambling, touched by the spontaneous romance of the evening.

She's so beautiful like this, when she's truly and authentically herself.

You know that she's only really herself in front of you.

But you don't know if you can say the same about yourself.

* * * 

You're feeling a bit nostalgic today.

There's something about nearly surviving forty years on this planet that still seems so surreal. You sit in the living room with the puppies, while Ali finishes drying the dishes from your dinner in the background. You peer into the fire place, thinking back to all the days when you used to crave this life from beneath tattered bed sheets.

You think about how the only house you only ever knew was one filled with hatred, violence, and conflict.

And now, as you take a look at your surroundings, you finally found yourself a home.

The material things never really mattered to you, mostly because you were used to growing up with next to nothing. You were used to food stamps and expired-but-still-edible produce. In your youth, you'd dream of wearing Nike's or Umbro, and now you're sponsored by them. You were a dreamer from a small town, praying for a second chance.

And what a second chance you've been given.

You turn to see Ali walk into the living room, and despite her being in nothing but her pajama top and some sweats, she's still the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Your heart still skips every time you look at her, and you feel honored and blessed everyday that she took a chance on little old you, that she is yours for the keeping, forever.

The smooth jazz filters out, and suddenly the familiar plucking strings of a guitar ring out.

Immediately, your lips curl into a smile as Ali looks up at you. For some reason, you find yourself nervous all over again as you extend your hand outwards to her. She walks closer, arching her brow playfully as she eyes your hand.

"Babe?" Ali asks, stepping into your space. "What's this?"

Christina Perri's voice starts to fill out in the space of your living room. You love this version, this acoustic, bare-bone version of the song that has always best described your love for Alexandra Blaire Krieger, your forever girl.

Heart beats fast, colors and promises

How to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall

But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt

Suddenly goes away somehow... one step closer....

"Dance with me?" You ask as she takes your hand. "Please?"

A blush creeps up on her face as she settles in your arms and you both sway to the music. You close your eyes, resting your cheek against her brow as you both lose yourself to the music and the meaning behind the lyrics.

I have died everyday waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I will love you

For a thousand years...

I will love you for a thousand more

You hum the lyrics in her ear as you feel Ali sigh into your neck. You can't help but tremble as you think back to when you were just a kid, only twelve years ago, captivated by your wife's tiger brown eyes in the early morning sun.

Time stands still, beauty in all she is

I will be brave, I will not let anything take away

From standing in front of me, every breath

Every hour has come to this, one step closer...

You can't help it now, and you lean back during the second chorus, you lean in and kiss her. Ali's lips move slowly against yours as the two of you continue swaying to the music. You pour every inch of your soul into the kiss, and you feel Ali's hands move from yours to run down the plane of your back as you reach up to cup her face tenderly.

You're thankful as the puppies retreat to their corner, leaving you with your wife in the low light of the fireplace. You reach down and cup her bum, lifting her as she locks her legs around your waist. You deepen the kiss as she gently rocks into you, the mood shifting to something more desperate and vulnerable. You walk you both backwards, towards the steps as the music swells to the final chorus. Your eyes are closed, but you have it all mapped out.

You only take a break to breathe, and when you open your eyes at the base of the steps, Ali is staring into your soul with those beautiful brown eyes. You suck in a deep breath and smile at the love shining in her eyes. She smiles brighter, wider, that familiar megawatt smile that always casts out whatever darkness and demons you fight.

"I love you," you whisper as you hear the music quieten in the background. "My darling heart."

Ali's smile widens further, her eyes teary as she leans down and kisses you again.

You gasp into her lips as she whispers, "show me, baby."

* * *

As ferocious and terrifying Ashlyn is on the field, when she's in her home, with her family, she's so soft.

It's one of the things which drew you into her from the beginning, the quiet vulnerability hiding behind that badass, fearless persona. It was the way she cared, the way she gave everything of herself in all that she was. It was how she always had eyes for you, always wanted to be the best version of herself for you. It was how she taught you, too, to be the best version of yourself. Your love story is something of a fairy-tale, a cross-roads, an unlikely duo of hearts.

She was the outcast from a small town, a skater girl, a little punk, a little rebellious. You were the star-studded talk of the town, the local hero, the girl next door, a little quiet, a little shy. On paper, there should have been no reason for either of you to get along, let alone fall in love. You remember the first day you met her, a cocky youngster who'd made a name for the country's female youth. You remember her goofy grin and long beach blonde curly hair.

You remember how she intimidated you at first, at how she was so in tune with yourself. And when you're intimidated, you're usually not the nicest. You'd tried giving her cold shoulder for so many days during camp, but she picked at your skin, got down into your heart, and when she did, you caught the glimpse of the gentle giant she is.

There was a time, during that camp, when you were sitting on the beach and staring at the waves lapping against the shore. You remember how nervous she had been, how shy and reserved and so unlike her grandiosity you thought of her. You flirted with her, and she reciprocated playfully, but when you made your intentions serious, she was afraid.

"I don't get it," she'd whispered that night as the sun set. "How a girl like you could ever like a girl like me."

It was then, as she'd bared her heart on her sleeve, you recognized just how much you wanted to grow to love her.

She'd felt so nervous to take you on a proper date because the only love she's ever known has been conditional on so many different things. People have always taken from her, whether it was her fame, her money, her success. Sometimes, even just her body. Your mind fumes for those few who even decided it was okay to take her heart. 

When you look at her now, confident in herself to want to be truly, authentically herself, you beam internally with pride. There are days where she struggles, where she still wakes up and can't look in the mirror and accept herself. There are days when you sit at her bedside in silence as she cries because she remembered something from her past. There are days when she isolates, when she walks away from the world and encapsulates herself in soothing darkness. On those days, when she's nearly non-verbal and dissociative, you find yourself loving her even harder.

Because despite everything, she still finds a way to keep going, to stay motivated, to keep living.

And now, as she undresses you with those powerful yet gentle hands, you feel reverent to share your body with her. You feel blown away at how she gazes into you like you are her entire world, and how she makes you feel so special. There was a time, two years ago, when you doubted yourself, you doubted your past, but you never doubted her. Your family went through Hell when you were kept off the roster, and they had to deal with the barbed wire of your anger. But through it all, Ashlyn stuck by you, shielding you from yourself when the nights were too hard to handle.

As she slowly lowers you to the bed, her warm skin so smooth against your own, you think of how kind she is. You feel yourself getting emotional as your hands run up her arms, feeling the small bumps of old scars hidden beneath her tattoos. Your breath hitches at that sad, faraway look in her eyes when you linger too close to one or the other. Your heart aches at the thought of this beautiful, self-less woman convincing herself for years that she was not beautiful enough, not smart enough, not good enough to be loved and to love someone in return. You burn for those in her life that tore her down, but you thank them for building her into the person you've come to grow and love.

Her story is one of pain, loneliness, anger, but it's not too dissimilar to your own.

"I love you," you whisper as her hips slot against yours. You tear up as she smiles, as if the saying is still surprising. You reach up and cup her face, bringing her down to press your lips together in another sweet, caring kiss.

You don't say it enough, and you vow to correct that from this point onward.

All of your doubts aside, you remember that one constant in your life:

You are one hundred percent in love with your wife.

* * * 

You and Ali are have been together a decade now, but the sex has never changed.

Every time you touch, it's electric. As if you've sky-dived straight into a pool of molten lava and survived. She makes your heart stop, and her skin is like porcelain beneath your fingertips. You love kissing into her, tasting her, hearing her breathy voice in your ear as she arches into you when you hit that spot perfectly. You have memorized the freckles on her back as you kiss down the ridges of her spine. Your fingers settle within her like a second home, and your free hand reaches up to hold hers, your eyes locking gently.

That Buzzfeed quiz you did a few months ago wasn't a lie. She loves looking at you.

She once told you it was a safety thing, that she'd never given herself to someone like she has with you, and she was always scared of you leaving when she needed you most. You know, now, though, that she watches you because you experience another level of connection. You're a spiritual person, not bound by one single religion or ideology, but you know there must be something cosmic about having sex, no, making love to Ali Krieger. You know there's something deeper than skin and slick and simple touch.

Tonight, when she gasps into your mouth when she's at her highest point, you savor the slight whistle in her chest as she presses her back against the slick sheets, spent entirely. Her eyes are hooded, dark.

"Fuck," she mutters as her hips quiver. "That was..."

You wipe your lips and crawl your way up her front, placing lazy kisses here and there as she regains her breath. You can tell by the way her hands squeeze yours that she's far from finished, however.

"Baby," you murmur against her neck as her hips cant upwards, "still hungry for more?"

She doesn't answer verbally, but instead claws into the small of your back. You grind into her, and you know as she tongues under your jaw, just exactly what she wants. You barely are able to separate from her wanton touches as you reach over to the drawer next to you. You fumble around in the low light before you grab exactly what she's craving. A decade of loving your wife, and you know each other inside and out.

"Want you," Ali hisses as you tie the straps in place. "Inside, Ash. Please."

"Easy," you hum soothingly as she whimpers at the first pass of the strap against her sensitive thigh. "I got you, babe. Just lay back relax, okay? I'm here, I'm going to take care of you. I love you so much, Alibean."

You know the tempo's switched as she clutches you tighter. You lean back, watching her eyes as they widen and her mouth curves into an 'o' the minute you slide inside. You give her a moment, like most times, to adjust to the girth and length of your favorite toy before you start thrusting in and out gently.

"You like it like that, don't you?" You whisper between soft kisses. "You love me this deep inside you."

Ali whimpers again, crying out as you bottom out on the next thrust. You smile against her lips, your pelvis canting upwards as you start a slow, but deep, rocking motion. You feel her quiver, and you know she's getting close. She's always quick when it's like this, when it's so raw and hard, but gentle in the same. You reach up with your free hand to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear before holding her jaw tenderly.

Ali's eyes lock onto yours, and you kiss her forehead as you thrust harder and faster. Her hand slides between you both, palming the defined rings of your abs as you continue your movements. You pick up the pace as her breath hitches, and she whines when you rotate your hips to reach deeper and harder.

"Ash!" She pleads in a breathless gasp. "Oh God..."

"That's it," you praise her, smiling proudly. You know what she needs to get to that edge and over it. "That's my good girl, taking my cock so well. You look like bliss, Princess. So beautiful, taking me so deep."

Moments later, Ali quivers under you, and you sigh in mutual relief at the warmth and wetness that follows. Your own center pulses and you shiver as Ali sobs in release into your sweaty neck. You help both of you ride out your pleasure with a few more staggered thrusts before you collapse atop her, still deep inside.

You're fairly comfortable in your gender identity, but in times like these, you wish you could feel it all.

"Wow," she sighs as you kiss her cheek and then her neck, before falling into bed beside her. "Fuck."

You shift and pull out, unstrapping the harness and the attachment and tossing it to the floor. You'll deal with it in the morning before the dogs come in (you don't need another one of your favorite possessions becoming a designated chew toy). You let your wife catch her breath as you stumble on shaky legs to the en-suite bathroom to damp a warm towel in some hot water. You bring back the cloth and gently clean up your girl, cherishing each shiver and moan of pleasure Ali releases. You toss it in the hamper when you're done and crawl back down. You reach over, parting away sweaty strands of hair from her face, and your heart swells when you think about how years ago, you were worried you'd never see her like this.

"Put's a whole new meaning to kiss the chef, huh?" You chuckle into her skin, smiling as you kiss her cheek softly. Ali shoves at you weakly, still catching her breath as she looks at you so openly, you shiver.

So pure, so vulnerable, so bare -- all for you.

"I love you," you whisper, and you can't help but feel the tug on your heart as you lean over to kiss her again. "You know, this'll be lame, but I still can't believe you married me. It's like I'm living in a fairy-tale."

You say it with humor, but Ali sees through it because she's the one person on this planet, aside from your grandmother, who knows you better than yourself. You try to smirk, but the tears are in your eyes, because there's a part of you that always doubts Ali's intentions. There's a part of you that'll always be the poor kid from a beach bum town in Florida, with nothing to her name but a mangled surfboard and tattered cleats.

And it's not her, no, it's never her. Ali loves you.

But there are days when you can't say you love yourself.

You're getting there, and it's a process, but it's never easy.

"How could I not?" Ali hums back, breaking you from the thoughts. She turns onto her side as she reaches out to trace your lips with her forefinger. "You're my handsome, charming, loving, kind, rugged surfer girl."

You smile, blushing. She leans in, nestling her head against your shoulder, her nose nuzzling against the crook of your neck as you both lay in the afterglow of lovemaking.

"Ali?" You ask, your voice quiet and shy. Ali hums, sleepy and cozy against your skin.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I love you," you say to her, pressing a kiss to her hair, "and I can't wait to share that love with our family, with our mini Krieger-Harrises. Our babies will be so beautiful, you know. I can't wait for the day we meet them. You know, I know I'm whipped, but they'll have me around their finger. No doubt I will have to rely on you to say no to them when they flash the signature Harris dimple." You close your eyes and dream of them, your little ones running around, completely swaddled in their mothers' love. You can practically taste it. 

But Ali is quiet. You look down, and you notice she's asleep, snoring lightly.

A smile parts your lips. Even with a decade between you, that's not changed a bit, either.

* * * 

You don't tell Ashlyn that you heard every word that night.

To her credit, she doesn't bring it up again. You aren't exactly distant with her, but you are putting space where space isn't needed, but she overlooks it for the sake of your tiredness with the progress of this season. Your conversation with Allie sits like a pit in your stomach, and you know that you have to talk to her eventually about these doubts and fears. Ashlyn has a lot on her plate right now, what with the Pride being in the precarious position of losing a playoff spot if they don't at least win or draw the next games.

You know your wife wants to win, but the season isn't as it's all turned out to be. Between the pandemic and the uptick in racial violence and hatred spreading across the country, no one is really motivated to do anything but put in the grind and go home to put the worst times behind you and the puppies. Ashlyn tries her hardest, being the captain, to motivate her squad to be better, but there's tensions between everyone.

Just because you and your wife (and a handful of other players) are outspoken about issues you care about, it doesn't mean everyone is on the same ship. You know that soccer, especially in America, isn't the most racially diverse. If you think back to your own national team roster, the majority of your players are White, and you wonder if there is a reason behind it. You and Ashlyn question everything all the time, but you know decisions on making it onto the national roster aren't always completely routed in talent. 

"Again!" Llyod shouts, breaking you from your thoughts. You watch as he drills Ashlyn on the far side of the pitch with Marta and Toni. The two take turns firing shots with various styles to try and break her focus. To her credit, Ashlyn is all steel-gaze and iron-clad, blocking shots left and right before Llyod calls a break.

Marta and Toni say something to your wife, and Ashlyn nods before resetting. You watch for a moment as she practices diving left and right from their shots. It breaks your heart a little, when you think of it, about how dedicated your wife is even in simple practice mode. She bats away balls easily with those big paws.

You know her insecurities, and you think a part of her has begrudgingly made peace with the concept of always being the second keeper, the great shadow of the impenetrable Hope Solo. It hurt her, when she was sidelined at the World Cup to Naeher. The two of them are thick as thieves, but you remember the way the younger goalkeeper had always felt guilty for taking Ashlyn's spot. Your wife trained hard from day one, but never reached the top.

"Good, Harris! Watch that left foot, get back up!" Llyod shouts as Ashlyn dives to the left to barely knock away Marta's shot. You watch, a pang in your heart as Ashlyn gets up slowly and readjusts on weary feet.

Neither of you are young anymore, and bouncing back from injury is difficult, especially now. Between the two of you, Ashlyn's been in and out of hospitals more than you can count. She's been there for almost every important limb and organ, and she still stands, ready to face down the next team with iron focus.

Marc calls for a scrimmage after you've all done your drills, and you pick up a pinny and head to the opposite side beside Erin. The Canadian had come back from being on loan, and she smiles cheerily.

"Not that often that Coach keeps you away from the wife," she jokes as they take their positions. You stretch your legs as she smirks. "Nice to see you playing on this side of the scrimmage for once, Krieger."

You smile and chuckle. "You should be so lucky, McLeod."

The whistle rings out and Marta kicks the ball to Sydney and the forwards are powering down the lane. You tag Sydney and keep her close, blocking off her attempts to shoot. Her footwork is good, but you're aggressive on her instantly. She's eventually forced right, and you sweep your leg under and snatch the ball, kicking it up to Alex. You sprint down the line, keeping pace with her as you both approach the goal.

Alex takes a sweeping kick, one that hits the high right corner, but Ashlyn bounds upwards and bats it away like it wasn't a powerful strike. She lands with a harsh thud on the ground and is slow to get up, but pounds her gloves and gets ready for the corner as Alex bounds off-field. It's taken by Chelsee, and then Alex goes to shoot again. Ashlyn grabs an easy catch from the high ball and rolls it away to her defenders.

The practice goes on, and Marta gets two goals in on Erin but Ashlyn keeps a clean sheet. Overall, it's a solid practice. You're on your way back to the locker room after stretches when you hear Marta's snicker. 

"If only you made saves like that when we play, Harris."

You go to whip your head around to defend your wife, but you see the tired glint in her eyes as she shoves Marta's shoulder with good nature. You bite your lip as she quips, "and where'd the fun be in that, Marta?"

"I don't know," Marta bites back, eyeing her seriously. "How about winning the playoffs?"

Ashlyn deflects with more humor as Marta walks away with a slight scoff, but you see the defeat in your wife's eyes. You watch as she sighs and limps her way over to the showers, her eyes glued to the floor.

You want to do something, but you don't know what to say.

* * * 

The ride home today is harder.

Marta's words play out in your head, but you refuse to carry that baggage into your home. You and Ali made a pact from the beginning to keep work and personal life separate, but it isn't always easy. On days like today, you feel everything bubbling back up. Those familiar thoughts, misaligned and corrupting your mind as they run rampant between your ears. You thought you were getting better with your self-worth, but something about turning older and getting nowhere closer to your goals is putting a damper on things.

"Hey."

You blink up from where you're sitting in the car, staring forward. You don't realize Ali's driven you home until you look at her from where your door is open and she's staring at you in a mixture of worry and confusion. You take a breath and force a smile before you hop out quickly, grabbing your kit bag.

"You okay?" Ali asks as she threads your fingers together. "You seem... distant."

You bite your lip. That's rather ironic, you think, considering Ali's spoken maybe four sentences to you in the past few days. You don't want to fight though, so you just shrug. You don't need this tonight.

"Rough practice. I think I bruised up my hand again."

Ali frowns, looking you over carefully. "I thought you were taking it easy."

Shrugging, you reply, "I needed to prepare for the series restarting. Gotta be in my best shape, right?"

Ali is quiet then, and you feel those niggling thoughts grow louder, becoming more intrusive. You push past her when she doesn't reply and flop onto the couch next to the snoring dogs. Storm wakes, her tongue lolling out before she drowns you in kisses. You smile, because at least she still gives you attention. Logan manages to nudge your knee with her head before falling asleep, her favorite avocado hanging limply out of her mouth. You never used to be one to like dogs, but looking at them now, you love them.

Dog Mom and all, thanks to one Ali Krieger.

"I'm going to Syd's tomorrow. I'm gonna spend the night."

You look up to see her standing over you, texting on her phone. You frown.

"Oh, what time does she expect us? I think Toni can watch the pups. I can't wait to see Cash and Roux."

"Um," Ali says, looking up with a sheepish expression. "It's a just us thing, actually. Girls' night, y'know?"

You gesture to yourself, smirking slightly. "Last I checked, I think I'm a girl."

Ali laughs, bending down to kiss you. For a moment, you feel your stomach ignite at how she pulls you into her, her tongue flicking over yours. You can't help yourself as you tug her down, and she laughs as she lands on your chest, sucking the wind out of you. You give her another deep kiss, squeezing her ass.

"Fuck," you mutter as she kisses your neck. "I thought I'd be smoother."

"I don't know," she rasps, nipping your jaw as her hand palms your chest. "I thought it was pretty smooth."

Ali smirks down at you, and suddenly your brain goes into primitive mode for a moment as your (very attractive) wife grinds down on you slowly. You can't help but gasp as her hips undulate against yours. You can feel the heat beneath her, and you don't have to touch her to know she's slick underneath the layers. 

She gives you another smoldering look as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and says, "Alexa, play The Playlist." You arch your brow as the sultry sound of The Weeknd's "Earned It" play through the speakers.

As if the dogs know, the two puppies saunter off to their play room. You grin as Ali starts to gyrate up and down your lap. You bite your bottom lip hard as your wife gently sings along to the sultry lyrics.

"Baby," you whisper as her hands snake under your shirt. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Ali asks, her brow arched playfully as she grinds down again. Your breath hitches as she runs her palm down to the clasp of your belt buckle. Suddenly, you feel on top of the world knowing that you decided to shower and dress at the arena before coming home. Ali's lips ghost your ear softly.

"I'm about to fuck my wife."

My wife. The words never cease to leave you speechless.

"Fuck," you mutter as your hands grip her hips tighter. Ali's hand slips beneath your briefs and you feel her on you. She strokes you along to the beat of the song, and you close your eyes in bliss as your wife takes you to new heights. All of the stress from practice, all of the doubts sown in by your team is forgotten.

At this point, soccer doesn't even matter because this is so, so much more worth it.

"You deserve it," Ali sings along as she dips inside, "the way you work it..."

You feel her speed up, and it's as if your nerve endings are on fire. She strokes deeper and you can't help but shift your hips upwards to help her out. She's biting and licking at your neck, goading you on further.

"Come on," Ali whispers, all teeth and tongue against your skin, "give it all to me, baby."

You already know to never deny her anything, as moments later you come with Ali's name on your lips.

* * * 

That morning, you and Ashlyn decide to get breakfast with Kyle and his new boyfriend.

You're his younger sister, but you've always both been so protective over each other, so at first you were a bit wary of him. Kyle's a man now, and he's ten years sober and in such a good place, and you can't bear for him to fall back. Not that he would, you know, because just like you, he's grown up so amazingly well.

You watch him as his boyfriend spoons some eggs into his mouth. They're disgustingly cute together, and while he's more open to PDA than you, you blush. Just to tease, you fake a gag and Kyle only exaggerates the next moan that leaves his mouth. You feel a nudge at your side and look to your wife grinning back at you.

"Why don't you do that for me?"

You roll your eyes at her goofy smile as she gestures to your spoon. "Babe, you know I don't share."

"Oh," Ashlyn asks, arching her brow before looking down at her plate. "Did or did you not steal my last bacon?"

"I don't like to share," you repeat as you reach over and steal a yam fry. "I didn't say you didn't love sharing."

Ashlyn tries to pretend to be shocked, but she eventually leans back and allows you to pick at the remainder of her fries. You're half-way through eating the one you've plucked from her fingers when you hear the small patter of feet.

"Mikayla, don't disturb them, they're eating breakfast!" You hear a woman yell out. You and your wife turn to see a little girl, probably seven, staring up at you from where you're sitting at the table with an Orlando Pride hat on.

And just like that, Ashlyn is a goner.

"Hey sweetheart," your wife coos, moving her chair back to get on eye-level with the child. "How's it going?"

The little girl, unperturbed by her flustered mother trying to reel her back, only grins up at your wife. "I'm good! I get to watch you play tomorrow. My mommy bought us tick'ets to the firs' row!" The mother blushes and gives you an apologetic glance as she tries to wrestle her daughter away from your table. You give her a reassuring smile, because you know that your wife would never turn away a fan, especially a young one. Ashlyn grins and pats her hat lovingly.

"Is that so, sweetie? Are you excited to see us play?"

"Yeah! I'm a soccer player too. I'm a goalie, jus' like you!" Mikayla beams, grinning up at your wife. "I play wif' my brother, but he says that I'm too slow. He always kicks the ball too hard and I don't know how to stop it."

"Is that so?" Ashyln asks with an exaggerated voice. "Well, want to know a goalkeeping secret?"

The girl nods excitedly, her head bobbing up and down so quick you're almost sure it's about to snap off. Ashyln makes a dramatic motion of turning her eyes side to side before she leans over and whispers something in her ear.

The little girl's eyes widen. "Really?"

Ashlyn nods, grinning back down at her. "Really. But you can't tell anyone, it's a secret!"

The little girl reaches up and latches her arms around Ashlyn, who hugs her back in earnest before gesturing to Kyle to hand her a pen from his bag. Your brother is practically melting with adoration as he hands over a sharpie, making a quick quip about how that's a staple item for him to carry now considering how famous you guys both became.

Ashlyn signs the girls hat and gives her one last hug before the mom manages to drag her away with another grateful thank-you. You watch the smile on Ashlyn's face spread and turn emotional as she turns to face you, smitten.

"I can't wait for you two to have kids," Kyle beams as he takes the pen back. "That kid will be so loved."

You feel that sour feeling in your stomach again at the notion of kids, but you don't let it show as Ashlyn beams up at your brother. Her hand finds yours under the table and she squeezes it gently. "I can't wait, either. Maybe not now, but hopefully soon, we'll have mini Krieger-Harrises running around causing havoc and driving the pups crazy."

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes as you nod along. Kyle catches it, and as perceptible as he his, you are grateful for the silent acknowledgement of you not wanting to bring the topic to further fruition. Luckily, his boyfriend quickly changes the subject, talking about a new custom-built Jeep he'd seen, and just like that, him and Ashlyn are engaged in their own conversation. Kyle keeps his eyes on you, but you shake your head subtly.

After breakfast, when you part ways, he hugs you slightly tighter than usual.

* * * 

The Reign are set to fly out tomorrow, so you spend today with Pinoe since Ali is with Syd tonight.

Sue is back home in Seattle, and it's been awhile since you and your best friend have had a 'boys night out' as you call it. The two of you find yourself at the local dive bar where the locals are respectful of your newfound fame. You love moments like this, where you can be with your best friend in a bar watching the basketball game with strangers.

"So," Pinoe says between a chug of beer, "how's things with the missus?"

You chuckle as you run your fingers through your hair, thinking of last night. "Pretty good."

"Ah, pretty good, huh?"

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell."

Pinoe snorts at the same time you burst into laughter. She chuckles and shoves your shoulder. "You know, I thought you were trying to remain private, but I watched that interview you did with Buzzfeed. Favorite sexual position, huh?"

You shrug, your face hurting from how hard you are grinning. "I didn't give too much away."

"Really?" Pinoe smirks before she mocks your voice. "It depends on my mood."

You shrug again, matching her smirk as you lift your glass to your lips. "It wasn't a lie."

"You're a dog."

"Biiiitch!"

The two of you burst out into laughter again before you eventually settle down. It isn't like Pinoe doesn't know anything about the two of you. Having played on the same team--literally and figuratively--for ten years, she knows almost everything about you, and by extension, Ali. After she crashed in your room during the world cup celebrations, it was safe to say that she's seen everything. Ali had been wrapped up and on the edge of sleep when Pinoe'd collapsed atop your sheets and started her drunken rambling, but it was evident exactly what you'd been doing. She didn't judge you, and while you've always been more free-spirited, you remember your wife's annoyance.

Though, it was mostly in jest.

Mostly.

"But seriously," Pinoe says as the bartender hands you another round. "You guys talk about it yet?"

You take a sip of your beer and smile. "Not yet. I think she's worried about the season. When we get a break, maybe then we'll take a closer look. With the Olympics coming up next year, I think she wants to end it all on a good note."

Pinoe digests your words and nods carefully. "Makes sense. Don't wanna get pregnant before the second biggest tourney event. After everything that happened in Rio, I know that she wants to get what she's owed. You, too."

Pinoe gives you a serious look when you shrug noncommittally at the last sentence. "Ash, I know you've been so amazing about this whole supporting Naeher starting, but I know you want that spot on the roster. You deserve it."

"It's okay," you say as your finger traces the rim of the glass. "I've made my peace with it, y'know? Besides, 'Lyss is amazing at what she does, and this is a team sport. I wouldn't be a good team player if I didn't support her."

"I'm not telling you to pull a Solo," Pinoe says with a dramatic drawl. "But c'mon, Ash. We all want you to start."

You really do love how much faith Pinoe puts in you, how much she believes in you and how much she wants this for you, but you know deep down that at best you'll always be the second keeper. You wonder if you'd peaked in your teen years, playing for the National U-19 team, but a smile curls at your lip as you know that you started for them.

But working with Hope Solo and the GK Union of the 2012/2015 era had broken something in you. The environment was toxic and detrimental not only to your physical health, but your mental health as well. Hope was always controversial, and even if you held a cordial relationship in public, behind the seasons it was hard to work with someone who was intense, who drew their power and strength from taking from others. It didn't help that Jill Ellis kept almost little to no faith in you, and reminded you on an almost daily basis of your role as injury relief to Solo.

Things are better now, especially since Alyssa and you, and even Franch, share nothing but respect and love for each other. You'd worked hard to cultivate the appreciation of clean competition and support in the union and the team.

"In another life, maybe I did start. Maybe I was like Solo," you say as you think over your own introspective feelings. "But you know something, Pinoe? If in that life I never had Ali, if I never had you, I don't think I would've liked it."

Pinoe gives you a tender smile as you nod in her direction. "It's all just a game, anyways. Family is forever."

"Getting married has made you so sappy," Pinoe rasps, deflecting from the emotional moment. But you can tell from the tone of her voice that she's respectful of your answer. "You really set the bar high for the rest of us, y'know? It's getting to be bit rude, now. Sue asked me the other day why I don't massage her feet like you to Ali. I was attacked."

You grin and shrug again. "I love my wife."

"And I love my girlfriend, but she clearly wants some of that Ashlyn Harris experience."

"I'll have to ask Ali if she'd be up to swinging. I do love me some of Sue's arms... yum."

Pinoe shoves your shoulder and rolls her eyes. "You're a twat, you know that?"

"I know," you say, sticking your tongue between your lips, "and you love it."

* * * 

"Not that I don't love having you over, but I know this isn't a celebratory girl's night out."

You look up from where Syd's pouring you a second glass of wine. You'd gotten by with small talk for an hour, but Syd's your best friend and can read through you in an instant. You think about this morning with a defeated groan.

"It's just, I've been having weird thoughts lately."

"Weird thoughts?"

You pause a moment, taking a large sip of the wine before you softly say, "about Ash."

Syd's eyes flash in confusion. "Everything okay, Kriegy? Trouble in paradise?"

Your fingers trace the rim of the glass as you struggle on putting together your thoughts as you remember Ashlyn this morning. Roux crawls over from where she'd been playing with Cash and climbs into your lap. You hold the wine away from her, but you can't keep your eyes off her doe eyes as she giggles up at you. You aren't sure if the feeling you're feeling is permanent or fleeting, but looking at Roux now, you know you haven't stopped thinking on it. 

Ever since breakfast this morning, the thoughts are only more rampant than before.

"Ali, you still there?"

You blink up at your friend, not noticing your eyes filming with tears. She looks concerned now, reaching out and placing a hand on your wrist to comfort you. A smile graces your lips at the unconditional kindness in her gesture.

"Yeah," you say, nodding and blinking away your tears. "I'm good, I swear."

"Alright, now that's just insulting. Girl, you know you can't lie to me."

Sighing, you shake your head as you watch Syd smile at you knowingly. "C'mon, tell Mama Syd what's up."

You need to rip the band-aid off, you know this. You take a deep breath and just go out with it.

"I think Ashlyn wants a kid."

Syd frowns again. "And that's news because...? I mean that girl wanted a kid the minute she met you."

Your silence is telling, and it doesn't take long for Syd to piece it together. Her jaw hangs open slightly.

"She wants a kid," she repeats, slowly as she gauges your reaction, "but the problem is... you don't?"

The words are cutting as they leave Syd's mouth. It's the truth, but it hurts hearing it out loud. You flinch as Roux shifts in your arms. She giggles and drools, and you kiss her curly hair and wipe her mouth with her bib as Cass rolls around with the dog in the background. It's so hard, because you love your Godkids more than anything, but thinking of your own has you stuck. You'd told Ashlyn that Syd invited you, but you couldn't stomach it if she knew that it wasn't Syd who needed a girl's night, but you. It's the first time in awhile since you've kept the truth from your wife.

It's unnerving how easy it is, to lie again.

"It's not that I don't want a family," you say as you look down to a grinning Roux and plaster on a fake smile. "I honestly do, Syd. It's just... with everything happening in the world, and how our careers are, I just... I don't know."

"You don't know or you do and you're just bullshitting me right now?"

"Syd," you grimace as she stares at you. "It's not like..."

"Like what? It's not like Ashlyn's amazing with kids? It's not like she's been wanting to have a family with you since she first laid eyes on you? What is it not like, Ali? I'm confused. I'm not angry at you, babe, I'm just trying to understand where this is all coming from. I mean, I thought you had talked about this in depth before she proposed?"

You hate that she's right. That Allie's right. That everyone and their mother is right.

You just hate, especially, feeling like the villain.

But you are, and you know it.

Instead, you hang your head and look away. "We did, but I've been... having thoughts."

At the sincere note in your voice, Syd frowns in concern. "About...?"

You hate how hard it is to get the words to fall from your mouth, but you know that you need an impartial judge, someone you know will listen and not feed you pointless hope. You need to air out these thoughts.

But most importantly, you need honesty.

"I don't know how well I've adjusted to... all of this," you say, shameful that the words are even leaving your mouth. "It's been almost a year and a half now of marriage, and I just, I look at her, at all the things she does, and I just feel like something is still missing. It's confusing, because every inch of me is still madly in love with her, but I'm having these second thoughts. And when I think of babies, I just can't seem to see that, not... not with her, Syd. I... I don't want a divorce or to separate, but I'm just stuck on this part: family. I just feel pressured to start a family with her."

Syd is quiet for a few moments, taking in your rambling confession with as much stride as she can. You know that she's your most trusted confidant, Hell she officiated your wedding and has seen your relationship from the beginning to where it is now, ups and downs and everything else in-between. She's your chosen sister.

Ash has Pinoe, but you have Syd. That's always been a constant.

"Please," you whisper, as if Ash could hear from miles away. "Say something."

Syd sighs, taking a now asleep Roux aside and settling her against her chest. "I know this is a tough decision, because it's so permanent. While you're definitely a certified Dog Mom, kids are different. I remember scared I was when I had Cash, and then again when I had Roux. I didn't think I could be a good mother to them, but the minute they came into my life, it was like nothing else matters. I'd give up the world for my kids." You hang your head, feeling selfish. Syd must recognize you retreating, and she quickly reaches out and squeezes your hand, smiling.

"Listen, babe, I know that you are confused right now and things are weird," she says softly, "but I don't know what to say, Ali, other than don't make the same mistake you did last time. You can't do that. If you are having doubts, you have to tell her soon." You gulp and shamefully look back down to your lap as you think back to that year.

Ashlyn had followed you to Europe, mended you through your surgeries, but the commitment and speculation from everyone was too much, and you were in the prime of your career and she was just some low-level goalkeeper. You had dreams and aspirations and you wanted to make a name for yourself and she just wanted to love you and heal you. Back then, your career was your whole world, but you were hers.

And like you do when you're scared or backed into a corner, you ran.

You love Ashlyn, the way she wears her heart on her sleeve, but you always feel so insignificant in your reciprocity. You don't need friends and teammates and family to tell you how lucky you are to have her in your life because you know, but you also know that you're not so sure if you measure up in the same way. When Ashlyn's shoulder was thrown out and she was left alone in Duisberg to recover from surgery, you didn't hesitate to fly back to D.C. to take up a starting position with an American team. You didn't try to make the long-distance work when things got tough, even when she jeopardized everything for you.

You loved her and you lost her, but she fought her way back to you.

"What's going on in your head, Kriegy?"

You blink, looking up to Syd's sympathetic expression. Your eyes water as you shrug.

"I love her," you say softly, "I really love her, but I don't know... I feel so unsettled by all this, Syd."

Syd nods, biting at her bottom lip. You've been married almost two years now, and these are supposed to be the best years of your life. But, in a sense, you and Ashlyn have been married longer than that. Your relationship was never superficial, not even at the start. You know, deep down, this is almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Your parents divorced when you were young, and they'd been together around the same time that you and Ashlyn have been together. The same was for her parents. Deep down, you almost expect the same thing to happen to you. The only exception was Ashlyn's grandparents, who's love story is one that your wife has always idolized for you and herself.

To Ashlyn, you have an eternal love just like theirs.

"Ali?" Syd says your name so quietly, you're afraid the world is going to break. "Look at me."

"The worst part," you sigh as you hold your head, "is she thinks it's all fine, or if I'm distant it's because of practice or a game, or because I've had a bad day. She tells me how happy she is, how in love she is with me, and I look at her and I know that it's just not the same. I don't want to leave her, I'm just... stuck."

"So, what do you want, Ali? If you had to make a decision right now, what do you want?"

You look at her, tears in your eyes as you feel your jaw ache with infinite pain.

"I think... I want space. Not a divorce or to leave her, but just space to think and breathe."

Syd is quiet for a moment before she sighs and nods. "And that's why you came here."

You nod, shame burning through you as tears slide down your cheeks. "I... we've never spent this much time together. We were never this close, Syd, but because of this quarantine, because of all of these life changes, we're in this new stage of our relationship. You know, when I was a kid, when I first met her, I was always living in the moment, and I took it for granted far too often. I never planned ahead for our future."

Syd chuckles airily, her own voice sad as she fills in the unsaid words, "but she did."

You smile, but it's broken and bittersweet. "Yeah, she did. From day one."

* * * 

You're not used to being alone.

The last few months, and even the last few years, you've always had Ali nearby in some fashion. Whether it's as a teammate or as a supportive partner, she's always been there. But the situation is different now, and you know it. Something has been off with your wife, but you know Ali always needs more time. Her emotions are harder to decipher, and though she works on it in therapy, she still clams up and shuts down when she's feels uncomfortable.

But you know your wife better than you even know yourself, and you know something's up. She's not as responsive to your touch, but she's fine to initiate on her own. You find yourself saying 'I love you' more often than you hear it, but then you chalk it up to the fact that Ali has never been as open to love as you.

But this feels different. And the space makes it even harder.

You're sure you need therapy of your own at this point, because you've stacked Ali's pillows next to you on the bed and you're laying wide awake. It's ridiculous, really, because you've been apart before and even when you were national teammates, you slept in separate rooms. You never had this issue, but it was different back then because there weren't any lingering doubts about the distance. You both knew what it was for, because you had to be professional first, and in love second. But now, you want to call her, to call Syd and ask for your wife to come home because you can't sleep without her by your side, but you can't.

You refuse to be that partner, to cling and pull her under in your own insecurities. 

You did it once, and it damn near drove her away for good.

"C'mon," you mutter as you stare at the blinking alarm clock. "Sleep, Ash. It's easy."

But it isn't, because your heart is in your throat and you want to throw up.

The thoughts are always worse at night, more intrusive and panicked. Having Ali next to you always keeps your negativity at bay, but she's not here. Scenarios run through your head, of Ali not wanting to come back, of Ali wanting to call it quits and go off in search of her own new adventure. You want to call the thoughts irrational, but they're not. They've never been irrational because you've been here before, years ago, in Europe waiting for a call that never came, to erase a tweet that never should have been posted.

You can't help yourself. You tried your hardest.

Rolling over, you grab your phone and click on your wife's number.

Ashlyn [2:30am]: hey, i know it's late, but i just wanted to say i love you. hope u and syd had fun.

You hate yourself the minute you send it, because if Ali didn't have a reason to believe you're desperate, you know that now. You set the phone on Ali's pillow anxiously, your fingers twitching in anticipation.

Part of you prays she doesn't reply.

But the other part desperately wants her to.

There's a buzz, and you sigh in relief when you see her message.

Ali [2:32am]: love you too. i'm coming home tomorrow.

Your fingers shake as you hastily type up a message of how you hate being apart.

Ashlyn [2:35am]: the bed feels cold when you're not here, babe

Ashlyn [2:36am]: i'm lonely without you beside me

It's meant to be a joke, but deep down it's the truth. You're hoping she doesn't see it.

Ali [2:39am]: i can help with the loneliness, you know

Ashlyn [2:40am]: help how?

The typing bubble pops up, and suddenly you're nervous for a whole other reason.

* * * 

You don't know what you're doing.

You're a bit drunk, because you needed more wine to get through the feelings and the confusion, and Syd's a sympathetic drinker so it's no surprise that you're still plastered this late (or this early, you see the time).

You're not getting any younger, it seems. Germany only prepared you so much for building a tolerance.

You look back down to Ashlyn's text, and you can't help yourself. You're in a weird spot, and you want to desperately feel something, to reignite a spark you keep missing when you think of your relationship.

Ali [2:41am]: remember how we used to do this?

Ashlyn [2:42am]: fuck

Ali [2:42am]: i recently have been thinking, about some new things...

Ashlyn [2:43am]: yeah, baby?

Ashlyn [2:43am]: what are you thinking about right now?

You bite your lip as you feel yourself get into it. Maybe exposing it out there will help. Your hand creeps down over your shirt, and you feel almost dirty, because you could easily drive (or call a cab, realistically) and go home to the woman you're about to sext, but something about this seems so much better.

It's shameful, but you don't want to stop.

But it gets worse, because your fingers move automatically, and you can't keep up.

Ali [2:45am]: about how good you were with that girl at breakfast, and just kids in general

Ali [2:45am]: and i thought about how i want to have that with you

Ali [2:45am]: and i'm thinking of how strong you are, how deep you can reach inside me...

This is a mistake, and you know it is, but it feels almost taboo as you experiment with the thoughts plaguing you. The alcohol has taken over and you want Ashlyn to catch on badly, to help you through this.

Ali [2:46am]: remember that night you were inside me? i can't stop thinking about it, ash

Ashlyn [2:46am]: fuck babe

Ali [2:46am]: and i can't help but wish it was real, that i could feel you when you came...

You hate yourself as you find yourself feeling uncomfortable again. You grit your teeth and push past the doubt. You know you need to try, to figure out what exactly is causing this newfound discomfort. 

Ashlyn [2:47am]: are you saying what i think you are, baby?

Ali [2:47am]: ash... please

Ashlyn [2:47am]: believe me baby. i wish it could have been real.

Ashlyn [2:47am]: i wish i could, alibean. i wish i could be the one who puts a baby in you.

Typical Ashlyn style, brash and cocky with just amount of heat. You find yourself feeling hotter on the inside. You can hear your rational mind pleading for you to back down, to fake falling asleep so you can avoid the mess this will cause, but you can't turn back now. You need to see this through to its' end.

Ali [2:47am]: babe, fuck, i want that so badly.

Ali [2:48am]: i want to feel the heat of you inside me, filling me up so good...

Ali [2:49am]: i want you to feel me clench around you, to scratch up your back like i do

Ashlyn [2:50am]: i'm there baby, i can feel you and you feel so damned good like always

Your breath hitches as you imagine it. You're on your back, arms looped over your wife's neck, your legs wrapped around those firm, solid hips as she thrusts into you. It's like that night all over again. You can see it clearly, Ashlyn's head in your neck, murmuring sweet nothings and lewd encouragements in the same breath as she fucks into you like she was born to do it. You feel the desperation and heat in her movement. You know the power of her hips, the strength in her back, her stamina and her raw, unadulterated power.

Ali [2:52am]: tell me what you would do to me, baby

Ashlyn [2:52am]: oh ali, i would hold you close, tell you how much i love you

Ashlyn [2:53am]: i'd take you in arms, hold you close, and mark your skin with my lips

Ashlyn [2:53am]: and then i'd run my hands down your chest, slowly and tenderly.

You gasp as you mimic the movements on yourself, imagining Ashlyn's larger, calloused hands on your skin.

Ali [2:54am]: fuck baby, i can feel it

Ashlyn [2:54am]: i'd get you ready just the way you like, first with my fingers, then my tongue

Ashlyn [2:54am]: you always get so wet for me, don't you

Ashlyn [2:54am]: especially when you want me inside you

Ali [2:55am]: i do, baby, always, for you. no one gets me wet like you, stud.

Ashlyn [2:55am]: fuck

Ashlyn [2:55am]: are you wet now, princess?

You can't help it, as you touch yourself to the images flashing through your mind. Your fingers are trembling as they slip through your slick. You feel swollen and hot, desperate and wanton for a touch so close and yet so far away.

Ali [2:57am]: i'm soaked, ash... there's so much... i feel so warm and ready for you

Ali [2:57am]: i need you, baby, please

Ashlyn [2:57am]: easy, princess, i'm right there, okay? just picture my hands on you, stroking you slowly

You follow her instructions, gasping as quietly as you can as your imagination runs rampant.

Ashlyn [2:58am]: and when you're warm and sore, i'd slide down, kissing each inch of you

Ashlyn [2:59am]: and then, when you're shivering and ready, i'd taste you

Ali [3:00am]: fuck ash

Ashlyn [3:00am]: you always taste so good to me, princess. i could never get tired of eating you out.

You know that's a truth. Your wife has proven time and time again that she has the stamina of a professional athlete. You blush, getting hot all over again as you think of the time when she spent almost an hour between your legs without taking a break. Her jaw had been sore and she could barely talk at practice the next day, but she never complained. There's days where you'd just be sitting in the living room, and she'd kneel in front of you, her hands at your waist and her eyes seeking permission as she would sultrily whisper, "baby, I want to eat you out, can I?"

Yeah, those days are some of your favorite.

Ashlyn [3:01am]: and when you're ready, i'll let you take the lead and take my cock

Ashlyn [3:01am]: it's always at your pace babe, and when u want it, you can take it

You suck in a deep breath as you imagine reaching down and holding her. For a moment, you imagine the real deal, to feel warm, soft flesh pulsating in your palm as you stroked her up and down. You're a gay girl, in and out, but you can't help but want to feel the realness of holding her, feeling her shiver when you draw your thumb over the head.

Ali [3:02am]: i love your cock, babe, i'd take you gently in my hand, wrap my fingers around you

Ali [3:03am]: i'd stroke you, watching your face as you tried not to burst in my hand

Ali [3:03am]: you'd be so warm, so ready for me. you'd grunt when i touch the head, slip my thumb on the slit.

Ashlyn [3:04am]: holy fuck, baby. i wish i could feel your hand on me, getting me ready.

Ashlyn [3:05am]: i'd reach down and hold your hand when you did it, because i love feeling you.

Ali [3:05am]: i love feeling you too, babe. i'm so wet right now, fuck. i need you inside me, stud.

Ashlyn [3:05am]: then go inside, baby, let go. i'm right there with you.

You fill yourself and you picture it. You picture the process, the way she would hold you so close and keep you far in between. Always at the edge, but never letting you fall over it until you could both plunge together. It's a weird state of cognitive dissonance, because while you feel so incredibly good, the shameful guilt still stings at you.

Your phone buzzes and you look down, breaking away from the conflicting thoughts.

Ashlyn [3:07am]: i'd slide in after you're warmed up. nice and slow, just like you like it

Ashlyn [3:07am]: i'd stay deep inside you, feeling you so warm around me

Ashlyn [3:08am]: i would hold your hand and look into your eyes and just watch you take me in

You suppress a moan as you drive your knuckles in deeper. You're close now, tempted by this forbidden image. By a miracle, you manage to text back one-handed, your fingers trembling in anticipation.

Ali [3:10am]: i'm right there, baby, i need you, i see you... i want you in me

Ali [3:10am]: i need you, your hips between mine. i can feel you inside me, how strong you are.

Ali [3:11am]: i feel you shaking, desperate to let go but holding on for me.

Ashlyn [3:12am]: fuck, princess, i'm so fucking close.

Ali [3:12am]: i can hear you grunting in my ear softly as you thrust in and out, your abs clenching.

Ali [3:12am]: i'd scratch them up as you kiss me, your hips moving faster and faster...

You swallow down a moan as you feel that familiar burn in the base of your spine. You can see it all, and you're mad with desire as you think of the warmth within you, of the burn that would come from her stretching you out like that.

Ali [3:12am]: i need you, ash, please baby i need you so fucking bad

Ali [3:12am]: i need you come inside me, i need to feel it, need to feel you, all of you

Ashlyn [3:13am]: fuck, babe, i'm there, i can feel it, i want that so bad, Ali...

Ashlyn [3:13am]: i've never wanted anything more, baby, than to do this with you

Ashlyn [3:13am]: i want to put a baby in you... i want our family, babe

You can't help the tiny squeak that leaves your lips as you come undone, imagining the short, stuttering thrusts of Ashlyn's hips against yours. You think of how she'd grunt so gently, growling into your neck as she rides down from her high with languid, soft kisses. For a moment, you think about what it would feel like if it were real, to feel the hot splash of her inside of you, and her holding herself tight inside, ensuring every possible chance of her seed taking. You know she'd be determined to make it right on the first try. You'd see that vulnerable, lust-laden look of awe.

You'd see her months later, holding your hand as you pee on that stick. You feel her arms around you, lifting you up with glee as you see the positive sign. The next few months, she waits on your hand and foot, growing more overprotective than before. You feel her hand on your stomach as it swells, hear her voice in the middle of the night speaking to the bump as it grows, telling your child of fantastical stories, of how much she loves them.

You see her in that delivery room, a sea of calm as you panic. You watch her eyes tear as she cuts the cord and the baby wails. You watch her completely tie herself to the small being wrapped up on her chest, one of her large hands gently dwarfing the child's chest, like a weighted blanket. You watch her fall in love all over again with this bundle of joy, the baby's fingers literally wrapped around one of hers. You see her staring back you with immense pride and love. You see her doting on them, playing with them, supporting them and showering them in unconditional love.

You watch as she gives your child the upbringing and love she never received.

All of the images flash by in a blur, but as you picture it, you don't feel the same overbearing joy.

You feel fear, anger, confusion, and emotions that only serve to break you down further.

Tears burn in your eyes almost immediately after you finish. You feel shame because you know you've crossed a line that you can't withdraw. You pull your fingers out and clench them to stop their shaking.

You're in-between hiccuped cries as your phone buzzes again. You try to blink back the tears from your gaze, but you can't clear them fully as you take in your wife's text message. You're shaking so hard the words are blurred.

Ashlyn [3:17am]: fuck i miss you. that was something else, al.

Ashlyn [3:18am]: i can't wait for you to come home, babe.

You put the phone back down and sob fully now, loudly, and unafraid.

Syd comes into your room moments later, no doubt thinking you had a nightmare of sorts. She's a natural mom, born to fight the monsters under the bed. She comes to soothe you, rocking you as you cry against her shoulder. You pull yourself closer to her, and if she mentions the smell or the fact that you're warm yet shivering at the same time, she says nothing about it. Your phone buzzes again, but when you look down at it, your heart splinters and you sob.

Ashlyn [3:21am]: i can't wait to turn our fantasy into a reality some day soon. i love you, baby.

You cry out in frustration and toss your phone aside in self-destructive anger. You hate yourself instantly as you continue to cry. Syd murmurs sweet nothings, lulls you to sleep, but you don't dream that night.

All you feel and see is darkness.

* * * 

If you weren't lost as fuck before, you sure as Hell are now.

Ali doesn't talk when she comes home from Syd's place. She doesn't even acknowledge the sexting or that fact that she didn't reply, and it definitely stirs new doubts in your soul. You're worried, because usually this means she's upset. She's still the same positive, cheerful Ali in public, but she's keeping space where there shouldn't be. She doesn't touch you as much, and any time you try touching her, she yawns and claims she's tired. It's weird, but unnerving, because you're raking through your mind of the past few days. You try not to let it get to you, because there's a game tomorrow, but you can't help but think that you've got to have fucked something up and not know it.

You decide to focus on your game instead. Today, you're playing Portland FC and as much as you despise the team because of rivalries, you are looking forward to see some of your old friends again. It's a great (needed) distraction.

Tobin's the first to greet you at warm-ups, Lindsey and Becky right behind her, each excited to see you again. You all joke around, reminiscing of your trip to France and being in the World Cup, about how the world has changed so drastically in a few months. You make sure they're doing okay, keeping well, they're holding up and safe and sound.

When the game begins, it's instant pressure. The Pride aren't the best in the league, not with the current line-up and the lack of training from the quarantine. You know Ali is a world class defender, but even she can't cover for the line of baby backs they have implemented for this game. You're all onboard with the management on rebuilding and casting new talent for the Pride, but you know that these changes aren't easy to follow-through with this team.

Portland's offense is relentless as always, and you fend off more than too many goals. You're barking at the defense to step the fuck up, because you can't keep throwing your body over the posts to block shots that could have been headed or blocked by the defense. You save another shot from Sinclair that could have easily been blocked by one of your defenders, and you growl in frustration as your players don't care.

At some point past half-time, you see three Thorns forwards barreling your way, with Ali chasing them. Your wife is quick, but not quick enough to help break up the three on one that is about to take fold. Standing your ground, you watch as she pedals backwards, nearing closer to the goal. You keep yelling for her to seek out Horan approaching on the right, but for some damn reason she keeps heading towards you as the play grows more intense.

"Krieger!" You scream as she keeps coming back. "Right side, look at Horan!"

But Ali doesn't hear, or fails to acknowledge (at this point you have no idea what is worse) and Horan is sent a beautiful pass, which turns into a screaming bullet heading for the top left corner. You jump and extend your arms, readying yourself ready for a messy save. You soar upwards, locked on the ball.

You manage to bat away the ball, but your landing is jeopardized when Ali's back clips your knees. You fall over her, your head snapping against the post as you land on your chest. You scramble off her, ignoring the dull ache in your ribs and forehead as you push off your wife and dive to get the soaring rebound off Sinclair. The shot snaps your wrist back and you scream in agony as the ball tumbles out of bounds, and it's a corner. You swear under your breath and shake out your still-recovering hand as you glare at Ali.

As the Thorns get set up, you can't help but reel on your wife in anger and frustration.

"What was that?!" You snarl as she gets to her feet. "Did you not hear me? Right side, Krieger!"

"Fuck off," Ali snaps back, her eyes lit with rage. "I was saving your ass."

You shake your head in bewilderment. "You nearly took me out--"

"Just save it," Ali sneers, shoving you away when you come close. "That's your job, Harris."

At this point, you don't care about the game. Something is seriously wrong, and you feel humiliated that it's leeched into your professional life now. The rest of the team looks unsure, as if they're caught between intervening and stepping aside. You know this is one of the issues of being in love with your teammate. As much as you and Ali gel on and off the pitch, these moments make it difficult for you and the rest of the team to function properly.

Deciding to ignore her unusually sharp (and deep down, humiliating) jab for now, you bark your orders to the rest of the team to prepare for the corner. If your wife wants to be an ass, you'll deal with it after the game. Ali gets in the net beside you and you try to usher her forward, to check Horan, but she's dead set on guarding Sinclair instead. When Tobin takes the kick, it's almost predictable how Becky fakes a pass to the lead scorer and instead lightly taps it to a wide open Horan. You barely have time to prepare before she snaps it into the net with a blasting smack.

You hang your head as you hear the crowd boo and groan at the goal as you slowly lift yourself up, brushing off the dirt. You glance up at Ali, but for some reason, she doesn't have a look of support or sympathy, but rather anger.

And yeah, if you weren't confused before, you definitely are now.

But more than anything, you're hurt.

You've definitely exchanged choice words with her before, and her role as a defender and yours as a goalkeeper definitely reaches uncomfortable conversations, but she's never sworn at you the way she did today. You're embarrassed and agitated, because you have the tendency to internalize and get in your head when things like this happen. But this is different. She's never belittled you or told you to back off so aggressively. You try not to take it personally, instead you channel your fears and frustrations into making as many saves as you possibly can. 

You're relieved when in the last ten minutes, Alex gets a goal with Alanna's assist. The score is tied, and the last few minutes are a game of keep-away until the whistle blows and the draw is called. The game ends uneventfully, leaving the crowd miffed. You growl and find yourself unable to contain your emotions longer. You punch the post with your gloves, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain which sparks up your (probably re-injured) hand. You sigh, ripping your gloves off and heading down the pitch to where everyone is shaking hands and saying goodbye to the other players.

You shake hands with the team, staying curt and polite as you exchange praise with your national teammates, but you leave the pitch before any of them. You slam your taped fist into your locker door in frustration as you feel all of the past week's feelings overwhelm you into a soppy mess. Your hand throbs and you grit your teeth as you notice the swelling coming back in full force. You shake your head angrily at yourself, at the situation, at your performance.

"What the actual fuck," you mutter as you reach for the lidocaine, "fucking dammit..."

"Harris," you hear Marc's voice call out as you finish gelling your hand, "a word, please."

You curse yourself as you lean off the locker door and nod at him, unable to meet his eyes.

"Coach."

"Look, I'll be frank. I have no issue with you and Krieger. It's not my business and I get that you're in a bit of a funk given everything," he says, blunt and straight to the point as he steps in front of you. "But it is my business when it comes out on the pitch. Whatever domestic you are going through, deal with it. Now."

Your eyes burn at the thought of you and Ali having a 'domestic'.

But that's what this is, right? You're fighting.

Over what, you have no idea.

"Harris," Marc repeats your name, firmer this time. "Do you understand?"

You nod, gritting your teeth as you hold back your anger.

"Crystal, sir."

* * * 

Ashlyn doesn't talk on the way home.

You feel your anger rising quicker and faster, and you know that Ashlyn's the unfortunate one to be on the receiving end of it. You don't know what's set off this new rage inside you. Deep down, you're not mad at her. You're mad at yourself for letting it get this far, for having these thoughts and not sharing them. You're scared and uncomfortable, and you want to get rid of these feelings because if you are going to retire soon, you want to do it with a high note.

But you can't keep this up any longer, and you know she can't either.

If both of you want to come out of this unscathed, you have to tell her now.

But before you can get to it, Ashlyn is roughly pulling into the driveway and powering off the engine. You watch as she clenches the steering wheel, tears burning like fire in her eyes as she gets out of the car. She looks beaten down and humiliated from earlier. You can see her bruised hand quivering slightly, and you feel a pang of sympathy as you realize your wife probably re-injured herself by taking her anger out on herself or the posts. Your heart breaks as she still comes to your end and opens your door. She doesn't wait, but the little gesture reminds you of how, deep down, she'll never treat you any less even if she's blistering mad at you. The guilt only manifests deeper within you.

When you follow her into the house, you aren't expecting her to suddenly implode.

"What the fuck was that?!" She practically screams the words as she turns on you, her eyes bloodshot and teary as her voice cracks in anger. "Why didn't you just fucking listen to me, Ali?! Listen, I have no idea what your problem is, but we agreed, we fucking agreed that it would never come in-between our careers! Our life can't come out on the pitch."

You're angry, too, but for all the wrong reasons. Your muddled thoughts get the best of you, and you find yourself sticking your ground and defending yourself against the war only you know is raging within you. You know you should step back now, to walk away while you can before you say something you regret.

But you're stubborn and you're angry and you want to expel this shame you feel.

So you do it, in all the wrong ways.

"Why didn't I listen to you?!" You scream back, stepping into her space. "Why the Hell do you fucking think you're so good, Ash? You can't even command your back line to do what we need. We're a losing team. We're a fucking disgrace to the league. I mean look at our roster! We should be the fucking best team. You need control of the back line, Ash. You're the one who gets to call the shots, and your back line doesn't seem to get it." Ashlyn rolls her eyes.

"Fuck, Ali, aside from you, I don't even have a fucking back line--"

"You're the fucking Captain of our team, Ashlyn. You are the back line," you growl back, ugly feelings rearing their heads. "Isn't this what you wanted? To run this ship? Look at the job you've done! We're almost last in the rankings with no hope for the future." Ashlyn seethes, pacing a line into the floor as you cross your arms and glare at her.

"I saw the play," she says as she clenches her fists, "I told you to stay on Horan--"

"And what? Leave Sinclair open?"

"She didn't have a clear shot," Ashlyn snaps back, weaving a hand in her hair. "You know that, Krieger."

"Oh, it's Krieger now?" You snort, shaking your head in contempt. "Mature."

Ashlyn's lips curl into a snarl. "And telling me to fuck off on the pitch is mature?"

When you don't reply, Ashlyn shakes her head. "I told you. The back line needs work. We need more aggression--"

"Oh do we now?" You laugh mockingly. "Last I checked, I've won three world cups."

Ashlyn's brow furrow in confusion. "How is that an insult?! I won two of them with you!"

Your eyes flare as you finally snap. "By warming the fucking bench!"

No sooner the words leave your mouth, you watch Ashlyn curl back into herself like you'd rammed a sword through her chest. Her breath whistles and her eyes cloud with tears, but you're still angry, still high on adrenaline and you can't stop yourself from digging deeper. You're unrelenting now, spitting out lies.

"You didn't save goals," you sneer as you press your finger into her chest hard enough to make her wince painfully, "you sat on the bench and then Instagram'd the whole thing like you were some sort of hero. You put in zero work and got the credit. And I don't get it, because between both of us, Jill decided to cut me!"

You hate yourself in the way Ashlyn's bottom lip quivers and how her whole body seems to shrink beneath your gaze. Your chest is still heaving, and you're still feeling the anger, but the sight of Ashlyn looking so broken, so defeated, snaps you from the blazing red daze. Suddenly, the words you've said hit you hard.

It's only then do you realize the weight of your accusations.

But it's too late, as you reach out for her and she flinches like the motion physically pains her, the tears rolling down her cheeks in an endless river. She shakes her head and tries to croak out something, but the words are muffled as she turns away and heads for the front door, her keys shaking in her hands.

"Ashlyn, wait, no--"

But she's shutting the door behind her before you can even finish your sentence.

And yeah, you deserve that.

* * * 

You don't know how much you've drunk.

But it's enough to draw pity from the bartender. She wipes an empty glass, chuckling down at you sympathetically.

"Husband problems?"

You look up at her, arching your brow. The bartender hums and shakes her head.

"Wife problems, then."

You don't say anything. Mostly because there's nothing really for you to say other than everything you've thought, all the doubts you've sowed, they're all real. All those insecurities, those demons, rearing their ugly head all at once to convince you that you've been living in this lie for a decade. It's one thing for random strangers, even friends and teammates to not believe in you or hold your faith. You've learned over the years how to tune them out and focus.

But your wife? Your best friend? Your soulmate?

She thinks you're a fuck-up. Useless, washed-up, overrated.

A bench warmer.

You hear the word rushing in over and over again, and you hate how it eats away at you, because you know that this is just the beginning of the spiral. The rational part of your brain knows Ali must have said it in spite, but deep down, you know that inhibitions are released in moments where you have no control. You hang your head and try to ignore the sounds of bar patrons laughing, the raucous cheers and clinking glasses. They're enjoying their lives and you're here, ten seconds away from a TMZ-worthy meltdown. All you can see in your mind is Ali's face, so disappointed in you, revealing the truth she'd carefully hidden away. You don't get it, because she always said she was so proud.

You made her proud, you were so sure. You had to have made her proud, right?

Now, you have no clue what you are to her.

"I thought you were staying away from booze, Sharkbait?"

You turn at the sound of the familiar voice. You look over to see your brother looking back at you with a mixture of pity and sadness. You hate that stupid look, even if he means well. You shrug and look down.

"Guess it's not the only thing I suck being straight at."

"It's almost three in the morning," he says as he takes a seat beside you. "Ali called me."

"Oh, so now she's worried?"

"Ash, don't do this."

"Did she tell you what she said?" You ask, your voice raw and rubbing in all the wrong directions. You pick at the tape marks on your wrist anxiously, and you want nothing more than to scratch up your arms again like you used to. You look over at him, desperate and pleading now as you gasp. "She... I thought, Chris..."

"Ash," Chris tries to say, his large hand gentle on your shoulder. "Sharkbait, she didn't mean it--"

"But she's right," you interrupt with a sad huff. You splutter drunkenly as the words come flowing out. "That's the thing, Chris. She's right. I mean, I'm almost thirty-five and what have I actually accomplished? I was riding the coattails of my team this whole time. I've never gotten anywhere on my own accord."

"You know that's not true--"

"Chris," you sigh as you take another sip of your beer, "I've never been good enough. It's not even far-sighted thinking. I'm actually fucking worthless. There's always someone else. Always more talent, more strength, more everything. I thought I was okay with it, you know? I was Hope's shadow for every game. I waited so long for one chance, one shot to prove myself, and when it came, it didn't even go to me."

Chris goes quiet as you hang your head. Your leg shakes, bouncing nervously against the stool as you try to focus on keeping the swirling nausea in your stomach at bay. You pick at the tape harder this time.

"You know the worst part?" You rasp as the tears start to slide down your cheeks. You watch small bubbles of blood pool under your fingernails. "The worst part is that I was okay if I didn't matter to them, to the world. As long as I mattered to her, as long as I was good enough for her, I thought I would be okay. That she... she believed in me, that's all I ever needed, Chris. And I was okay with that, it's what kept me going. I can disappoint everyone else, but the fact that I disappointed her, Chris? It's so fucking hard to bear. I just... she doesn't believe in me. She doesn't..."

You turn to your brother as you sob, the final wall you'd kept up for so long now crashing down.

"My own wife doesn't believe in me," you cry out as you shake your head, "my own wife, Chris..."

You break down in tears, uncaring that you're in a public bar and that there are people watching and taking photos because you have some recognition. You don't care that tomorrow your agent is going to ream you for being a public, drunken mess. You don't care that you are going to get looks from your teammates, whispers of your sensitivity. You don't care that your brother is consoling you like you're a child again, trying to hold you steady.

But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?

You're nothing to no one.

You always were.

* * *

It's almost five in the morning when you hear the door unlock.

You stand from the couch, your hands sweaty as you wipe them against your sweats. Your eyes sting from crying so much, but you're relieved to know that your wife is home and in one piece. You move around the couch until you watch her drop her keys in the bowl beside the door. You can smell the booze rolling off Ashlyn as she stumbles into the room, her head hung low and her body completely sunken into herself.

You go to her, but she pauses for a moment. You flinch as she sinks back, away from you sadly.

"Ash," you go to say, your voice shaky. "I didn't mean it. What I said--"

"Don't," she says softly, still avoiding your gaze. "It doesn't matter, Ali."

You hate how defeated she sounds, and you see Ashlyn from her youth all over again.

It's like you're there again, in your very first soccer camp, watching as she's berated by an arrogant Hope Solo because she can't keep up. You're there again, when she was in Germany, on a team with little to no recognition, because she wanted to be better, to be the best, to be known for something. You're there again, when people called her out on social media, demanded her to share more, to be more, to give more, when she had nothing left in her to offer. You're there again, as she's taking a backseat to your accomplishments, watching you go on media and defend your single status, refute any claim that you have feelings for your fellow teammate, and that's all she is.

You're there, when she withdraws every time you shy away from her touch in public.

You're there with her, on the night she called you in a begging pleading mess, hysterical and fearing that she was going to take her own life because she was so damned tired of all these expectations by everyone. You remember her voice on the phone, so dejected and lost, as she told you that she'd been sitting in her parent's yard with her father's gun for over an hour before she had the nerve to call. You remember how scared she was, how she kept pleading that she didn't want to die, she didn't want to give up, that she wanted to live, but she couldn't find the strength anymore. You remember how you drove the whole night with her on speaker phone, making sure she didn't shoot.

And hours later, you're there as you held her head in your hands, kneeling in front of her on the cool, dew-sprinkled grass. You remember how you kept her alive through the night, and you're there when she looked up at you like you were the only thing in this Godforsaken world that kept her afloat. You're there, weaving your hands through her hair and tugging her into your chest, holding her to you because you know if you let go, she'd float away forever.

You never wanted to see this version of her again.

And to know that the reason she's here again is because of you?

It breaks you.

"Ashlyn," you rasp again as you step forward on shaky feet, taking her chin in your fingers. You draw her head up with trembling hands, and you feel your heart splinter further at the glazed, far-away look in her hazel eyes. 

As if the life has been sucked out of her.

She's not even looking at you, rather she's looking through you like you're an apparition. You lean forward and you press your lips together, desperate to shake away this ghost of a woman you're seeing. You cup her face with your hands and try to breathe life into the woman you love so dearly. You need your wife back. You need to fix this.

You can't begin to think of what happens if you can't.

But Ashlyn doesn't even respond, not even when you run your hands down to rest on the flat plane of her chest. You remove your lips and rest your forehead against her cheek. You're shaking, but she's steady, eerily calm and stoic.

It's fucking terrifying.

"Ash," you whisper pleadingly, your voice shaking. "Talk to me. Let's talk about this. Don't push me away, baby. "

After what feels like an eternity of silence, her hands reach up and take yours, putting space between you. When you look up through blurred eyes, you watch in horror as she just offers a defeated, broken shrug.

"I didn't," she whispers softly, "you did."

You're left frozen in shock as she moves past you to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the top shelf before making her way out to the patio. You watch as she lays out on the couch and stares up at the stars, and you hate yourself because you did this to her. You've made her one safe place unsafe. You're the one who's put her on the couch, sipping from the bottle, living in limbo. She doesn't acknowledge you. She doesn't even fucking cry.

That's when it hits you like a bullet to the chest.

She's right, you did push her away.

But what's even worse, is that you have no idea if you can pull her back in this time.

* * * 

To say the next game is hard is an understatement.

You're facing the Utah Royals, and the mood is tense among your team. They aren't idiots, and while you try to leave your personal life at home while on the job, this time it's a bit much for even you. Just seeing your wife act like everything is normal has those self-deprecating thoughts reaching out to claw at you. More than once during warm-ups you miss easy shots just looking at her from across the pitch, earning a few glares and scoldings from the team.

"We're so close to clinching a play-off spot," Marta mutters as you miss an easy header she sends into the goal. "If you can't do this, then we put should McLeod in goal instead. At least she's focused enough to pull through this."

You ignore the quip and focus up on the next series of shots from Syd and Alex. They both look equally concerned, but you do your best to put on your 'don't fuck with me' face for the remainder of the warm-up. Eventually, the whistle is called and you're pulled back to the locker room to face the team, no doubt expecting a pep talk.

"I want us to go out there today, and I want us to be relentless," you say through gritted teeth, ignoring Ali as you look around the room. "We beat Utah, then we get up into competitive rankings. I want all of you to put your all out on that field. Defense, buck up and read your shirts. Midfielders, step in when needed, and forwards, make smart plays. Pass the ball and take your time. No rushing in with the horse blinders on. Look for open lanes and shots."

You see Marta roll her eyes, but you ignore her as well as you throw your hand in the middle. "Pride on three!"

After a somewhat halfhearted cheer and the singing of the national anthem, the ball is set up. Amy meets you on the field for the coin toss. Initially, she gives you a weird look, but you focus past her frown and win the toss-up. You grab the side without the sun, knowing that you need to use everything to your advantage at the moment.

The beginning of the game is slow, a lot of passing and keep-away, and you're grateful for the extra time to get back into your head. Your forwards are aggressive, and Syd's doing a great job with Alex on leading the pack to keep the majority of the possessions. You try to stay focused on the game, but your eyes keep falling to that number eleven.

Close to half-time, Utah makes a run for it with Kelley and Amy at the head of the charge. You blink the unsteadiness away and shove down your insecurities gnawing in your mind as you get in the ready position. Your back line isn't able to catch up to them, and even with Ali intercepting Kelley with a slide tackle hard enough to cause them both to fall, it isn't enough to stop Amy from running with the ball on a breakaway.

She pulls her leg back and rockets a shot forward, and you leap up in an attempt to stop it. The ball skims the edge of your glove, but you aren't able to redirect its' path enough and it sinks into the corner of the net. You smash against the post awkwardly, your shoulder snapping against the metal as you roll off onto the grass. You hiss in a mixture of pain and frustration as the crowd cheers for their home team. You stumble to your feet to see the disappointment in your teammates, and you can see Marta shaking her head angrily and muttering under her breath.

You honestly want to cry, because your confidence is shot to dust. You try to brush it off, but your breath starts coming quickly and you feel your hands shake. You didn't sleep much last night after your encounter with Ali, and you can start to feel the stress piling up on you. Your eyes look around wildly, trying to find something to ground yourself on, to center yourself so you can pull some semblance of focus back into your mind to keep the game alive.

When you look up, you see Amy staring back you from her celebration huddle, and she must notice your panic because she mouths the question, 'are you okay' from across the field. You nod and wipe the sheen of sweat across your brow, turning your gaze back down to the white line between the posts. You ground yourself to it and swallow.

"You're okay," you murmur as nausea swells in your gut, "you're okay. Just get through this, then you can freak."

You look back up and while your heart thumps wildly, you force out its' pounding for the sake of the team.

* * * 

At the half, you're down one nothing and your team is pissed.

The tough part of Ashlyn's job is that she's the easy scapegoat for media and for even your teammates when you're not doing well. For the most part, your wife handles the pressure admirably, bearing the brunt of spiteful words and unfair criticisms without complaint. She sees her job as a duty, and she takes it more seriously than some players.

But now, you feel heartbroken for her.

"What the fuck was that?!" Marta demands, reeling on your wife the minute you pile into the tunnel. "You're playing like shit!"

Ashlyn stays quiet, her head hung low as Marta tears into her, unhinged and on an unstoppable train. You want to tell her to ease off, but you know that Ashlyn still isn't on speaking terms with you, and you don't want to risk hurting her more. Instead, you remain silent, watching with a broken heart as Marta steps into Ashlyn's face, shoving her.

"Do your fucking job, Captain. You're being a coward, unfocused, and it affects all of us!"

Ashlyn remains silent as Marta shakes her head, spitting in disgust. "Pathetic."

"That's enough," Alex growls as she places herself in front of Ashlyn, her eyes glaring over her shoulder to you, and you wince knowing that her scathing look is one of confusion and disappointment for not stepping in sooner. "We are all at fault for that goal. We should have been harder on their offense, and they broke through our defensive line."

"Right," Marta scoffs, "you know that Chicago doesn't have much of a defensive line, either."

Alex's brow arches and she scowls. "And what the fuck does that have to do with this?!"

Marta smirks, cold and cruel as she looks at Ashlyn's hung head. "They have the World's Best Goalkeeper, remember? If I recall correctly, she played a full ninety the entire tourney. Meanwhile, we're stuck with esta pedoza de mierda." 

"That's enough!" Alex roars, narrowing her eyes in rage. "You fucking watch your mouth around your Captain!"

Marta's mouth opens to fight back, but before she can speak, Ashlyn's head looks up tiredly.

"Stop."

The entire team falls silent at your wife's quiet, broken voice. Ashlyn looks to Marta, tears burning in her gaze as she reaches for her arm and strips off the captain's band. She holds the strip in her hand before she holds it out to her.

"Take it," Ashlyn says quietly, avoiding their gaze, "do a better job than me."

Without waiting for a response, Ashlyn heads back out of the tunnel and out onto the field to prepare. Marta stands, dumbfounded as she looks to the captain's band in her hand. Alex whirls on her instantly, pushing a finger to her chest while the rest of the team stands in awe. You step forward too, angry that you let it ever get this far.

"What the fuck," You growl, enunciating the word as you shoulder Alex out of the way, "were you thinking, Marta?"

Marta shakes her head. "She wasn't up to play. I was trying to pump her up. Clearly she's fucked in the head."

You see red as you reach for Marta's collar, shoving her against the wall roughly. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Ali," Alex warns as you grip the forward tighter in your hands. "Let her go, that's enough."

"You ever speak about my wife like that again, and I'll fucking end your career," you snarl in a low voice, tears burning in your eyes as you think of Ashlyn's dejected face. Marta's eyes widen as Alex tears you away violently.

"Enough, Ali. Let's just finish this mess of a game and go home," she says, ushering to the rest of the team to take the pitch. "Go, warm up. We'll be out in a minute. I want everyone focused and ready, understood?" The women all nod, hasty to get out of the tense locker room. Marta is the last to go, the Captain's band held loosely in her grip.

She takes a deep breath and hands it out to Alex. "Take it. I'm not interested in being the captain of this team."

Alex snatches it from her hand before Marta marches out the tunnel after the rest of the team. The two of you remain in the locker room for a moment before Alex turns to face you, a mixture of fatigue and confusion in her clear gaze.

"I don't know what the Hell is going on," she says as she straps the band on. "But you need to fix it, Ali."

She doesn't wait for a response as she jogs out of the tunnel and back on the pitch. The minute she leaves, tears roll down your cheeks and you grab your towel. You scream into the cloth, swearing as you slap your hand against the metal of the locker room door a few times as you find yourself overwhelmed by the sudden change in your dynamic. This whole team has become a mess, and only now you realize just how much Ashlyn does to hold it all together.

It takes few moments to compose yourself before you make it back out on the field. After the whistle, the play starts and it's clear from the murmuring of the crowd and the energy on the pitch that things have changed for the worse. It's no surprise everyone has noticed the change in the Captain's armband, and the Utah take full advantage of the shit show. Your entire team is shattered, confused, tense, and the Utah take control of the game without challenge.

You do your best to try to stay focused, to direct your back line, but you're not even in the right head space. Kelley manages to sneak past you on the sixtieth minute, and she makes an easy goal over Ashlyn's outstretched glove. She dives to the ground in a hard tumble and takes some time to get up, but the crowd cheers in glee at Kelley's goal. You go to help her up, to give her a pat of encouragement, but her eyes are steel and lifeless as she glares at you.

You manage to assist Alex in scoring a goal near the eightieth minute, but the momentum hardly carries on after the score. It feels like your defenders are hardly trying, and you can hear Marc screaming at Ashlyn from across the pitch to focus up as she lets in another easy goal from Diana. You watch as she tumbles again to the ground, this time even slower than before to get up, and it's clear from the lack of overzealous celebration that even the Utah are concerned. They aren't letting up, by all means, but Amy and Kelley both flash you concerned looks now and again.

Eventually, the crowd starts chanting something, and it takes only a few moments for you recognize their words.

"Crappy Harris."

They're chanting it with glee when Kelley scores the fourth goal, a header in the top left corner that barely gets and contact on Ashlyn's glove. They're chanting the words so loud that Kelley looks somewhat surprised and she gives you an apologetic look as Ashlyn stumbles back to her feet. Marc's spitting for her to get her act together, but you can see that your wife is not even on this pitch, let alone in the right mind to listen to his criticism.

Her eyes are widened, shifting from side to side in the familiar tell of panic. She's shaking badly, and her complexion pales as the rest of the team stares down at her in complete and utter awe. She's barely looking at anything, and you can see from the tears in her eyes that she's about to have an attack. The ref blows the whistle for an offside, and just as everyone gets set up, you run over to her. You can hear Alex and Syd on your toes, and you even see Amy coming over with a worried look on her face, ignoring the ref's urge to get the game moving as soon as possible. 

"Ash?" You call her name as she remains rooted between the posts. "Ash, baby, you okay?"

She barely acknowledges you, only keeps staring at the empty space before you. When you step forward even more, however, to the point where you're in her field of view, she flinches as if you'd physically burned her. She recoils, a look of pure fear filling her eyes. Your heart breaks as you watch her look between you, Alex, and Amy wildly.

"Ash, do you want a sub?" Syd asks softly, slowly inching forward. "Sweetie, it's okay go. We're done here."

You hear the ref blow the whistle for an impending progress/delay of game foul on your team. You want to throw up the finger and tell him to fuck off, because one, you're in stoppage time, and two, you're down three goals. There's nothing more to gain from this game, and even as the chanting continues from the crowd, even Utah concedes.

"Go," Ashlyn croaks out as she shakes her head, no doubt trying to clear her mind. "Go, it's okay. Let's just go."

You look worriedly at her, but Kelley is coming up to take the free kick. You can see your friend give you a silent look, asking if she should delay a bit to give you some more time. You shake your head and walk away from your wife, reading yourself for the play. Amy, Syd, and Alex all follow suit, however reluctantly as Ashlyn still shakes.

The last four minutes feel more like an hour before the whistle is blown and the game comes to an end. Thankfully, the crude cheering comes to an end as the players all shake hands and get ready to leave. You ignore everyone, making a direct beeline for your wife as she dejectedly picks up her water bottle and towel and heads your way. 

When you reach your wife, however, she barely acknowledges you.

"Ash," you whisper as you both walk towards the tunnel, "don't shut me out, baby. Please. I'm so sorry for what I said, but you know I didn't mean it. I don't think any of those things about you. I love you and I value you so much, babe."

Instead of replying, she simply looks up and through you. You swallow thickly at the empty look in her eyes, and you genuinely are worried now for your wife's mental health. You go to say something, but Ashlyn looks back down.

She doesn't speak as she walks ahead of you towards the tunnel, leaving you alone on the field.

* * * 

You sleep on the couch for the next four days.

After the disaster of a game against Utah, things have definitely shifted for both of you. Alex handed you back the Captain's band after the game in an attempts to reignite a fire within you, but you'd only taken it halfheartedly because you'd received a scolding from Marc and Llyod about responsibility and mindset on the pitch. Truth is, you didn't even want the damned fabric. Hell, you aren't even sure if you even want to be playing soccer anymore. You count yourself lucky, at least, that you have a break between now and the next game to reset as much as you can.

Your mind is a mess, and you're finding yourself falling back into unhealthy coping mechanisms. On the nights you're not doing interviews and slapping on a fake smile for the camera, you're drinking your weight in whiskey on the patio with the puppies laying at your feet. Most of the time, you're not doing anything except staring at the stars, desperate to find some sort of purpose as everything you've ever known has slowly begun stripping away from you.

Ali tries her best the first few days to communicate with you, but she gives up so easily it breaks you even more. You know she's shaken by how everything has completely imploded, and she's reacting to it with the same cold logic which divides you. In your mind, you understand why she does it, because the sudden collapse of your relationship is uncomfortable and she doesn't handle discomfort well. She wants to use rationalism to justify behaviors, even when emotions aren't as predictable. You hate it, because every time there's a fight, you're the first one crawling back to apologize. It's almost expected, and you can see the moment Ali recognizes that you aren't going to apologize to her.

You're so frustrated and bitter as you watch her continue about her life normally, like there's no big divide between you, as if you both don't sleep in the same room anymore, let alone talk together. She's motivating the team at work, trying to put on the face that you're just having some family troubles that are personal only to you. It's embarrassing, and it honestly takes you back to when you were younger, and how she'd lie about your closeness to save face.

You're going through the motions in cascading, violent waves, like you're not really existing. You go to practice, you do your errands, you say whatever's necessary to say to your wife when you're in the same room, and you sleep (or try to). You wonder how it could get to this moment, how you could feel like your entire life has been destroyed.

All with just a few, brutally delivered words.

One night, when she's fast asleep and those intrusive thoughts are back, and you're struggling to stay routed on the couch instead of heading to the kitchen to grab either alcohol or something worse, you find your body making the worst decisions. There's an anger building inside of you, familiar in all the wrong ways. You feel like that teenager again, rebellious and drawn out to attacking the world for hurting you. There are articles of your recent performances, people calling you things like a wash-up or a loser. Some say you peaked long ago, others say you don't deserve the number two spot on the international roster. They're calling you a coward, a fake, overrated.

Today, you're sick of reading those pages. You're sick of the criticism, of all these strangers pretending to know you without compassion or empathy. You are sick of living in the same home as your wife only to feel like you're trapped in the house from your childhood. You feel like you're standing in the shadow of your drunken father and absent mother. You're alone and tired and young and so inhumane and you feel like perhaps death is a better alternative.

But you don't want to die. You can't afford to die when there could still be something better. You need a reminder, you decide, so you grab your drink and turn on the television and you find your wedding video on YouTube. You know it's self-imposed torture, but you sit there in the early hours of the morning, watching it at low volume.

You watch the scene where she reveals her dress to you, and you remember that day like it was yesterday. You remember how you'd seen her there, so happy and in love, and so radiantly beautiful that you thought all those hard years, all that pain and loss, was worth it. You saw her that day and you saw your entire world. You may have never gotten to where you wanted to in your career, but you got your wife.

In that moment, you thought nothing else could ever come close.

But you watch the video now, your heart in your stomach as you wish you could turn back time and just remain in that moment. You remember being in that moment, wanting to stay in that room forever.

You're sobbing by the time you're at the vows, and you know you should turn the television off, because you hate how everything just doesn't feel right anymore. You're shaking and sweaty as you listen to her words. You're listening to Ali make promises, to yourself making promises back, and you want to scream at your past self. You want to throw the remote into the TV, to tell yourself that vows are pure, sacred.

But nothing in this unholy world is sacred, so it seems.

You hear a sniffle when you're finishing your last lines, and you turn to see Ali standing at the corner of the room. You look at her through your own blurred vision and you wonder how it all came to this. In the background, you hear Syd pronounce you wives, and you hit pause on the remote. You glance back to see you kissing Ali's hand and staring at her in complete awe. It's as if you've finally found salvation. Ali's sniffle causes you to turn again and you look over to your wife standing there with a hand cupped over her face in anguish. You hate her when she's sad, because you always ever wanted happiness for her. You'd been together for twelve years now, but this is where you find yourself.

You're living in the same house but you're separate, married but so far apart.

You look back to the screen, torn apart by the devotion on your face and the unbridled joy on hers.

That can't be faked, right?

"This was the happiest day of my life," you say, mostly to yourself. "I bought the ring when gay marriage was legalized. I spent three years thinking about what marriage meant to me, what our future looked like."

Ali stumbles into the room and sits beside you, and you find yourself waiting in a mixture of fear and anticipation as you glance over at her. She stares up at the paused screen, her own eyes still teary.

"You know," you say softly, unable to stop now. "When I bought the ring, I just felt this sense of calm wash over me, like nothing could ever go wrong. We spent a decade in hiding, but I was willing to go forever more if it meant I got to have you in the end. So, I held onto it as long as I could. I waited three years for the perfect moment to marry you."

You can't help it. You're raw and tired and insecure and you can't help but need the truth.

Your voice cracks as you whisper the question:

"Did I wait too long?"

The question leaves your lips in a quiet, broken rasp. Ali's breath hitches as she looks over to you, her hands trembling as she covers her mouth slowly. You break apart when she cries, and you hate when she cries, because you would take all the pain in the world if it meant sparing her. You reach over, pulling her into you, because you need her close. You nuzzle her throat, trying to find the safe space in her grasp.

"I can't imagine life without you," you say softly, "I was yours from day one. I love you so much, Ali."

Ali sniffles again, crying silently into your shoulder as you bite back your own tears. It's no use, though, because you feel your relationship falling apart in your arms. You can't stop the words from leaving.

"I can't think about what life would be like without you. I don't know if there would be one for me."

Ali sobs into you and you shake your head as more tears slide down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry," you cry into her hair, "I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I did but I'm so fucking sorry..."

You vowed that you would hold strong and not apologize, but you're so damned scared right now, because even through the ten years of hardships, the five years of distance and early calls and care packages, you've never felt further away from her than right here in this moment. You're falling back on childhood trauma, of abandonment and instability, of anger and conflict. You're back inside your parent's house, watching your family fall apart. You can't stomach the thought of it ending. You don't care if she hates you, but you can't spend a moment without her.

You know there's toxicity in that statement, but you ignore it. You need your wife back in your life.

"What... what's happening with us?" You asks, desperate from an answer. "Why...?"

Ali sniffles and presses herself into you, her mouth at your neck. You want to talk to her, but she has other plans as she snakes her hands under your night shirt. You want the truth, but she wants to touch you, and for God's sake, you haven't felt her skin in almost days. You kept thinking of a life without her touch. You kept thinking it was all over.

You'll take any chance you'll get.

You can't stop the gasp from leaving your lips as she straddles you, her hands weaving through your shorter hair as she deepens her kisses with a determined pace. You're frantic now as you place your hands on her hips, keeping her firm to you as she grinds down on you in slow, torturous circles, unable to let go. You can't afford to let go now.

But you know you deserve better than to fall into the same tragic cycle of your parents.

"Ali," you rasp her name between breathless kisses, hating how your voice croaks. "Ali, we need to talk..."

"Not now," she practically pleads the words, "I need you right now, Ash. I need my wife, too."

Before you can respond, she reaches for your hand and snakes it down past the waistband of her pajamas, and your fingers instantly make contact with wet, swollen heat. Her clit pulses against your fingers, and you can feel just how desperately close she is to achieving release. You groan into her neck as she shivers at the first touch of your hand on you. As if on autopilot, you stroke her slowly, unable to resist. You feel her entirely, vulnerable and bare for you.

As you press inside her, you're transported back to the night of your wedding. You remember how you'd looked down at her then, your entire being nervous for the first time in years, having her bare and open beneath you. You remember how beautiful she looked with her hair splayed out like a Goddess on the pillows, the raw, wanton look in her eyes as she slowly pull you down into her. You remember the sounds she made as you ground into her, your fingers deep inside with each loving stroke. You remember her eyes, those big tiger eyes, staring past your gaze and into your soul, reaping your all for the taking.

You remember that night, and you think about where you are now.

Back then, your wife was your whole world, and you were so sure that you were hers. When you were together, when you came out, it was like everyone and everything else ceased to exist. She wanted to be in your life, to support you, to be your number one fan. She held your head up, reminded you of your worth, of your accomplishments, even when you felt like nothing. She told you that you were good enough, more than good enough, that you were great. She kept you going when you couldn't find the strength anymore.

But now, when you think of what she said days ago, you can't help but wonder one thing:

Was it all a lie?

Ali is crying now, nearly sobbing as you increase your pace with a soft grunt. You're desperate to convince her to stay, fearful of her leaving. She claws into your shoulder, her teeth clenched into the space between your neck and collarbone as you keep up the pace. The pain is blistering in the best of ways, and you growl in pleasure as she tightens her grip on you. She's breathing heavy, murmuring these soft little whimpers which drive you insane. You're doing your best to keep steady, but you can't resist the tempo she sets.

It doesn't feel wondrous or sexy, but poignant instead.

It's this raw, beautiful sadness which is shared between you. It's an unspoken understanding of the divide thickening. The physical connection of you within her, of her heat around your fingers, the sensation of her clenching down, afraid of you pulling away, that makes your stomach ignite with butterflies. You chase down your nervous with a bite to her lip, and you're both crying into each other in a messy kiss.

She comes then, gasping into your mouth and her legs jerking. You find yourself pulsing in sympathy, a small climax that is meant to mimic her own. You keep her with a few more strokes before you eventually find your hand cramping and her weight resting upon you. She stays seated, breathless and vulnerable.

And then, there's the silence.

You don't want to be the one to break it, but you can't keep this up anymore.

"We're not okay," you rasp as you kiss her cheek with shaky lips. "Are we, Alibean?"

The nickname rises another sniffle from your wife, and the truth is devastating as the silence reveals just how redundant your question is. You hold her close, looking over your shoulder to the wedding video. You hold yourself strong, grounding yourself to your wife. You have to fight for her. You can't let this go.

"I promised you," you tell her as strongly as you can, "and I'm not letting you go, Al."

The thing is, you never stopped to ask if that's what she wanted, too.

* * * 

"Care to tell me why Ash still looks like a kicked puppy?"

You glance up to see Syd walking over with a water bottle. You look over her shoulder to where Ashlyn is running drills with Llyod, but you can tell she's tired and drained. Everything is still precise, but there's a sluggishness there. The same spark in her eyes is gone, and she almost looks mechanical in how she dives for saves. You know there are a few particularly nasty falls which must hurt, but she brushes them off.

"Something isn't right, Ali. Anyone with eyes can see that. Since Utah, we've all been worried. What's happening?"

You flinch at Syd's words, looking away. Your friend sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder. You kick at the soccer ball at your feet as the players from Chicago take the field. You watch as Alyssa walks over to Ashyln and the two fist-bump. It's hard to see Ashlyn's forced smile, how from this far away, you can tell your wife is really struggling. Her gloved hands tremble when Alyssa makes a goalkeeping joke of sorts.

"I screwed up," you say, your voice low and hurt as you look to Syd. "We got into an argument after the last game. She was mad about the back line's performance, and I got defensive. I was so caught up in my feelings over... you know." You cringe at the confused, yet suspicious look in Syd's gaze as she frowns.

"What did you say?"

Your eyes burn with tears. "I told her that I was a world cup winner, and when she replied that she was too, I told her that she didn't earn that win because she was on the bench the whole time." You grit your teeth.

Syd's eyes flash with surprise and anger. "You didn't."

You nod helplessly, your eyes burning again with tears. "I was mad and it slipped out."

Syd's quiet for a moment before she shakes her head. "You didn't meant it, did you?"

"No," you quickly reply, your head snapping back up desperately. "Not entirely."

Syd's lips purse at the slight correction. "What do you mean not entirely?"

You pull at your hair and growl as you look away in shame. "I'm frustrated, okay? Jill cut me from the team even when I'm one of the most talented right-backs in the world," you say, gritting your teeth as envy rears an ugly head. "I was upset and I just held onto it for so long that Ash got picked but not me, even when she never played a full ninety with the national team.I have more caps, more experience, more goals..."

Syd snorts in disbelief, shaking her head. "She's a goalkeeper. It's kinda hard for her to score goals, Ali."

"I know," you growl, your voice cracking. "I know it's not a fair comparison--"

"Fair comparison? Ali, you do realize what you said and to who?" Syd fires back, her jaw agape at your response. "I can't believe how you're reacting to this. Ali, you told your wife, who's struggled with her self-worth not only as a person but as a player, that she was not worthy of any of the accolades she's received."

You close your mouth and look away, ashamed. Syd shakes her head again, unimpressed.

"You know," Syd says quietly, looking back to where Ashlyn is getting lectured by Llyod on something. Your wife barely seems to be paying attention as he goes through some drill on getting her balance better. Syd follows your gaze with a sad smile. "She always told me that the only person who's support ever mattered was you. She only cared what you thought. She learned to block out the world, learned how to be the best version of herself, for her and you."

The words sting, because you know what you've done. You know what you said.

And you know Syd's right. This is a fuck-up you're not sure can be fixed.

"You're my best friend," Syd says as she takes a step back, "but Ash deserves better than that, Al."

You shrug helplessly as you look up at her with tears in your eyes. "I know, Syd."

"Look," Syd says, glancing back at Ashlyn. "If you're going to make a decision, you need to make it soon. She keeps asking me if she's done something wrong, if you've said anything to me. She wants so desperately to fix this, to make you happy, that I don't think she's ever considered that maybe you don't want to fix it. I don't think that's even an option for her. She thinks you're forever and a day, Ali. Are you?"

You feel yourself tearing apart with each word Syd says. The question hits harder, though. Your best friend places her hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze before she pulls a ball between her cleats.

"You need to tell her what you need, Ali. I know things are confusing and you're overwhelmed, but you can't keep this going if you're going to keep hurting each other. Ash is a big girl, and she deserves the truth," Syd tells you with a firm voice. "Don't drag it out. You'll keep saying things and one day, you won't be able to take it all back. You need to sort out the feelings you have. All of them, Ali. Be honest, please."

You know she's right, but you can't bring yourself to do it just yet.

You're selfish when you think about how you know you'll never have someone like her in your life. You're selfish because you want to keep her love, but you aren't able to give it back in the same intensity. You're selfish because you know Ashlyn will give everything without expecting anything in return. And for you, she'd give her own life if it kept you safe and happy. You know it because it's what she's always done.

She's always grown up as the poor outcast from Satellite Beach. Nothing to her name, no family or friends to back her up or to stand in her corner. Her team turned into a family. She learned never to expect anything from them, either. She poured her whole life into who she is, to who she loves, and it was what made you fall in love with her. Life never treated her easy, and you know she never got that good karma.

But you know, if you asked her, she'd say she'd won the lottery with you. That you were her silver lining.

You're on a pedestal in her world -- Hell, you are her whole world.

And now you're wondering just who she is to you.

* * * 

The game is devastating.

You tried your best to focus, but each time you look at that number eleven on the pitch, you're distracted with this anxiety and fear that something bad is about to happen. Your communication with your back line is nearly non-existent, and the plays are a mess. Everyone is all over the place and no one is listening.

Chicago takes an early lead thanks to Brian's corner. The defense was all up guarding the wrong people and it was an easy header into the corner. You watch Marta and Julie shake their head in poorly-veiled disgust at you, not even bothering to help you up off the ground as you get up from the hard dive. 

They tear into you again at half-time, screaming words of anger and frustration, alongside Llyod and Marc, but you take it. Most days when you're getting the short end of the stick, Ali will defend you, but now as you look up, you see her sitting with Morgan and Toni, and it shouldn't surprise you that she's so quiet. Since Utah, she's been quiet.

And in that moment, something changes.

You feel yourself back in those shoes, relying on anger and self-hatred to fuel you.

In the last ten minutes, Colaprico sends a screamer into the right corner, and you risk a shitty landing to leap up and block it. Unfortunately, Morgan's there on the rebound and she kicks up full force, the blunt end of her cleat catching you in the chest as you come back down from the initial block. Your side ignites in a fiery pain, and you hear a sympathetic groan from the crowd, but you ignore it in favor of leaping forward to grab the ball and pulling it into your chest. You feel the frantic kicks from cleats as you stay down. They're relentless for the ball, but you hold on.

You won't lose this one. Not this time.

You can't let them be right. You can't let this team down.

And when you look at the back of number eleven, you know you can't let your wife down.

The pace of the game changes after that. You don't care about your back line anymore. You don't care about anyone but you. You're taking shots left and right, but nothing gets past you. The crowd is ignited by this new shift in energy, but you tune out their cheers as you focus your adrenaline and anger into aggressively taking the ball away from Chicago. Your own teammates are puzzled, but even if your defense can't take a hint, your forwards finally do.

There's five minutes left in the game and Morgan is on a break away, but you're ready to risk it all. You charge forward, your jaw set and your eyes focused on the ball. Morgan goes in to slide-kick the ball, but you meet her in your own power-slide, knocking her to the side and grabbing at the ball. Her knee connects with your chest, but you bite down the pain and throw the ball to Morgan, who runs it up the field in a hurry. You watch as Morgan shoots you a confused look as you lay on the ground before she joins the play,

Moments later, as you leap up from the ground, Morgan sends it flying over to Marta to head it in goal. The crowd erupts in hysterics as only moments later the whistle blows and your team walks away with its' first win in weeks. You watch as they all celebrate, but none of them come back to even dap you for your work.

It stings, it's a blow which hurts more than any injury ever could. You stand on the field alone for a few moments before your teammates eventually come over to nod in respect, but you can't even move.

But why should they give anything more? This is your job, isn't it?

Despite the miraculous win, you know what your team thinks of you.

* * * 

You know something has shifted.

You watch Ashlyn press a cloth-covered ice-pack to her ribs as she sits on the couch. The dogs are at training camp for the week, so the house is empty for the two of you for once. For some reason, you feel uneasy alone with her. She's sitting there in silence, her other hand occupied with a glass of whiskey, neat. Over the last few years, your wife has decided to cut back on drinking, but you know that much like her family, she tends to turn to the drink when things are hard. Nothing too crazy, but there is something soothing to her about the burn of alcohol after a long day.

But usually, you're able to alleviate that mood, to turn her away from booze and onto better stress relief.

Not this time, though, because you're not even sure if you can still touch her after the last time.

Your wife hadn't spoken much since you'd come home, and you know by the size of the welt on her side and the growing swelling in her hand, that part of the silence is from the pain. But that only explains a part of it.

The other part, though, is all you.

You remember Syd's words and you sigh. You know you need to talk about this.

You still haven't worked through your last blurted confession, but you know that Syd has a point. You need to get all of your shit out in the open if you are going to have any chance of mending things. And you want more than anything to mend this, because if this cold distance has taught you anything, it's that Ashlyn means the world to you, and she makes you better. You were stupid to ever take advantage of her kindness, and it shames you to know how cruel you'd been. There could always be a better time, especially how now the Pride has a decent chance of making the playoffs, but you keep waiting and you know that deep down, there will never be a right time. You need to give in.

There's no point in holding back, not now.

"Ash," you say as you sit beside her on the couch. "Can we talk?"

She grunts, adjusting the ice pack as she takes a sip of her whiskey. "Sure."

It's so flippant and cold, and you're shocked because Ashlyn has never spoken to you like this, not even when she was an angry teen set on proving her worth to the world. You wring your hands together nervously as you make your way over to the couch, warily eyeing the way she downs her glass before reaching for the bottle to fill another. She downs it like water, and it's scary because you think of Kyle, of how he looked this way once, and you're not ready to handle this if your wife turns down the same path. You want to reach over and stop her now, but the minute your shoulder moves forward, her eyes flit upwards and you freeze at the empty look she sends. You swallow thickly.

"I need to tell you something," you tell her slowly, wanting to rip the band aid off, so to speak. Ashlyn's gaze remains unfazed as she lifts her glass to her lips. You swallow again and rub the back of your head.

"It's about that night, when we... you know, when I was at Syd's house."

Ashlyn grunts, smirking coldly. "I didn't peg you for a shy one, Kriegs. Can't we sext anymore?"

You flinch at the sting, but you know you deserve it. Ashlyn doesn't say anything else as she drowns the rest of her drink. She sets the glass on the coaster with a dull thud, her eyes drifting back over to you, cold and uncaring.

She waits, and you realize she's wanting you to explain yourself. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

"Ash," you say her name like a quiet prayer. "It's about what we said. That... fantasy." 

"Fantasy?" Ashlyn echoes, pensive. You blink your eyes open to see her staring off into the wall. "Right."

"Babe--"

"Oh, I think we're past that point, Alex."

The sharpness of her tone snaps you from whatever you were going to say. You look over at her, teary-eyed as she simply arches her brow, a cruel smirk playing at her lips. When you don't speak, you watch as she pieces together.

But instead of falling apart like you expected, she only chuckles to herself.

"Right, of course. I mean, it makes total sense now," she hums as she reaches again for the bottle. She fills her glass and grabs it roughly, her grip shaky as she takes a large sip. "Every time I brought it up, you'd just go quiet or change the subject. I figured you were stressed about something, but I guess not. God, I really am such a fucking idiot."

"Ash--"

"What is it, Ali?" Her voice cracks lightly, and you watch as the coldness is replaced with a deep, broken vulnerability. She stares at you, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "What else do you want to say? That you're sorry? That you take it back? You already told me how you feel about my playing. If I was that much of a disappointment, why even say yes?"

"Ashlyn," you growl as you furiously wipe at your eyes, "you have no fucking clue how I feel."

Ashlyn scoffs, and you definitely don't like this version of her as she knocks back the last of her whiskey. "You know, Alibean, I've always cared about how you feel. Those two years you were cut from the team, you treated me like absolute shit, and I was such an idiot to think it was because of what Jill did to you. I fucking stood by you even as you played the blame game, when you said things to me that you really felt about yourself. I took it because I knew you needed catharsis, and you were building for something beyond what you were given. And it fucking sucked for you, it really fucking did, Ali. But if you ever stop to think about how I felt about the whole fucking situation?"

You go quiet as Ashlyn scoffs and shakes her head, her eyes blurred with angry tears. "You are a world class player, Ali. You are the best right back in the world and you were fucking cut from the team. I was a nobody and somehow I made the roster, even though I've played zero minutes in the last world cup I was in. How do you think I felt, knowing that even though I'm a goalkeeper, that I felt like I took a spot that you deserved? I fucking hated myself, Ali. Every fucking day I woke up and I fucking prayed you would get the spot because it wasn't fucking fair for her to do what she's always done to me, to you. I gave it my all and it wasn't fucking enough, but you had a valid reason to play."

You're crying silently now as Ashlyn's truth comes spilling out in droves, each word driving a sharp dagger to your heart. She sighs again, reaching for her glass before filling it with some whiskey and downing the shot. She gazes over at you, sad and defeated as she murmurs, "I gave you the benefit of the doubt in those two years. I didn't personalize it because I knew that you loved me, I banked on it, and I banked on that love to keep us going. But I should have known that you were never as mad at her as you were at me for getting a spot when I clearly wasn't good enough. Because I didn't work to get where I am, even if it's nowhere apparently. Isn't that right? I'm nothing, right?"

Her words are cutting, but they're not said with malice. Instead of anger in her voice, you hear that familiar self-destructive pessimism. You hear young Ashlyn, with her self-worth insecurities and deep self-shame. You hear the woman who hated looking at herself in the mirror, who questioned her entire existence even when she succeeded.

"You didn't deny it," Ashlyn says, her voice quiet now as you blink back tears. "You didn't deny that I was a disappointment." You feel your heart thud to a halt inside your chest as she sighs and laughs again sadly.

"Who was I kidding," she mutters as she moves the ice-pack. "I fell for another beautiful lie."

Your eyes burn with tears as she stands stiffly, discarding the pack and heading for the patio again with the bottle alone. You leap up after her, reaching for her uninjured hand and yanking her back into you.

"Stop," you plead as you grip her desperately. "Ash, I love you."

Ashlyn is quiet again, her eyes downcast before she looks up, eyes bloodshot and watery.

"Yeah," she whispers, her hands gentle as smiles sadly. "But it's not enough for you, is it? Not for this. Not for us."

Your mouth hangs open in shock, but you can't find the words to argue back. Ashlyn nods and chuckles again, the tears sliding down her cheeks as she leans forwards and kisses your forehead ever so softly.

"Yeah," she repeats as she lets go and turns back for the patio couch. "That's what I thought, too."

* * * 

You call Alex at four in the morning.

"Ashlyn," you hear her groggily hiss into the phone. "What the actual fuck?"

You're drunk though, staring up at the stars as you feel the numbness take over your whole body. It feels good, in a horrible way, to experience this pain again. You never thought you'd be back again, but it's almost a poignant welcome back, like your entire decade with Ali, falling in love, was a simple respite.

This is your real world. It's always been your reality.

"Ash?" Alex asks again, her voice more concerned this time. "It's 4am. What's going on?"

You chuckle, drunkenly slurring your words as you say, "she doesn't think I'm good enough."

"What?" You hear your friend try to peace your words together. "Who doesn't think you're good enough, and for what? Are you talking about Ellis? Because sweetie, remember, she stepped down a long time ago."

You shake your head, even if she can't see it. "Not Ellis. But her, too, I guess. No, I meant Ali."

There's a pause before Alex clears her throat. "Ash, now I know you don't mean our Ali--"

"She called me a bench warmer, y'know."

"What?"

"Yeah," you laugh this time, because it truly is hilarious how much the world fucking sucks. "Thinks that she should have gotten the spot and I should've been cut for France. And that's not it, Al. It gets better."

"Ash, are you home? I'm coming over--"

"She doesn't want a family with me."

There's a stillness now, and for some reason, once the words finally leave your lips, it finally feels real. You clutch the now half-empty bottle of whiskey to your chest as you laugh hysterically into the phone. You hear the rustling on the other end of the line, and you know better than to let your friend come over.

"Stop, Alex, no, I'm okay," you slur unconvincingly. "Everything's fine. I'm home. Or at the house. Whatever the Hell this place is, I have no clue anymore. Ali's okay. We're all okay. Everything's fan-fucking-tastic."

"Ashlyn," you hear Alex sigh in sympathy, "do you have water? Are you safe?"

"What?" You snap irritably. Your hands clutch the bottle closer to your chest as you seethe angrily. "You think that I'm gonna just get drunk and drown in my sorrows? You don't have any faith left in me, either?"

"Ash, I'm calling Ali--"

"Why?"

"Because you're a mess and--"

"And that's what Ali does, right?" You snort, tears sliding down your cheeks as you sigh. "Clean my mess."

"Ash, no, sweetie, that's not what I meant. I'm worried for you."

"Nah," you say as you wipe away your tears. "There's no need to worry, Baby Horse. I'll get us a win soon. Then she'll see that I'm worth it. If I win, if I get us to that championship and we win it, Ali will see that I'm good enough."

You're rambling now, desperate as you let the drunken thoughts run your mind. You hear Alex's sniffle on the other end of the line, and you try your best to clear your throat and sound less incorrigible.

"I'll get us the win," you whisper as your eyes slide shut drowsily, "I've gotta do it, for Ali and me."

"Oh Ash, I don't think that's the issue--"

"I love her," you rasp as you feel sleep start to take over, "but it isn't enough, Alex. Maybe this will be."

There's silence on the line, but before you can hear Alex's reply, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * * 

"We need to talk."

You rub the sleep from your eyes as you look up to an irate-looking Alex Morgan glaring down at you. You've been friends for years, and you're sure you've never seen her this mad. You don't need to ask why, because you watch her eyes flick over to Ashlyn on the pitch. Despite her anger, you don't feel the urge to defend yourself as she folds her arms over her chest in disappointment. You stand up from the bench and nod, gesturing for the small alcove by the tunnel. Today, you're playing the Courage, and you know that you need your focus to stay honed in on the team.

"Go on," you murmur as you're out of earshot of the others warming up on the pitch. "Lay it on me."

"Are you fucking serious?" Alex growls, shaking her head. "Ali, what the fuck?"

You try to deflect, feeling cornered. "So that's who she called that early in the morning, then."

"Of course she did. What did you do, Ali?"

You look over to the other end of the field where your wife is running through her warm-ups. "What'd she say?" Alex sucks in a deep breath, not amused by your careful dodging. You look back at her in defeat.

"I fucked it all up."

Alex sighs, her anger dropping down to frustration. "No kidding, Ali."

"I think I broke her," you say as you look back to your wife. "I wasn't honest from the beginning. That was the one thing she ever asked for from me, to be honest and communicate my feelings. And it wasn't like we didn't talk about kids and everything before she proposed. We did, and at the time I wanted it, I did..."

Alex cocks her brow, her mouth pursing into a confused line. "But now?"

You shrug helplessly, trying hard to cry. "Now, everything seems to move too quickly. These are my last years in my career, and I don't know if I am ready to give it all up just yet. I got scared when we talked about retiring and starting a family. Like, what if what happens after changes everything? Soccer is such an integral part of our lives, and I'm just so scared that once that's gone, then we'll have nothing left. I'm scared that she won't like who I am when I'm not playing and that she'll leave. I guess I decided to just start earlier and push her away before she could break it up."

You sob out the words at the end, staring up at your friend desperately. "Soccer keeps us together, Alex."

"No," Alex says firmly, though there's sympathy in her voice as she reaches over to squeeze your shoulder. "Soccer wasn't what held you two together, it was the love you shared for each other which did that. You are more than this sport. Your life will change after this is over, that's true, Ali, but don't be a coward and back out from it now."

You frown as Alex squeezes you again. "Ali, as much as I know you want to, you can't play forever."

You hang your head, but Alex doesn't stop. "Right now, your wife thinks the only thing that can save your relationship is winning this stupid championship. And then after, it's the Olympics. Because of what you said, she thinks the only thing that's worthy in your eyes is winning and proving herself as a great keeper."

Your eyes blur with tears as you look over to where Ashlyn is running and making saves almost recklessly. She's come into a new kind of relentlessness. It's alarming, but you know that it's been driving the crowd wild and your team is energized. While you know they're reckless, they seem to spur her teammates on as the fire shot after shot to her. It's then, that it hits you, just exactly what Ashlyn meant about the team, about their collective strength.

They'd let her fall on a stake for them, without hesitation.

"She's risking her life out there," Alex says worriedly, voicing your thoughts. "Ali, she's in this delusional frame of thought that somehow being a successful soccer player--which she doesn't even believe she is--is what you need."

You swallow the stone lodged in your throat as Alex redirects your attention back to her.

"That isn't what you want, is it?" She asks, and you freeze under the question. Alex sighs, removing her hand from your shoulder and stepping back. "If it is, Ali, then I think you need to do the right thing."

"The right thing?" You echo, your confusion and sadness muddling your thoughts. Alex looks to Ashlyn.

"You gotta let her go," she says softly, "because she won't do it unless you ask her to."

* * * 

Before the game begins, you center yourself in your posts and think back to high school.

You think back to how everyone told you how you'd never be more than a beach bum or druggie. That you'd never escape the clutches of a gang or that you'd end up hustling on the street for a living. You think about how your own parents abandoned you and how your brother left you for rot. You think about their lack of faith in your ability.

You can't bet on your defense. You can't bet on your team. But you can bet on yourself.

You need this, not just for yourself, but for the rest of your life.

Everything comes down to these next few games.

When the whistle blows, your eyes open and you are focused with that familiar rage. Crystal has the ball within moments, and you watch from afar as she bounds down the field with Jaelene in tow. The two of them weave through the defenders like they're made of paper, and while Ali gets a decent read on Crystal, it's suddenly two on one within a matter of seconds. You don't hesitate to run out as Crystal lobs it over to Jaelene, and you roar in a challenge as she powers forward and sends a hard shot into your chest.

You grab the ball and suck in a breath, letting pain drive you as you roll the ball off to Ali. Your wife kicks it up the pitch and the offense makes their play, with Marta scoring a solid goal on Rowland with no hesitation. The crowd screams, excited by the renewed energy on the pitch as your teammates celebrate.

The rest of the game is cut-throat, with your offense making up for the lack of defense. You carry your back line with insane dives and kicks, putting aside each sharp point of pain screaming in your body. By half-time, you're up two nothing, and the crowd is going wild. The locker room is buzzing with energy directed to Marta and Toni for their goals, and you stand at the mouth of the tunnel, focused and charged.

"Hey."

You turn at the sound of Ali's shy voice. She looks sad as she stands beside you. You frown, unable to understand why she would be acting so detached. She reaches down, her fingers grazing your hip.

"I know you're hurting yourself purposely," she whispers softy, glancing back up at you. "Please, don't, Ash."

You arch your brow. "I'm not."

"Those saves are getting reckless--"

"You know what," you hiss as you pull away from her. "You told me to do my fucking job, Ali. I'm doing it."

Ali recoils at your spite, but falls quiet as she nods. You shake your head, your anger increasing. Good. Let it continue to flow through your blood. If you're angry, you don't feel pain. Anger is always a constant.

You can work with it.

By the second half, your anger spreads like a parasite. It infects every ounce of your body and you can't even recognize what you're doing. The crowd is cheering for your newly-found 'beast mode', as one of the commentators called it. You're saving every shot, even if it means taking a cleat to the face or landing awkwardly. You flip and dive all over the place, Hellbent on proving that you can walk your talk.

Near the last fifteen minutes, after scoring twice, the Courage starts getting more frustrated and aggressive. You watch through guarded eyes as Jaelene and Lynn power down the field with Ally on their tail. You ready your stance, watching as your defense is shredded by their footwork and passing, leaving you to once again stand your ground. You grit your teeth as Jaelene gets the ball and darts forward, kicking the ball up into the air, no doubt with the intention to do a mid-air, half-bicycle into the net.

You rush forward just as she extends her left leg, and you watch as she scowls at you. As you reach up and grab the ball from her position, you feel something in your chest crack. You scream through gritted teeth as you latch onto the ball, refusing to give it up even as you're thrown to the side and sent rolling. You stand on unsteady feet and roll it off to a worried-looking Alanna before darting back to your goal.

Jaelene, however, clearly isn't done, as she intercepts your backwards pedal to the goal with a jut of her shoulder in your back. Again, your chest ignites in pain, but when you turn back to her in anger, she shoves you backwards. The ref blows another whistle, but you're watching from the ground in a daze as she snarls insults down at you, laden with profanity and homophobia as per usual, before she backs off with a red card. You stumble to your feet, struggling to breathe as your chest continues to constrict.

"Are you okay?" Alex's voice comes out of nowhere, and you feel a fluid build in your throat. You nod and turn back to your goal. You reach for your towel and spit. When you pull the cloth back, it's coated in red.

You glance around, relieved no one saw. You toss the towel blood-side down and get back in goal. You're a bit dizzy, but you're sure you just bit your lip or something insignificant. You watch as Jaelene leaves the pitch in fury, but only directed towards the ref. The rest of the Pride seems unperturbed by her blatant aggression towards you, and even as you look to Ali, you only see residual worry from your recklessness.

The rest of the match sees Toni make a goal before the whistle is blown to signify the end of stoppage time. You shake hands with your players and head to the locker room, bypassing a worried-looking Ali.

"Harris."

You stop in your tracks at Marc's voice. You turn around, the adrenaline starting to wear off. "Coach?"

"You played well," he says, though the pride is thinly-veiled in his voice. "You keep shutting out like this, and we can get in the finals. It's a big task, but I'm putting you up to it." You digest his words, nodding.

"Of course."

"Now go see the trainer for a check-up. That kick looked nasty."

"It's just a bruise," you say with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about."

Marc looks suspicious for a moment, and you're worried he's going to force the issue, but then he sighs and nods. "Go on then. I'm sure you probably would get some better TLC at home anyways, huh Harris?"

You fake a smile at the notion of home being any better than the pitch right now. "Sure, Coach."

Instead of going home, however, you shower and head straight to the bar.

* * * 

You don't see much of your wife anymore.

If Ashlyn isn't in her keeper kit, she's in the bar, and if she's not in the bar, she's training at ungodly hours. You've tried your best to keep her out of the bar, at the very least, but your wife is Hellbent on doing whatever the fuck she wants, whenever the fucks she wants, as she says. Alex and Syd have both tried to talk her down from her newfound impulsiveness, and even Pinoe came over to visit to try and get her out of the funk. Your dogs have picked up on it, too, and but Ashlyn just showers them in love when she comes home, before ignoring you and grabbing booze.

The unfortunate thing is, this self-destructive streak is only leading to more wins.

She's fearless on the field, taking the name Fighter to her heart as she bats away balls left, right, and center. Two days ago, after playing the Courage, she made fifteen saves in the first twenty minutes of play, and then an additional ten in the last half. She dives and slides and takes hits unnecessarily--whatever it takes to save the ball, she doesn't seem to quite care anymore. It's terrifying, but not as terrifying as the team's reaction to it. You find yourself sickened to your gut as your team rejoices in her newfound power.

"This is ridiculous," Konya laughs as she shakes her head at the scene. "The Harris beast-mode is real."

You're in the quarter finals for the NWSL Championship, and Ashlyn is holding a record for most consecutive clean sheets. You watch her now, batting away a high corner fastball from Sinclair. The Canadian growls and shakes her head as Ashlyn kicks it from her feet, challenging her to come closer.

You feel ashamed, watching as your wife throws herself all over the pitch in a fury-driven bender. You can see how she favors her left side unconsciously, about how her knee bends awkwardly on landings, on how her hands seem perpetually stuck in an awkward clamp after a hard stop. You think back to Alex's words, and it hits you like a bullet that your wife isn't proving anything to anyone. She's past the point of that.

No, Alex was right.

She's killing herself, without even knowing it.

Or she does know it, and just won't admit it. But you don't want to think about that. You don't want to think about the possibility that Ashlyn knows that it could take one poorly-timed kick or awkward fall to end not only her career, but her life. The thought terrifies you, because you know she's closer to the edge.

"I don't know what you're feeding her at home, but keep it up, Kriegy!" You hear Morgan chuckle from beside the other defender. "She's definitely feeling it right now. It's about damn time she came into it."

You growl, unable to hold back your frustration towards your team anymore. "She's only feeling it because none of our defense does anything! It's like we're incapable of checking a single shirt out there."

Morgan and Konya's smiles fall from their faces as you step into their space. "That isn't smart playing out there, and the fact that you can't even distinguish good saves from reckless ones shows how much you fucking care about her!"

You're about to continue to tear into them when the ref blows the whistle again. You turn at the sound to see Sinclair in Ashlyn's face, spitting heated words between them. Ashlyn chuckles and nods along, goading the Canadian until Sinclair seems to have enough of the nonchalance and decks her in the face with a sharp, brutal uppercut.

The punch is a solid hit, catching Ashlyn in the nose and knocking her back to the ground. You couldn't care less about the too many men on the pitch rule as you sprint out to where your wife is laying motionless on the grass. The crowd is cheering, as they would considering it's Portland and Ashlyn is notoriously hated on these fields. You ignore their goading as Sinclair waves off the red card she's handed with a smirk.

You hear the ref whistling at you, but you don't care about the yellow handed in your direction as you sink to your knees beside your wife. She stares up at the sky, blood pooling down from her nose and into the grass. There's a dazed look in her eyes, and you know from the dilated pupils, that she's at least mildly concussed from the hit.

"Stay down, sweetie," you says as you watch her fumble upwards. "You're concussed, Ash. Stay still, hon."

But then, Ashlyn tenses and you're sent an icy glare. "Get off me, Ali. I'm fine, alright?"

Your jaw drops as she wipes the blood from her nose and stumbles to her feet. "Ashlyn, you have to get off the field, you're fucking concussed." You reach for her arm as she stands, but she shoves it off with a low growl, defensive.

"I said get the fuck off me," she growls into your face, blood coating her teeth to make her look almost feral. You watch in shock as she waves off the trainer running onto the pitch and heading back to goal.

"Number eleven," the ref calls your name, "get off the pitch now or it's a red."

You stand there in utter disbelief as you watch your clearly concussed wife receive a thumbs-up from the trainer and a wave from the ref. You go to argue, but then the ref reaches into his pocket for the card.

"Go, Krieger!" You hear Ashlyn shout from the goal. "Get off the pitch!"

You numbly find your feet moving on your own accord as you find yourself back at the bench. Konya and Morgan are looking at you like you've grown a second head, and Marc is definitely about to lose it in fury.

The Pride wins the game in a landslide 5-0 run, and you're heading to the semi-finals.

Any other season, you'd be rejoicing, but now, as you watch Ashlyn head for the lockers without staying to celebrate the moment with the team, you know this is far from the greatest soccer you've ever played.

* * * 

You really aren't in the mood to speak with anyone, but given the sudden shift in Orlando's plays, and your own ferocity on the pitch, you aren't surprised when every press junkie and their mother wants an interview on your clean sheet streak. You're pulled over to the conference room by the ownership, and you suck in a breath between your teeth. Your side is on fire, and you can still taste the bitterness of blood in your mouth. Your head is spinning, but you swat aside the pain to focus on the sea of excited journalists staring back at you, eager for your secrets.

The first few questions are about the new style of play, of how you're preparing for the semi-finals. You answer them succinctly, not bothering with fluff as you explain how you have to roll up your sleeves and work. This championship will not be an easy win, but you have faith in your team to pull through strong.

It's a thinly-veiled lie, but it works.

The last question comes as a bit of a surprise, as one reporter takes the mic and smirks knowingly.

"I think I speak for all of us here when I ask, what changed?" He asks, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. You shift in your seat as he continues, "the last few games, it looks as if you are on your way to having your best season yet with the Pride. But, it all came out of almost nowhere. Can you give us some insight into the renewed motivation?"

You force a laugh, because if only you could tell them the truth. You wish you could tell them that you're driving yourself to the brink of the edge over nothing. You wish you could tell them that you aren't how sacrificing your marriage and your family for this stupid game has made you play ten times harder. You don't want to share the fact that the secret to your success is a rage-fueled, self-destructive bender.

So instead, you keep it short and sweet. "It's my job."

The crowd laughs and you flash another fake smile before you are ushered off the stage by the security. You make your way down the tunnel, your hand clasped over your side as the adrenaline starts to wear off further. You give a small smile to the guard before you tell him you need to use the restroom quickly.

The minute you enter the stall, you're keeled over, throwing up blood and bile into the toilet.

Your chest burns with the effort to breathe as your head pounds against the porcelain. You push aside the fear of the germs you're probably contracting by touching the seat and spit again into the bowl. You look down, dizzy and afraid of the sight of an alarming amount of blood in the rim, before you shake it off.

A little blood and pain never stopped you before, so why let it now?

You exit the bathroom after cleaning up, and you flash the guard a smile when he looks at you curiously. You count yourself lucky when he doesn't ask questions as you make your way to the showers. You're glad that you're teammates are in the locker room, mostly done with showering, as you grab your kit and head into the stalls. Not wanting to risk anything, you roll the curtain shut and strip off your dirty, bloodied kit.

When you're nude, you finally see the extent of the damage. Your entire side looks like a Jackson Pollack painting; a myriad of blacks and blues splashed against your side. You graze your hand over the exaggerated swelling, the warmth pulsing beneath your palm. You sigh, reaching for the shower as you turn the nozzle on and let the scalding water strike your aching back. Your head is still spinning, and you pray that your concussion is mild enough for you to make it through the rest of this season without fail.

Your shower leaves you woozy and in more pain than before, but you quickly towel off and get ready to head home. You run a brush through your hair and throw on some shades to block the blinding sunlight. 

"If you think you're driving, you're more insane than I thought."

You turn to see Alex staring back you with a mixture of worry and disappointment. You look to where your keys are dangling between your fingers and then glance back up at her with a teasing smirk. She sighs.

"If you think that's going to work on me, you're wrong."

"And what's that?" You drawl, fidgeting with your keys. "Why didn't you leave already?"

"Someone has to drive your sorry, clearly-concussed ass to a doctor."

You frown and set your jaw. "I'm fine, Alex."

"The Hell you are, Ash. You're nose is black and blue, and your right eye is nearly swollen shut. I don't give a fuck if you don't care anymore, but I'm not about to watch my friend kill myself for some delusion," she scolds with a frustrated tone. She reaches out and gently tugs on your shoulder, pointing you to the car.

"I don't need your help," you seethe, shoving her hand off. "Stop babying me."

Alex's mouth snaps shut and her lips purse into a tight line. "If you stopped acting childish, I would."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're not seventeen anymore, Ash. You want to be an ass, throw your life away? Fine! But if you think that you're actions aren't impacting anyone other than yourself, you're wrong." Alex growls back. "Ali is--"

At the mention of your wife, you lose it. "Ali doesn't give a flying fuck about me!"

"Oh, so she just risked suspension and a fine for shits and giggles? Get your head out of your ass, Ash."

"I didn't ask her to come out onto the field," you defend yourself in a snarl. "I told her that I was fine."

"Look, I don't know what the fuck is going on between you two, but you need to sort it out because it's destroying the both of you," Alex says back, her voice cracking as her eyes tear up. You feel your heart pull when your friend hangs her head and sighs miserably. "Ali is worried sick about you. She's hurting, too."

You hold your breath, looking away in shame as Alex's head nods back up. "You may think that she's entirely at fault, and she did say some shitty things, Ash, but you need to hear her out. There's a lot more going on than you think. I need you to not be your impulsive, defensive self for one fucking moment, Ash."

You growl, tears burning in your eyes as you glare up at her. "Fuck off, Alex."

"You can try to push me away, but I'm not going anywhere." Alex says, her tone firm. "Now get your ass in my car and we're going to the doctor. I don't care if I have to drag you, Ash, because I fucking will. Got it?"

You wait a moment, but when Alex doesn't budge, you relent with an eye roll.

"Fine. Let's go, then."

The ride to the doctor's office is silent, mostly with you fuming to yourself while trying to contain the rush of nausea you're feeling from the concussion, but also from digesting Alex's words. The visit is unsurprising. You're diagnosed with a mild concussion, but you plead your case to play and take it easy--much to Alex's obvious dismay. You're written off with some anti-nausea medication and some painkillers. You choose not to disclose your side injury or the bloody vomit, not wanting to be written off so easily.

On the way back home, you feel tired and defeated. You let the anger lift from your mood for half a moment, tired of it burdening your back for the past few weeks. You sigh, turning to face a stoic Alex.

"What you said earlier," you start, your voice quieter, no longer biting. "What did you mean?"

Alex hums, turning into another lane. "About what?"

"About Ali. About what she's feeling."

Alex sighs, rubbing her brow before she shoots a worried glance your way. "Did it ever occur to you there may be a reason why she's feeling the way she does? I mean, you both have a decade between you. And Ash, if anyone knows that woman, it's you. She doesn't get this way unless it's about something serious. You need to talk to her, really."

You mull over the words before you face forward again, adjusting your glasses. "I... I know."

Alex's quiet hum fills you with shame. "She doesn't hate you, Ash. She's worried for you, the both of you."

"I just, I don't get it. We talked about all of this," you say, your voice cracking as you feel your head start to pound again. "Before I proposed, we talked about our future, of what we saw with each other in five years."

Alex stays quiet as you sigh, looking out the window. "I never knew plans could change so quickly."

"It's not about the speed, Ash. Having kids is a big deal," Alex says, turning down your street and towards your home. "You're in the stage of your life when you're whole world is about to change. All of this--the touring, the playing, the intensity, it was your life up until now. You have maybe a few more years left before you'll hit the soccer shelf life."

You bite your lip as Alex says the words you know have been lingering in the back of your mind. You try to not let it affect you as you feel that familiar depression sinking into your bones, taunting you mercilessly.

"You have a chance to save this, Ash. I love you like a sister, and the same goes for Ali. You've fought too hard to give this up just yet," Alex tells you, her voice soft and gentle as she pulls up into your driveway. She kills the engine and turns to look at you, her hand resting on your thigh. "You love her too much, Ash. You can't let it end in flames."

You don't reply, but you nod slightly before you get out, thanking her for the ride.

When you get inside, the house is empty, and it's honestly a relief.

* * * 

There's a buzz, and you look down to see your phone pop up with a notification.

Ashlyn [9:42pm]: where r u

You want to scoff, because you're angry and upset, but you don't because you are worried as Hell about your wife. You look up to see Syd setting Cash back in his crib as you hastily type out a reply to your wife.

Ali [9:45pm]: at syd's

Ali [9:45pm]: i'm spending the night here

There's a pause, and for a moment, you think she's going to ignore you. But then your phone buzzes.

Ashlyn [9:45pm]: oh. ok.

Ali [9:46pm]: yeah.

There's another pause, but then your phone buzzes again.

Ashlyn [9:49pm]: i miss you

Ashlyn [9:49pm]: how did we let it get this far, als?

Ashlyn [9:50pm]: i'm sorry i'm such a fuck up. 

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you cast your phone aside. Syd casts you a worried look, but you give her a fake smile and wave her off. You're about to power down the phone when it rings with her face.

You contemplate ignoring it, but you can't help yourself as you pick it up.

"What?"

There's a raspy chuckle on the other end. "Alibean, do you hate me?"

You hear the slur in her voice and you know she's drunk. Your stomach twists in worry as you hear something clatter in the background, followed by the whistling, miserable chuckle from your wife.

"You shouldn't be drinking," you tell her, getting up and moving to another room to have some more privacy. "You're concussed, Ashlyn. This is ridiculous now. I thought you would know better. You can't risk your life like that."

There's another laugh before Ashlyn sighs and mumbles something incoherent.

"What was that?"

Ashlyn clears her throat on the line. "I said, you always sound so hot when you're mad."

"Fuck," you mutter, shaking your head as you pace up and down the hall. "We aren't doing this, Ash."

"Why not? Why are you at Syd's anyways? Are you scared of me, Ali?"

When you don't reply, you hear her breath hitch. You close your eyes, cupping a hand over your mouth to stifle the cry that so desperately wants to leave your lips. You wish you could turn back time, to undo the mess which has made your relationship catastrophic. You want to comfort Ashlyn, but you know you can't.

Not when she's like this.

Not when you're like this.

"It's okay," you hear her whisper, as if to herself. "I'm scared of me, too."

You slide down the wall of the hall, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hear her soft cries on the other end of the line. You pray to a God you're not even sure you believe in that drinking while concussed is the only stupid thing your wife does tonight. You know you can't drive back, because Ashlyn needs to deal with this and you need to have the space to get your mind in the right order. You can't be each other's crutch. 

"Ali?" You hear her rasp into the phone. "I... I don't know what to do."

You bite your lip as you hear her cry harder. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Ash," you murmur, sniffling through your own tears. "Please."

There's a pause before Ashlyn's voice croaks. "Can... can you just stay on the line? Until I fall asleep?"

You hear the desperation in her voice as she continues, "I can't sleep without you, baby."

You don't tell her that you can't, either.

Even if you almost wish you did.

* * * 

The drinking gets worse.

You don't have another outlet, and talking it out with your friends isn't something you feel inclined to do. You're angry, and when you're angry, you tend to stew in your own negative thoughts. You keep yourself grounded to whatever 

Things at home have become tense, for the lack of a better word.

Not that it should be anything less, you suppose.

Your friends and teammates worry, and even your coaches are concerned. Hell, even Jamie calls you up and asks you how you're hanging in there, and you have no doubt that either Alex or Ali must have reached out to him to help. You wave them all off, because you feel that hurt inside of you, the feeling of genuinely self-hatred, that you deserve this.

You deserve to be left alone, to rot, to be forgotten.

And you don't know what drives you to it, but you find yourself calling the last person you'd ever expect to.

"Hello?"

You chuckle at the idea that she even picked up the phone. But you're drunk and not in the best state of mind.

"The Great Hope Solo, how nice of you to answer."

There's a pause before she clears her throat. "Harris, why the fuck are you calling me at eleven on a weeknight?"

You shrug, laughing as you take another sip of your whiskey. You're curled up on the couch and you're sure Ali must be asleep in the bedroom, but you don't really care anymore about volume. You settle yourself on the couch and sigh.

"Dunno. Been missing your beautiful mug, I guess."

"I'm flattered," Hope says in that classic deadpan voice. "But we both know that we aren't friends, so cut to it."

You laugh. "Oh, I know we aren't friends. Which is why I know you'll tell me the fuckin' truth."

Hope goes quiet for a few more moments, before she sighs. "About what?"

You wait a moment, licking the whiskey from your lips as Logan whines at your feet. You absently pet your dog before you lean back on the pillow. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, thinking back to the last time you saw her.

"Was I just a charity case?" You ask softly, your voice low and mournful. "Was I ever a good enough goalkeeper?"

"Can't your wife answer this one?"

"She did," you reply with a snort, "and she said that I should'a been cut from the team instead o' her."

Hope is quiet for a moment before she quietly asks, "what are you saying?"

You shake your head, even though you know she can't see it. "I just needed to know the truth. And you always hated me, so I know you'd never lie to my face. You and I were from the similar upbringing. Fucked up families and all..."

Hope grunts. "And you want to know why I was better than you? Why they picked me over you?"

"Nah," you slur out, "I jus' wanna know why I was even chosen to be your backup."

Hope is quiet again, and you think that she's going to hang up. But then she sighs, and you find yourself falling further into your depression. You can already pictured her disappointed face, one that you grew all too familiar with over time.

"I was hard on you because you were good," Hope says eventually, her voice tinged with the slightest amount of kindness. "I never hated you, Harris. I was protective over my position because you were good. Pia and Jill wanted you to play more minutes, but you were reckless. You had no discipline, not for the level we were at. If you went out there, you'd have been eaten apart by all of them. I've been watching your matches now, and I see you've learned nothing."

You digest her words carefully, and you somehow think that answer is worse than what you'd expected.

"Look, you need to figure this out for yourself. I can't make you a better keeper, nor can I change their minds about picking you to start. You and I went through shit, Harris, that's true, but I got over mine and I worked through it," Hope tells you, that familiar annoyance coming through once again. "You had the talent, but you didn't have that mindset."

When you stay silent, tears sliding down your cheeks, Hope grunts and you can already see her shaking her head.

"You wanted my answer? Here it is: I agree with your wife. Between you and Ali, Jill should have cut you."

She isn't apologetic about it, not that you would expect her to. You only sigh and close your eyes, swallowing thickly.

"Yeah," you murmur as sleep pulls at you, "that's what I thought, too."

You're asleep before you hear Hope's reply.

* * * 

It's almost two in the morning when your phone buzzes. You blink away sleep and peer at the message.

Hope [1:49am]: next time you want marriage counselling from me, i want to be venmo'd.

You frown, rubbing your eyes in confusion as you type out a reply.

Ali [1:52am]: what are you talking about?

Hope [1:53am]: your dumbass wife, krierger

Hope [1:53am]: or whatever she is now. i personally don't care.

Hope [1:54am]: don't let her drunk call me again or i'm blocking her.

You piece it together slowly, and you realize that the person Ashlyn must've been talking to was Hope.

Well, fuck.

You get up and throw on a robe, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you make your way to the hall.

Ashlyn's turned the living room into her own little bedroom at night, and you know that given her injury and the nature of the game she plays, she should be at least sleeping in the guest room. You hate the distance between you, but every time you try to reach out and make a connection, she recoils away from you in self-defense. It's gotten so bad that even the dogs are confused, unsure of how to walk around you like they understand eggshells. You can see that she's just drifting through life, her diet and sleep schedule thrown out of whack.

The drinking is what makes you more worried than anything.

You saw Kyle in the throws of his addiction, and you remember from the many therapy sessions you'd sat through him with, that addiction is not a choice but a disease. You remember what his therapist had told you about how addiction is a reaction to pain, a coping mechanism turned into an awful, recurring habit. You remember sitting, holding Kyle's hand when he had withdrawals, when he would get sick from disulfuram.

You never wanted to see that kind of pain again.

But you're looking at it right now, staring down the barrel of a too-familiar gun.

Each night, you worry when she will pull the trigger.

It's like now, as you watch Ashlyn slumped on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in her arm, snoozing into the couch. You wanted to check on her after Hope's texts, but the sight of your wife so broken as she curls her arm around the bottle like a teddy bear makes you more worried. Logan is at her side, whining into her lap. Your eyes tear up as you watch her slowly wake before give her a halfhearted pat. Her head slumps and she turns on the couch, facing you now.

Her eyes are open in hazy half-slits, still drunken.

"Hi baby," she sleepily slurs, her hand flopping out to gesture at you. "You look real nice, Princess..."

You swallow thickly as you walk over slowly. You wait a moment before you reach out and kneel before her. She looks at you with a drunken smile, unaware of how gone she truly is. You hold back a sob as her hand finds yours and squeezes. You inch closer as she pulls you towards her. The pale light of the moon cascades through the living room windows, bathing you both as you feel your forehead graze against her own damp, warm one.

And then she kisses you, so softly, so reverently, as if you never hurt her.

You can't help yourself as you whimper against her lips. She reaches down and pulls you up into her. You lay atop her body as she deepens the kiss. You can taste the whiskey on her breath, and it should repulse you but you have missed your wife so much, and for a moment you just want to be selfish and take what she offers.

But then it hits you, as she flicks her tongue over your lip.

You're no better than anyone else who's taken from her, too.

As if you were drenched in cold water, you pull back and place a gentle hand to her chest. Your heart breaks at the lost puppy look in Ashlyn's dazed expression. You shake your head and lean backwards until you're standing. Ashlyn goes to sit up, swaying slightly as she palms her forehead, before she stares at you sadly.

"Why?" Ashlyn croaks. "Am I that messed up, Ali?"

You sniffle, taking a step back from the couch. "You're drunk, Ash. I... I don't think we should--"

"Then when should we?" Ashlyn asks, the sobriety starting to come in clear as she sits up fully. "Because you never want me to touch you anymore. You barely say two words to me, even at practice. We sleep separately."

You flinch at the sting in her words. "That's not my fault, Ash. You chose to sleep here."

"Because you were pushing me away!" Ashlyn suddenly snarls as she stands. She sways a bit, but you swallow as you see the familiar rage poking out. Usually, Ashlyn is reserved and quiet, rarely yelling unless on the pitch. Having grown up in a world of anger and violence, she never wanted to bring it back to her own home or family. 

But right now, she has no filter.

"I slept beside you for fucking weeks and it felt like you erected a wall between us," Ashlyn seethes, her voice cold and steady. "And then you went to Syd's and you fucking left me here! I wanted to die, Ali. I wanted to die, and fuck, I was so close, and for some fucked up reason, all I thought about was you. I thought about how you would suffer if I wasn't here. I thought about how scared you'd be to find my body. I wanted to die and still all I was able to think about was you, dammit!" Her voice cracks as she expels her truth like a flow of word vomit.

You're taken aback, because you remember the phone call.

You remember the fear in her voice, the desperation.

But you weren't there.

"I'm trying," Ashlyn croaks again, crying hard. "I'm fucking trying, Ali, to wrap my mind around this. But after everything you said, I keep thinking about the last decade. Was it all a lie? Did you even ever really love me?"

The question breaks you from your silence, and you jolt forward. "Ash, of course I love you."

Ashlyn shrugs miserably, looking back down to the ground. "It doesn't feel like it, Ali."

You take a deep breath, and you know your next words will sting, but they need to be said.

"I can't change how you feel, Ash. I can't convince you that I love you. I know I made a mistake, and I know what I said, and baby, I am so fucking sorry. I'm not excusing what I did, but I was scared, I was angry, and it all came out wrong," you tell her, trying to be as firm as you can despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. "I love you so much, Ash, and I know that's hard for you to believe with everything that happened, but you have to know that I was fucking terrified to tell you because I didn't want to lose you. I love you so much, Ashlyn, and to know I hurt you? To know that after everything we've been through, that I was the one to do this to you--to break you?"

You're barely able to get the words out between cries as Ashlyn glances back up at you. You take a deep breath, wiping at the tears and snot on your face. You tremble as you look at her, your hands folded and pleading.

"Please," you beg her as you fall to your knees. "Hate me all you want, baby. Leave me if you want, but please, don't lose yourself to this. You've worked too hard, come too far to fall into this path. You don't deserve this."

You can't help it now, as you see that empty bottle of whiskey, and you feel the panic creep in. 

* * * 

You've seen Ali in many states over the years, but this is something you've almost never seen before.

In a matter of seconds, she's hyperventilating on her knees, her eyes glazed over in fear as she stares at the bottle. You turn your head, your barely sober mind starting to put the broken puzzle pieces together in shock.

You watch as she wraps her arms around herself, trying to make herself small as her body rocks back and forth. She's sobbing now, the air barely getting in and out of her chest as she mumbles incoherently. You can't stand the sight of her wrecked, and you fall to your knees, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and squeezing.

"Ashlyn," she cries into your shoulder, "Ash, please, please don't leave me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

She repeats the same words over and over again in your shoulder, and you stay steady and strong. Logan comes over, whining and crying at the sight of her owner in a deep level of distress. You rock her into you, trying to steady her erratic breathing. You're suddenly falling back to two years ago, when she was a ball of rage and disappointment, and you realize in this moment, that perhaps she was hiding her true misery from you, then.

"Ash, please, please I don't want to lose you," she's sobbing harder into you, and your eyes burn as you think about how things have changed so drastically over the course of the last few weeks. You wonder if this is what your parents felt like when they were contemplating their divorce, if it was these last moments of desperation.

But do you want a divorce?

Not a fat chance in Hell, you think the instant the question crosses your mind.

You're tired and you're hurt, but you would take more hits, more fights, more distance if it meant staying through it all with Ali. While it may not be the healthiest answer, you still can't see any better alternative.

Marriage is about perseverance, about grit, hard work, and love.

And there's no love without a little pain.

So you set your jaw and squeeze Ali closer to your chest. "Ssh, honey. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

Ali keeps crying, clutching you desperately, scared to let you go. Eventually, she manages to pass out in your arms from crying so hard, and you swallow down the ache in your chest as you lift her up in a bridal carry. Logan follows you loyally as you walk into your bedroom and set her down on the bed. You wrap her up in the sheets and tuck her in, stroking her hair as she whimpers a few times. You kiss her forehead, closing your eyes sadly.

"I love you," you whisper as you pull back once you're sure she's fast asleep. "I got some work to do on myself, for me, but we'll find a way through this. I'm not letting you go that easy, Alibean. Sleep easy, sweetheart."

You feel tempted to crawl into bed next to her, but you know that you need to clean up your mess first.

When you go back to the kitchen, you pour out your favorite drinks before falling asleep on the couch.

* * * 

You meet Kyle two days after the incident, because you're terrified.

Your brother looks angry at first to see the state of you, and you know that while he loves Ashlyn as a sister, he'll always protect you first. For some reason, the thought makes you sad, because you realized how much Ashlyn and Kyle rely on each other, too. Chris is a good brother, but they doesn't have the relationship you do with Kyle.

There were days, you could notice, Ashlyn watching the two of you interact with longing eyes.

From her childhood, Ashlyn followed her brother everywhere, but once he got into drugs and addiction, his journey was different than Kyle's. Like much of their family's issues with aggression, Chris was no exception. You remember how guarded Ashlyn would be when talking about those rough years, and it made sense when she would allude to the abuse in her home, the scars on her body and her mind, that no one ever looked out for her.

It makes even more sense now, at how she guards herself and self-isolates.

"I'm just worried," you say as you trace the rim of your coffee cup. "I don't want her to be an addict."

Kyle's face softens and he reaches out to squeeze your hand. "You can't control that, Ali."

"I know," you sigh as you sniffle, glad you're wearing sunglasses because you can't afford a fan noticing just how much of a mess you are. "But that night, it was so scary. She was sleeping with the bottle, and I... I saw you."

Your voice cracks as you look up to your brother in fear. "I saw you again, when you relapsed."

Kyle sighs, letting go of your hand as he pulls into himself. "Ali, I know that you care so deeply about her, and that is one of your most beautiful qualities, honey, but this isn't something you can change. You'll want to go in to try and protect her, but sometimes that's more dangerous for you. She needs support to stay afloat, not someone to make choices for her. It will be hard, if she's falling down this tunnel, but she won't be alone."

You digest her words carefully, swallowing the bitter taste in your throat. Finally, you look up sadly.

"Do you... do you think she is?" You ask softly, unable to finish the words without stammering. Kyle waits patiently, waiting for you to pull yourself together. You shake your head and take a deep, steadying breath.

"An alcoholic?" You echo, the words shaky as they leave your lips. "Do you think she is?"

Kyle ponders the question for a moment before he shakes his head. "I don't think so. I think that she's a broken person, someone who's trying to find a way to cope with this new information, with the pain. Now, I don't think she is an alcoholic, but knowing that she's got addiction in her family and it's a predisposed trait, I think she's definitely at least at-risk. Chris has been doing his best to check in with her, and he doesn't seem worried yet."

You clench your jaw shut at the mention of Ashlyn's brother. "Chris isn't you, Kyle."

"No," he says, but he smiles slightly. "But you're not Ash, either."

You frown in confusion and Kyle sighs teasingly. "You and I are a bit more sensitive, even as much as you refuse to admit it. Chris and Ash? They're rough and tumble, Southern-bred through and through. I mean, it was your wife, wasn't it, who hit a bully across the face with a dead fish and cut him so badly that his parents fumed?"

A small smile graces your lips as you think back to when Ashlyn had told you that. Kyle smirks, chuckling.

"I still don't believe she did that, by the way."

"She did," you say, feeling better at the lightening mood. "She introduced me to the guy. They're decent friends now, actually. Turns out, he just had a massive crush on her and didn't know how to flirt. So, he insulted her."

Kyle grins. "And she took none of that."

"Nope," you say as you smile wider, thinking of your confident wife. "Not at all."

The two of you fall back into a familiar lapse of silence before Kyle clears his throat. You look up to him to see a serious expression on his face now. He reaches out and gives your hand another gentle squeeze as he leans in.

"Give her some time," Kyle says softly, "this is something that she needs to work out on her own, Ali. When she needs you, she'll reach out. If there's anything about her that I know well by now, it's that she surrounds herself with a community. She doesn't choose to go it alone, but right now, she's needing to make her own decisions."

You stay quiet as he offers you one more reassuring smile. "She's a fighter for a reason, honey."

And yeah, you think as you remember all she's been through, she really is.

* * * 

The semi-finals against Sky Blue FC nearly crush you.

You're running on less than five hours of sleep for the whole week, and you're pretty sure you have some internal problem going on with your injured side. On top of that, you've cut out the binge-drinking, and while you're glad at the least that you're not fighting tooth and nail for more of the bitter liquid, you can start to feel some of the effects of withdrawal. It's not nearly as bad as someone addicted, but you still feel damn awful.

Despite the pain and the agony each movement causes in your injuries and how your throat burns from vomiting, you ignore it for the sake of the team. You came so far, proving the whole nation wrong with just a few games. You've been labelled the underdogs, the team to watch, coming into the end of the championship.

The first half of the game is luckily spent more on your offense than your defense. You're pale and sweaty, barely standing as you try to hold onto the next twenty minutes before the half-time whistle is called. Marta and Alex both grab early goals, putting you in a good position to set the pace of the game. 

Sky Blue's offense is not nearly as intense as Portland's, but they've been clearly watching your games recently and pick apart your back line. Ali's the only one to give them some kind of resistance, but it's four on one by the time the ball is shooting down in your direction on the charging heels of Mal and Midge. 

You yell out at Alanna to back up your wife, but she's not fast enough for the shot to leave Mal's right foot. You scream out in agony as you leap up and smack the ball away. You roll on the ground, sucking in a deep breath as your eyes cloud with black stars. You can feel that familiar burn of bile and blood bubbling in your throat.

Not here, you think as you feel Alanna's hands on your shoulders, not now.

You force yourself to stand, swaying slightly before teetering. There's a murmur in the crowd, and you can hear the whispers coming from your team. You feel hands cup your face, and you dazedly look up to Alanna's wide eyes. You feel her steady you, turning over your shoulder, ready to beckon for the trainers to come on.

"No," you mumble as you pat her chest and lean off her side. "No, I'm good."

Alanna's head whips back around, concerned. "You're white as a sheet, Ash. You should go."

"I said, I'm fine. Now get back on that line," you order, your voice firm even as you sway. The nausea burns again, and you swallow down the acrid liquid to focus back on the field. You can't afford to be sick right now. You watch as she steps backwards and looks over to Ali worriedly. You follow her gaze to see Ali staring at you, teary-eyed. You can feel the confusion and pain radiating off of her, and for a moment, you want to collapse.

But before either of you can move, the ref blows the whistle to get the corner going. You slam your glove against the post to rattle the energy back into you and distract you. Nicole takes the kick, and luckily the shot from Mal is avoided by Ali's header. The ball is sent back up the field and batted around until the half-time whistle.

When you get into the locker room, Alanna and Alex are at your side instantly.

"You can't play in this state," Alex scolds as you dab your forehead with your towel. "You really don't look good, Ash. Please, for the love of God, just sit this one out and let McLeod go in for you. Please, don't do this."

"I just need a second to breathe," you mutter as you shove them off. "It's forty-five minutes."

Alanna goes to protest, but before either of them can say anything, Ali's voice interrupts them.

"Can I talk to her for a second, you guys?"

Alanna and Alex exchange a look, and the rest of your teammates in the room fall quiet. Judging by the shift in the mood, Alex quickly directs all of them back onto the field for some more warm-up drills. You know you've only been able to hold back the churning in your gut for so long, so you don't hesitate to walk away from them and jog into the bathroom. You push open the first empty stall and crumble to your knees, vomiting.

"Fuck," you mutter, retching again as you curl over the rim. "Fuck..."

You hear the door swing open and then Ali sinks to her knees in front of you. Her hands reach up and tentatively weave your short hair back from your lips. She leans forward, her forehead pressing against your temple as you feel her breath on your skin. She's shaking so hard that you feel like the world is about to topple over. You lean over the toilet again, spitting before you flush and stumble back to your feet, never leaving Ali's side.

"Baby," she tells you softly, "please."

After rinsing your mouth in the sink, you look up into the image of the two of you in the mirror. You can't help yourself as you reach upwards and hold her head in the same way, closing your eyes as you tune out the world.

"I love you," Ali whispers as her forehead nuzzles your lips. "If it's me out there that's causing this, then I..."

You frown as you realize what she's saying. You blink down at her, watching as she shrugs helplessly.

"Ali..."

"I can't lose you," she says softly, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. "Nothing matters more to me than you, Ash. I don't want to fight you anymore. I don't to be on opposite ends of the field on the same team. I can't stand here and watch you destroy yourself. I... I can't do that, Ash. I love you, baby. You're my forever girl, and I need you, Ash. Whatever you need from me, please take it. As long as you aren't hurting, that's all that matters."

You get what she's saying, and it breaks your heart. She looks up at you pitifully, shaking her head.

"I need you on that field," you say softly, your noses grazing. "Someone needs to lead that DoD."

Ali doesn't look particularly happy with your comment, but before she can reply, you hear Marc shouting for the both of you to get ready to head back out on the pitch. You look back to Ali, who's still trembling in fear.

"I love you," you whisper as you kiss her forehead. "Now, let's finish this."

You don't wait for her as you stand, pushing past her and reaching deep within your mind.

You reach into yourself and let the anger take over again, and the pain subsides almost instantly.

* * * 

The second half is brutal.

You're distracted on the field, worried for the state of your wife as she continues to make reckless dives and slides for saves. The fact she's sick and vomited makes you even more worried for her health. Sky Blue's offense is getting desperate now, especially after the bicycle-kick by Marta, to even the score. You're up by three points, and Ashlyn is clinging to her shutout, clean sheet rack by a hair's breath. It's a ruthless battle to the finish.

You know that whatever is keeping her going won't and can't last forever.

You hear Marc shouting at you to focus up, because the forwards and midfielders are getting a run of the map like they have a free pass. You grit your teeth and push everything out, knowing that if you're not going to do this for team, you have to do it for your wife. You can't allow her to destroy herself for this.

For you.

But you're only one defender, and your line is a mess, and Ashlyn's become a crowd favorite.

It's two minutes until the end of stoppage, and it's clear that you've won, but Blue's not ending their push just yet. You watch as Carli and Mal come sprinting up the sides, weaving their way through Alanna and Toni as they head in Ashlyn's direction. You try to intercept the pass between them, but you're shouldered by Mal as Carli gets the ball and cocks her leg back. Your eyes widen as Ashlyn runs up. You read her intentions and you panic.

"Ash!" You scream as you kick into high gear, trying to get there in time. "Stop!"

Before Carli can stop the momentum, the ball tears from her foot and careens into Ashlyn's chest, knocking her backwards like she'd been hit with a bullet. Her head smacks against the turf and she lays flat, her hands clenched up in that familiar boxer position, as if she'd been stunned by the force of the hit. The ball rolls to the side, and Toni is quick to pick it up as you run like a bat out of Hell to your downed wife. You can hear the ref blow the whistle, ending the game, but Ashlyn still hasn't moved and you're sure that Carli's ball was going at least sixty miles per hour.

You slide next to her, your knees stinging from the turf's pellets against your skin. You ignore the sting for the sake of your motionless wife. With shaking hands, you smooth away the sweaty strands of Ashlyn's short hair, gasping as you look at the dazed expression in her dim hazel eyes. She looks so confused and lost, her eyes watering in pain.

"Ash," you hear Carli gasp as she kneels beside you, "fuck, what were you thinking, dude?"

You can't contain your rage as you grab Carli by the shoulders and shove her backwards. You're on the verge of losing it now. "What was she thinking? What the fuck were you thinking, launching that ball at point blank at her chest?! That was fucking reckless. If she was any closer you could have crushed her throat, you fucking idiot!" Carli's eyes widen and she splutters out an apology, but you growl and shake your head in fury at the other woman.

"Ali," you hear Ashlyn wheeze and then slur out, "s'fine. I'm okay, t'was jus'a tough shot."

You let go of Carli to turn back to your wife, who is barely lucid enough to stay awake at this point. Your former national teammate looks at you like you've grown a second head, but you don't care anymore. You shove the midfielder away and cup your wife's face as the trainer runs up to the two of you, kit in hand. You shaking hard now, thinking of how she was so close to having her head nearly snapped by the force of the kick. You keep your hands on her, desperate to feel her alive and warm beneath your palms. You can't help but feeling the panic start to swirl.

"She's got a concussion," you hear Alex say from somewhere behind you as the team surrounds your downed wife. "We got it checked out by the doc a few days ago. He said it was mild and cleared her."

"Concussion?" Carli's voice gasps. "What the Hell is she doing on the field?!"

You bite your lip in frustration as Ashlyn tries to stand, but is gently pushed back by the trainer to lay back down on the turf. She listens to his instructions, following along even as she wheezes. Something sounds off in her breathing, but the trainer eventually rules out further head injury. You want to berate him, but Ashlyn's hand clasps yours.

You look down to see a sheen of tears in her eyes as she whispers, "can we go home, Ali?"

The question is so quiet, so tender that you can't help but nod your head. After the trainer confirms that she should take rest for the next few days and she should be good to play in the final. You feel anger at the administration for even considering her to play, and the minute you find Marc as Ashlyn is helped off towards the trainer's office, you're laying it into him with barely-contained ire at the situation. You don't care about the consequences anymore.

"How the fuck could you let her do that?" You scream at him, clenching your fists in anger. "She's hurt, Marc!"

Marc's eyes narrow. "She's playing the best career of her life. We're on a winning streak, Krieger."

"It's not worth this," you growl back angrily, "one more injury and she's done forever."

"And how much time does she truly have left?" Marc asks, arching his brow. Your jaw slams shut at the nonchalance of the question. "She's about to reach her shelf life, Krieger. You and I both know it's an unfortunate part of being a keeper. Her body will always take more impact, more damage than a player."

You feel your anger burning at each word he says, and though it's without malice, you hate each one.

"She's going to go out eventually," Marc says with a small shrug. "She wants this, so let her have it."

"She's not just some product," you snarl back, shaking your head. "We're still fucking people, Marc."

"You are," he says, nodding before he gazes over your shoulder to the cheering crowd. They're chanting your wife's name, even if the majority of them are donning the Sky Blue colors. You see it now, what he means, and your heart sinks into your stomach in disbelief. You know they can't see past the game.

"You're real people to us, to your families, but to them...," Marc trails off as he looks back to you.

"To them, you're invincible."

Marc's words resonate in your ears long after he leaves, and they linger even as you drive a barely conscious Ashlyn home. You look over to her, and you realize just exactly what the world has taken from her. You look to your bruised, battered wife, and you finally realize that she truly has given them everything, in return for nothing. You feel the frustration build in your heart, at everything it's costed.

Your life, hers--your damned marriage.

When you get home, you help Ashlyn settle on the couch, and the puppies instantly whine and whimper, surrounding her with support. Your heart breaks just a bit further when you see Ashlyn tiredly pat them.

That moment, when she went down and didn't get back up, something in you shifted.

All of the sudden, all of the tension from your conflicted thoughts fade into the background. As you look at her on the couch, dozing off into a pillow while Storm and Logan lick at her face, you realize something. 

You're not afraid of retiring from soccer and becoming a nobody.

You're afraid to lose the only thing you've ever known.

You're afraid to lose your world.

* * * 

The thing is, after Carli's hit, you can't even let the anger distract you from the pain anymore.

You're in the bathroom, puking your guts out into the toilet as the nausea threatens to pull you into the darkness. You growl in frustration as your head pounds, and you sidle your arm around your side as your chest heaves. You spit into the toilet again, groaning when you notice more splotches of blood in with vomit.

After a few more horrible retches, you flush the toilet and stagger back out into the dim light of the hallway. You feel along the wall, unwilling to turn the lights on and risk another bout of nausea. You quickly brush your teeth and spit until it's only saliva coming out in the sink before rinsing and leaving.

The final is in two days. All you have to do is hold out for two more damn days.

"You need a hospital."

You blink in the darkness, your head fuzzy as you look up to Ali's blurry figure standing in the doorway. You frown, glancing at the LED lights of the stereo in the living room. You turn back to your wife, rubbing at your neck tiredly.

"I'll be fine, Al. Just need sleep," You grunt, trying to move past her. Ali's hands come up to your shoulders, and despite your best efforts to shove her away, she's stronger than you in your weakened state. You sigh, resigned to having her lead you away from the makeshift bedroom you've created out of your living room.

"Where the Hell are you taking me?" You slur as you lean on her involuntarily. "S'not my bedroom."

"I don't care," Ali mutters as she heaves you onto a bed you've not slept on in weeks. "Tonight's a truce."

"Truce," you drawl almost drunkenly as she settles in beside you. "What a word. Didn't know we're at war."

Ali is quiet and you sigh, closing your eyes. You're so fucking tired, and you haven't slept in what feels like years. You don't remember the bed ever being this comfortable before, but maybe that's because you're laying next to the woman you've loved since the first day you ever started feeling alive. You let down whatever walls you've pulled up to lay beside her. Your head falls into the crook of her arm almost naturally, and you want to cry at how good it feels to be beside the one place you've known to be safe. You're so fucking tired that you allow yourself to believe the lie.

"I miss you," you murmur, sleepy as her fingers card through your hair. "I don't want to keep doing this."

"I love you," Ali whispers back, holding onto you closely as she sniffles. "I never wanted to fight, Ash. All of this is happening because of me. I should have been honest from the beginning. I should've told you how I felt about this. I was just so scared, and now I know that I should have been better, not just for me, but for you, for us."

"Why?" You croak as you blink your eyes open and stare at her through fuzzy vision. "Why wasn't I enough?"

"Oh baby," Ali whimpers as she rests her forehead against yours, "you were always enough. It was me, it's always been me who wasn't enough for you. It's me who became a coward in the face of fear. Everything you've given me over these years, it's been more than amazing. I am so proud of you, sweetheart. You're my everything, you know that? I need to be better at showing it. I need to be better so we can get better, and I'm working through my feelings right now, but the one thing that's always been clear is that I love you, Ashlyn, and I can't not have you in my life."

You feel sleep pulling on you harder as she kisses your brow gently. "You're hurting because of me."

You can't help it, as you give her a lopsided, tired smile in the pale light.

"It's worth it," you mumble sleepily as you feel yourself falling closer to slumber, "I love you."

Instead of replying, Ali leans down and kisses you.

And fuck, you don't remember the last time you both kissed.

The pain lifts all of the sudden, and you gasp as her tongue probes past your lips and deepens the kiss. If you were tired before, you're definitely awake now as her trembling hands run through your hair. You feel her gently turn you onto your side, her free hand drifting down your uninjured side and ghosting your skin. You gasp into her mouth as she bites at your bottom lip and lets out a tiny, breathy whimper of pleasure.

"Fuck," she whispers as you gently pull back, "fuck, Ash, I'm so sorry... I did this... this is all my fault..."

You close your eyes as she rests her head against yours, sobbing as she cups your face again.

"In every world, every version of us, I always want you," Ali whispers, her lips ghosting yours in a barely-there kiss. You gasp as she cants her hips against yours. It's not sexual, but rather tenderly poignant. "I always want you, and I'm an idiot if I don't do enough to prove it. You deserve the whole universe, baby. You deserve better than me."

Your eyes widen, tearing up. "Ali, no--"

Ali's finger grazes your lips. "I need you in my life, Ash. I'd give all of this up if it meant being with you."

You blink up at her as she stares down at you earnestly. You reach up, tucking away the hair from her face as she nuzzles into you. A sigh escapes your lips as she pulls you into her, holding her close to her chest. You think about the weight of her words, and you realize that Ali's voice is laden with brutal honesty.

Overwhelmed, you rest your ear against her breast, and the sound of her heartbeat fills your mind.

"I love you," she whispers again, "and I'm gonna fight for you, for us. I promise. Ride or die, baby."

You don't reply, but you don't need to, because when you squeeze her hand, Ali's lips smile against your forehead. In that moment, it's as if you both haven't been torn apart in the last few weeks.

That night, you get the best rest you've gotten since everything went to shit.

* * * 

You had a dream last night.

You were on a beach, watching Ashlyn play with two children who looked like the two of you. She was teaching them how to surf, and you were watching from your beach chair, filming the whole thing. You had watched as she'd held them close and then grinned over at you with her signature megawatt smile.

But you've had this dream before. And when you used to wake up, it used to leave you conflicted.

But this morning, when you wake up beside your snoring wife, it leaves you assured.

After everything that's happened, and after what Marc said to you after the game, you realize that you've been living in your own beautiful lie and trying to convince yourself it's reality. You've thought for the longest time that you were conflicted because you didn't want to change the best part of your life, but you never thought that maybe change could be good, too. You never thought that maybe just because one chapter is over, that the next couldn't be better.

So this morning, when you wake up from that dream, you find yourself craving it to be a reality. Of course, all of your doubts haven't fully left, but you feel far more sure of what you want--no, need--now than ever.

"You're staring."

You blink to see Ashlyn looking up at you tiredly, but without a hint of anger or disdain. You smile down at her, teary-eyed as you lean down to kiss her forehead. She chuckles and lays back against the pillow. 

"You're kidding if I'm gonna kiss you with that morning breath, Alibean."

You know it slipped out, but you can't help but feel goosebumps at the pet name. You watch as Ashlyn blushes before she bites at her bottom lip worriedly. You shake your head and lean down again.

Only this time, you kiss her lips.

She doesn't pull back, and you smile against her mouth as she kisses you without hesitation.

After a few moments, she's eventually left breathless, and you watch as she blinks the love daze from her gaze. You watch as her eyes flick over you, watching you as you reach down to intertwine your fingers.

"Babe," she murmurs your name, "I'm tired of fighting."

You sniffle and nod. "Me too, baby."

"This, last night, it doesn't fix everything," Ashlyn says softly, and you catch yourself, ready for the rejection. But before you can brace yourself for the inevitable, Ashlyn squeezes your hand encouragingly.

"It doesn't fix everything," Ashlyn repeats, her voice gentle. "But maybe it's a start?"

You nod, smiling through your tears as she leans up with a wince to kiss your jaw. You break the kiss to look down at her, noticing the pain in her eyes as she shifts on the bed, rising slowly to sit up on the edge. You can see the way she's favoring one side over the other, and it breaks your heart as she sets her jaw.

"Erin should play in goal," you tell her softly, "you're really hurt, babe."

Ashlyn pauses for a moment before she looks over her shoulder at you. There's a poignant kind of resignation in her gaze which sends shivers down your spine, but you don't want to break this moment.

"I know," she admits in a quiet voice before she turns back to stand on unsteady feet. "But I need this, Al."

You swallow thickly, hopping out of the bed and moving over to her. You stand in front of her, blocking her access to the bathroom. From this close, and in the light, you can see the mottled bruises on her face. She looks far worse for wear than she ever has before, but you can see the determination and grit blazing brightly in her hazel eyes.

"We'll be okay," she assures you with a tiny kiss to your forehead. "I promise."

When she moves past you, there was a moment where you doubted her truth.

If only you knew how right you were about to be.

* * * 

This final is fitting, honestly.

OL Reign, spearheaded by your two best friends, Pinoe and Allie, meeting in the final, epic battle of the National Women's Soccer League. Due to your recent performance, you have the home field advantage, and you feel relieved knowing you won't have to fly and travel anywhere, especially considering how shitty you truly feel inside.

Pinoe finds you during warm-ups to say hello, but the instant she comes close, she frowns.

"Dude," she says, her voice low and concerned. "You look like shit. All good?"

You shrug, wincing as you wipe the sheen of sweat from your brow. Up until now, you've been able to bear the pain, but now you're starting to feel it sink into your veins that you really aren't as good as you claim.

When you don't reply, Pinoe reaches up and grazes your head. "Are you sick?"

You shake your head, and that's the truth. You'd been tested for COVID-19 before the game, as was protocol, and luckily you tested negative. Pinoe's frown remains as she moves her hand back worriedly.

"You're warm, Ash. You seriously don't look good."

You try to throw her a lopsided grin, but it's feeble and weak. "Tell me again after we whoop your ass."

Pinoe doesn't catch your bait. "Seriously, dude. You don't need to pull that shit with me. Are you okay?"

Before you can reply, you hear an excited scream from the other end of the field.

"Pookie!"

You fake a smile as Allie comes running in your direction. You can see her prepared to jump up on you, and bless Pinoe, as she reads your discomfort and quickly intercepts. Allie doesn't seem to mind as she laughs as she approaches, reaching over to muss your hair. You pull her in a small hug, ignoring your chest creaking as she wraps her long arms around you and squeezes you into her tight embrace.

"Whoa," Allie says as she pulls back, frowning. "You're hot."

You chuckle. "Not sure if my wife would appreciate that, Pooks."

Allie frowns and she shares a glance with Pinoe, who gives nothing away. You change the subject, asking her about how she's coping with Bati, and soon enough the subject is dropped. You keep the chat going until the ref calls the end of warm-ups, and you make your way back to the tunnel to join your team.

You feel a small yank on your arm, and you turn to see Ali standing in front of you.

"Can we talk quickly?"

You look over to the rest of the team, but luckily they're preoccupied with their pregame rituals.

You follow Ali to the end of the tunnel, away from prying eyes. Your wife gently places her hands on your shoulders, before she leans up and gives you a kiss to the cheek. You blush under her touch, nervous at the sudden display of affection. She moves back, and you can see the blatant worry for you in her eyes.

"Please stay safe out there," she whispers as she kisses you softly. "I love you, baby."

You nod, almost dumbfounded by the shift in her mood. You aren't sure what comes over you, but you lean down and kiss her with renewed energy. She gasps into your lips, and you wind your arms around her waist as she deepens it. You feel her hands weave through your sweaty hair, and suddenly you're dizzy again.

"Wait," she whispers as she pulls back, brow furrowed in confusion. "Do you have a fever--"

"It's just from warm-ups," you say, leaning back down to kiss her. "I'm fine."

"Ash--"

"I hate to interrupt this fantastic make up and out session, ladies. But, we have a game to play."

You both snap your heads over to see a grinning Alex Morgan standing with your equally ecstatic teammates. Alanna sends you a thumbs up and Marta gives an exaggerated (but well-meaning) eye-roll.

"Right," you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head. "Let's go, then."

You lead your team through the tunnel and get through the opening coin flip, the national anthem (which while you kneel, you realize is hard to sit through for reasons under than pain), and then the set-up. You look to the bench from the posts to see Marc nodding at you with confidence and trust. You turn back to your back line to see Ali standing with her arms around your defenders, giving them a pep talk.

"We stand our ground today," you hear her tell them firmly. "We defend our keeper."

The girls nod, and Ali sets her jaw determinedly. "What do we do ladies?!"

"Defend our keeper!"

"Again!"

"Defend our keeper!" 

The crowd cheers as they set up at their positions, and Ali cocks her head over her shoulder to give you a firm nod. You know, from the fierceness in her gaze, that she will fight for this team, and for you.

Suddenly, you find yourself no longer needing anger to get through this game.

* * * 

The whistle goes off and it's instant madness.

Pinoe and Allie have a chemistry which works on all levels of play. Marta struggles to keep up with Cruz as they power down the field. The first ten minutes is a messy game of keep away, and the Reign pulls out all the stops on aggression. There are slide tackles and fancy footwork all over the pitch, slowing your players.

You shout to your back line, knowing that you need to take command and let Ashlyn focus on keeping steady between the posts. Initially, you all find a decent rhythm, clearly surprising the Reign, who no doubt have been watching your previous games to get a sense of your backwards defending. Twenty minutes pass with no goals between you, but you breathe easier knowing that it's twenty minutes less of Ashlyn seeing action at the goal. You want to keep the ball away from her sights, especially with this team.

Somewhere in the thirty-eighth minute, you intercept a pass between Allie and Cruz and charge up the field. You let your newfound energy run through you as you find Alex and Marta at your side, ready for you to make a play. You hit a cross over Pinoe, landing beautifully at Alex's feet before she kicks it up to Marta. You keep charging before cutting through the middle, confusing the two remaining defenders.

Seeing you without resistance, Marta passes the ball up the field to you, and without hesitation, you cock your leg backwards and fire off a shot into the top right corner of the net. Murphy can barely get a paw up before it's soaring into the netting, and you hear the crowd erupt in joy as you are tackled by your team.

You look outside of the huddle to where Ashlyn is clapping her gloves together in encouragement, her eyes lit with pride even from so far away. When the huddle breaks, you clap a hand over your heart and nod to her. She smiles back at you as the ball is thrown up the field to be placed back in the center of the pitch.

It was no doubt in your heart, that goal was for her.

With the play reset, the Reign cracks down offensively. Their plays become more vicious as they approach the half-time mark. While your back line's formation was working for the most part, the Reign's players are smart, and they learn the little tells of your fellow defenders as they break through your lines to Ashlyn.

You chase down Pinoe and Allie, but you can't cut across the field fast enough as Pinoe fires one at your wife. The ball screams through the air, and you watch in horrifying anticipation as Ashlyn grits her teeth and leaps up, arms fully extended. Her left hand catches the ball and she dives to the ground, batting it away. Another roar rips through the crowd as Toni saves it from going out of bounds and into a corner.

You don't have time to check if your wife is alright as you're passed the ball. You try to put her out of your mind as you run it back up the field, passing it through the legs of Jasmyne and to Syd on the other end. Syd runs the ball alongside Marta and Kristen. There's some more passing and movement to get through the tough line of defense the Reign has erected, but eventually, a clear line is given to a sprinting Alanna.

You run up the side, grabbing the ball from your fellow defender before passing it to an open Syd. She takes the ball and fires off a shot, and the ball has some insane topspin. Murphy can't get a read on it and the ball grazes the tip of her glove before finding the back of the net and leaving her conceding the goal.

You scream and run, piggy-backing on your friend as you celebrate. The crowd is going wild now, knowing that you've given yourselves a proper shot at bringing home the first ever championship to this great city. Your teammates jostle each other before heading back to the center pitch with newfound confidence.

There's a bit more passing and ball-work before the half-time whistle is called, and you sigh in relief as you watch the Reign head back to the tunnel, no doubt disgruntled by their lack of offensive possession. Your teammates congratulate each other with slaps on the back and shoves to the shoulder, and Marc gives you a nod of approval as you walk past him on the pitch. You grab your water bottle and turn back to the goal.

Your heart drops at what you see.

Ashlyn is leaning against the post, looking slightly worse from wear. She's got her towel covering her mouth, and you watch in horror as she removes it to reveal a bloodied stain on the cloth. You drop your water and run out onto the pitch, and you hear the sounds of Syd and Alex's familiar footsteps behind you.

"Ash," you gasp as she tosses the towel to the ground. "Holy shit..."

Up close, you notice how awful she looks. Dark circles line her eyes, and she's paler than snow. Her brow and upper lip is dotted with an unusual amount of sweat, and you can tell by her teetering that she's dizzy.

"Where?" You ask as you reach for her arm. "What did you hurt, baby?"

"I'm fine," she croaks as she leans on your side. You go to move your hand up her hip to support her, but you feel her gloved hand stop you. A glance up to her eyes reveals a uncanny fear in her usually calm eyes.

"Not here," she whispers as Alex takes her other arm. She gestures to the crowd. "Need their moral up."

"Ash--"

"Ali," she gasps as she stumbles forward. "Please. We're so close."

You want to argue, but then you watch as your wife schools her features and waves to the crowd, earning some more cheers. You look across the bench to the frustrated Coach Farid of the Reign, no doubt rattled by their cheering.

The three of you help her off the field without making it look like she's injured horribly, and by the time you're in the tunnel, Ashlyn's got nearly her full weight on you. Alex and Syd exchange a worried glance, but Ashlyn waves them off as you settle in the locker room. She takes a deep breath and looks at the team.

Her voice is firm as she "We have a lead, but we have to keep it. Now is not the time for second guessing, for doubts, for fear. We are here to show our city, the people who follow us, what we can do."

The team claps and hoots before Ashlyn raises her hand and silences them. You hold your breath in anticipation as she stands up and makes her way to the middle of the locker room, her eyes raking over all of you. There's steel and fire in her gaze, and for a moment, you're convinced that she's completely fine.

In fact, you'd say she's better than fine.

"We are here before the City of Orlando, before those who have survived so much. They show up day after day for us, and it's our turn to return the favor," Ashlyn says, her voice firm and serious. "When we go out there, we go out there as a Pride. They're hungry, and we're hungry for the same thing. We want this."

She raises her hand, clenching her first as she earns more hoots and shouts of agreement.

"We go out there, and we take what we have earned. We go out there, and we hold our line, stand our ground. We go out there, and we show the Reign exactly who they've come to challenge. This is our turf!"

More cheers follow as the ladies all stand. Ashlyn nods, eyes widening as she draws them into a huddle.

"This is our fucking Pride, now we stick together and we take this home. Got it?"

"Aye Captain," Marta says, surprising everyone as she stands up. "We stand by you, Ash."

One by one, the rest of the team stands and surrounds Ashlyn in the middle. Marta's eyes are laden with a mixture of respect and apology as she nods to Ashlyn. Your wife takes a deep, pained breath and nods to the forward. Marta's hand goes into the huddle first, and Ashlyn puts hers in over it, grasping it lightly. Then, every other member does the same until it's you, Syd, and Alex left to place your hands on the top of the pile next to Ashlyn.

You curl around your wife's side, watching as her head cocks over her shoulder and she looks to you for a moment before turning back to the waiting team. She gives them that familiar steel-faced stare and a determined nod.

"Who are we, ladies?"

All of the women, yourself included, cheer back. "The Pride!" 

Ashlyn nods, grinning as she looks around again. "And what are gonna do?!"

"Win!"

"Again!" Ashlyn says, earning more energy from the team. "What are we gonna fucking do, ladies?!"

"Win!" The team screams, and Ashlyn nods, jostling the hands as she draws their attention again.

"Let's go do exactly that. Now give me one last Pride on three!"

When the cheer breaks and the team runs back out of the tunnel and onto the field, you realize just exactly why Ashlyn was made captain. It's only after everyone is out of the tunnel except the two of you, that she drops her strength and sags into herself slightly. You know there's only moments before the whistle will blow, and you don't want to waste a single moment. You reach up and you grab her face, kissing her hard, conveying your passion and love for this incredibly selfless woman. You weave your fingers in her short hair as her hands clasp your hips firmly.

"Fuck," she mutters as you drop back down to your heels. "Ali--"

"I'll keep them off you," you growl protectively, a new fire in your eyes. "Today, I'm your keeper, baby."

* * * 

The second half is definitely more eventful than the first.

Regardless of how the match ends, you know that both teams have put women's soccer back on the map in this final. The pace is fast and brutal, and both teams are showing exactly why they made it to the finals.

Pinoe and Allie are working like a well-oiled machine, passing back and forth through your midfielders and hooking some sweet passes to Sofia and Jasmyne. The four of them pick apart your defense, though not without some intense effort on both their parts. Ali has taken over the beast-mode chanting, taking on three of them at once at a time. You marvel at her athleticism as she slide tackles Allie and rips the ball away from where it was heading straight down your line. Toni picks it up and sends it up the field.

You're relieved that your back line is finally putting in the work, because you know that with each minute that passes, you're feeling the grind starting to bear down on you. The mid-evening sun is glaring in your eyes now, making it hard to see as you struggle to keep the pounding of your head into pushing you down.

Somewhere in the sixtieth minute, Pinoe nabs the ball and weaves through the defense, relying only on herself to get through your line. When she breaks past Toni and Alanna, and Ali is checked by Sofia, you realize she's heading straight to you on a clear breakaway. You ready yourself, pushing aside your pain.

Megan cocks her leg back and fires the shot, but you dive to the side and bat it away, only for it to be picked up by Jasmyne. Your back line makes it back now, and the key is congested in a sea of purple and white. You keep your eye trained on the ball as you see it fire off from what seems to be Sofia at the top.

The ball soars over the head of Ali and you're forced back up to an acrobatic, twisting jump. You manage to send the ball rolling over the top of the post before you collapse backwards, the air knocked from your chest at the landing. You wince, sucking in a deep breath as the roaring crowd is a muffled noise.

"Ash," you hear Ali's voice, and you look up through your blurry vision to see her at your side. Her hand is extended and you grab it as she helps you upwards. You stumble into her arms as she looks at you.

"You okay?" She asks, for your ears only. You nod, gritting your teeth as you rub your side. You both set up for the play, and the players stay ready as the corner is created and Allie jogs over to the end of the field.

Allie takes the corner, kicking it high across the field to an awaiting Sofia, who heads it. The shot goes just left of the post, and you're glad you called your team to leave it as you're given the possession once again.

The crowd is chanting hard now as you carry the ball out to the top of the box and set it down. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your shirt as you run your steps back. You gaze across the sea of players before finding an opening with Syd and Marta in the right corner of the field. You're about to take the kick when you halt. You frown, a new play running through your head as you notice what exactly that's off.

It's a risk, but you're willing to take it.

You tune out the sound of the crowd as you dial in all of your energy into this one goal kick.

You sprint forward and cock your leg back before firing it into the air, praying your aim stays true.

* * * 

When Ashlyn fires off the ball, you watch in confusion as it soars all the way over the field.

You turn and follow it's path, but when you look down, you realize exactly what she's done. You watch as Murphy, who'd been standing out at midfield for who know's why, is far out of her range as the ball continues to wail over the stadium. You drive forward, sprinting past the keeper as the ball bounces on the turf before continuing on it's path to the goal. You look over your shoulder and notice that Murphy's too far to catch up, and you slow your pace, content to watch in complete shock as the ball rolls into the net in an almost dramatic, slow-motion fashion.

If the crowd hadn't been cheering madly before, they sure are now.

Your entire team erupts in a feral madness, sprinting down the field to where Ashlyn is standing, staring down the pitch with iron-clad focus, all steel and fire. The crowd is chanting her name and you chant with them in awe.

Your wife, a goal fucking keeper, scored a Goddamn goal.

All from the top of the goal key.

"Get out of here!" You here Marta scream as she piles onto your wife. "Fucking 'A, Ash!" Toni and Alanna follow quickly, and soon Ashlyn is beneath a pile of the team, all of them shouting their praises in complete and utter joy.

"Beast-mode Harris is here to stay!" Alanna screams out as the pile eases up. "Fucking insane."

"You're something else," Syd says as she and Alex help her stand. "Alanna was right. Fucking insane."

When she's standing, you stand in front of her. You notice the increased sheen of sweat on her brow and the slight dazed look in her eyes, but she's staring right at you with a hunger and power so raw you shiver in arousal. 

You can't help yourself as you grab her face and kiss her right there on the pitch.

The crowd screams louder this time, and the entire stadium erupts in pandemonium as you pull back. She's breathless as she stares down at you. You bite at your bottom lip, unable to contain your pride for her.

"Wow," she murmurs against your lips, and you lose yourself in the gravelly tone of her voice. "I should score more often if that's how you want to celebrate." You grin against her mouth as the ref calls for you to break it up. His voice is drowned out by the crowd, and you smirk as Ashlyn grins down at you toothily.

"I'll reward you properly later," you tell her as you start jog backwards, "I promise."

You jog back into place as the whistle calls again, and the play starts up. After that show of force and outrageous skill, you know that the momentum will be hard for the Reign to break. It shows in their hesitance as they try to break past your line of midfielders, but they're unable to find a decent play. Your own team's motivation is kicked into high gear after that insane play by your wife, and you know this could be it. You keep the pressure on, wanting now, more than ever, to give this city the game it truly deserves.

The last five minutes sees Pinoe steal the ball from Marta and charge down the pitch, Hellbent on taking away Ashlyn's clean sheet and giving the Reign some sort of dignified loss in this whirlwind of a final championship game. You watch as the Reign's forwards forget about defense, and the entire team pushes up for one final play as stoppage goes on. Even Murphy comes out of goal to the half-way line, desperate to help her team get something out.

Pinoe and Allie manage to dismantle your defense, and you crash to the ground as Sofia trips you in a rough slide tackle. Your back line disappears, and suddenly, there's a flurry of purple and white heading for the goal in a final, desperate push. You kick back to your feet, sprinting down as the commotion sees a blur of passes and headers.

The seconds tick down faster and faster, but not fast enough.

* * * 

You know it's the final minute of the match, and you know that even if you concede a goal now, your team will still win. But there's something burning within you, knowing that if you can keep this clean sheet, you will. You feel those familiar insecurities building back up, and despite knowing that you're close to passing out, you push onto the charging sea of purple and white shirts. You steady yourself for the onslaught.

It happens so quickly, you aren't sure what comes first.

Pinoe charges through the defenders and to the goal just as Allie reaches her side with Sofia in tow. Jasmyne kicks up a ball over the heads of Toni and Alanna, and the two of them fall back into the post with you, just as you leap upwards to catch the ball in your hands. You've get your body ready to jump upwards.

When you do, all Hell breaks loose.

It's almost as though it's in slow motion as you grab the ball with your gloves. An elbow crashes into the back of your neck at the same time a body collides against your side, shoving you against the metal of the post. You crumble backwards, shoving the ball out of the way with a desperate push as the full weight of two bodies lands atop you.

You hear something snap and there's a moment of numbness before your body ignites in fire.

There's a horrified scream from underneath you, and you realize that you've fallen atop someone in the massive blunder. There's so much happening, and your body starts to feel muddled as a fluid fills your mouth. Something wet fills the space between the body beneath you and your own, and you can't breathe. Pinoe is calling out to you, trying to get your attention, and her hands on your shoulders and face and chest all at once it seems, but you can't breathe.

Holy fuck, you can't breathe.

Then the whistle is blowing and the crowd is cheering, and you know then that the game is over. You hear your teammates cheering, but you can't fucking breathe because your mouth is filling with bitter liquid. Black spots crowd your vision as you try to blink away the daze from your vision. You're still heaving, struggling to get through the clog in your throat. Pinoe's voice is fuzzy in your ears, and you can't make out her words because they're so muddled.

You barely are able to blink the sweat from your eyes to see Pinoe staring at you in horror, before you notice her entire upper body is coated in blood. You try to speak, but the movement of your jaw only further increases the pain searing through your body. It's in that moment, as you stare into the fear-laden gaze of your best friend, that you realize something is seriously, deadly wrong. She's asking you something frantically, but you can't hear her, only see her lips moving quickly. You keep blinking, trying to stay awake, to focus, but your mouth is filling faster now.

You're barely able to spit before Pinoe fucking screams.

After that, everything goes black.

* * * 

The crowd is screaming as you lay in a huddled pile with your teammates, celebrating your first ever NWSL championship cup. You can't believe that you've made it here, and it feels almost surreal to know you've won. You're being jostled between teammates, earning slaps on the back and proud musses of hair as you celebrate the win.

But the moment is quickly ruined, because Pinoe fucking screams.

Everyone on the field turns at the noise, and your heart drops as you see why she yelled.

Ashlyn lays motionless atop her, her body splayed in an awkward, gruesome angle with one leg curled up under her. You push off your teammates and sprint over to your wife, noticing that Pinoe hasn't moved her off yet. You can hear the trainers from both teams shouting for the paramedics, and only then it hits you that this is fucking serious.

When you slide to your knees beside them, you see pure horror on Pinoe's face.

And it's for a damned fucking good reason, because when you look at Ashlyn, you want to vomit.

Your wife's eyes are open in half-slits, her mouth covered in blood as it drips from the corner of her lips.

"I think she's bleeding on me," Pinoe gasps as she looks between them both frantically, laying still. You can see that she's struggling to breathe under the weight of your unconscious wife, but she stays put. "I-I think something caught her hip or her leg or something, I don't know, but either she's peed or it's blood. Ali, something's fucking wrong."

You look down, gasping as you notice the grass darkening to a sickening crimson in an alarming rate. Alex curses and tries to move to the other side to get a better look at her leg, and when you follow her gaze, you retch violently. You're barely able to move to the side before you expel the contents of your stomach on the field.

You hear the crowd gasping in horror, and when you look up, you see the replay flashed on the screen. 

You watch in shock as Ashlyn takes an elbow to the back of the neck from someone in the fray. Her head smacks against the side of the post, but as she comes down, you watch as Allie and Jasmyne each collide with her at opposite angles, running at full force. The momentum snaps Ashlyn's leg back into her chest, before the two women fall atop her and onto an unsuspecting Pinoe. You can't bear to watch as Ashlyn's mouth fills with blood, and her eyes widen for a nanosecond as you see her recognize the pain and the fear in her surprised expression, before they go blank.

You're frozen as Alex comes up beside you, shoving you away as her fingers reach out shakily for her bloodied neck. She'd watched the replay alongside the rest of the team, and you know exactly what she's desperately looking for.

"There's no pulse," Alex stammers out as she looks to Pinoe and then you. "Ali, she's not fucking breathing--"

"Move!" You hear the shout of one of the paramedics as they make their way on to the field with a stretcher and a board. You're jostled aside as a team of medical professionals kneel beside your motionless wife.

It feels like you're watching from outside of your body as the paramedics shout orders to each other. Pinoe is still panicking beneath your wife, yelling about how she can feel something sharp against her hip. The paramedics order her to stay still, suggesting that any sudden movement without stabilizing her could result in paralysis or worse. You don't even register Alex and Syd's arms around you as they finally manage to maneuver Ashlyn off her best friend.

When she's flat on her back, you finally see the extent the damage.

This time, Syd is the one to vomit.

The force of the collision had broken Ashlyn's femur through the skin of her thigh, and the bone is jutting upwards and through her shorts in an awkward, mangled position. Blood is soaked through her shorts and the bottom-half of her jersey, and Pinoe's whole front is doused in the crimson liquid. You watch as the paramedic exchange a worried glance before reaching for the scissors and cutting open your wife's jersey, exposing her chest to the crowd.

"Form a crowd," you hear Marta call out in a shaky voice. "Protect the Cap and the Princess."

You watch as teammates on both teams link arms and form a wide shield around you and your wife. You give Marta a shaky nod of thanks as you inch close enough to be with your wife while giving the paramedics the room to work. You are grateful for their shielding as the medics cut through your wife's bra next. Alex and Syd stay by your side, keeping you stable as you watch the paramedics get to work on trying to fix your wife. Pinoe is up on her knees, staring at Ashlyn's motionless body with wide, shocked eyes and her jaw agape. You look to her for a moment, and you see the state of her shirt. The traditional blue is a dark navy, and you know it's stained through with blood.

Ashlyn's blood.

Your wife's blood.

You gasp in horror with a few of the other women as you see the mottled bruises and the rapidly swelling edge of Ashlyn's side. You can see one paramedic working on securing your wife's neck in a brace before reaching for some sort of suction device to place over her lips. You feel Pinoe crawl to her feet next you, frozen in shock as the both of you watch the machine make a whirring noise before sucking up blood and fluid from your wife's pale, bluing lips.

"Get the defib and the oxygen pump," one of the medics says to the others. "We can't do CPR. Ribs are broken and can't tell if it's in a dangerous position. She's hemorrhaging. Miller, check eyes for dilation. That hit looked like a TBI."

"She already has a concussion," you blurt out in a muffled sob. The medic frowns, worried, before nodding his thanks. His partner on the other end, Miller, lifts each of Ashlyn's lids and shines a light into her eyes.

"Left pupil is completely blown," he reports with a grimace. "Looks like a major TBI. We need her moving ASAP."

"Copy that," the first paramedic says as he mops up the blood on Ashlyn's chest and sticks the pads of the defibrillator down on her chest. He hands the oxygen pump to Miller and the two paramedics get ready.

"Charging," the medic calls out as he keeps his fingers on Ashlyn's wrist. "Clear!"

You gasp and cry out as Ashlyn's body jolts upwards violently. The medic places his fingers against her wrist again as Miller pumps oxygen into her lungs with the tool. You watch through blurry eyes as the not bruised side of her lungs rises and falls with the air flowing through her throat. The medic frowns again, and you sob into Syd and Alex's arms.

"Collapsed left lung. Charging again, everyone clear."

Once again, her body jolts upwards.

"No," you cry out as you crawl to your motionless wife. You ignore the protest of the paramedics to get back, and you can hear Pinoe yelling at them to give you a damn moment. You cup her face, burying your head in her neck.

"Please," you beg between sobs, "please, baby, we still have a future. We still have so much to live for, it can't fucking end here. I love you too much for it to end here. I was confused before, but I know now, I know what I want, and what I want is to have a family with you, baby. I want those mini Krieger-Harrises. I want them to grow up with two mothers who love them, and I want to watch them grow up and I want to grow old with you. I want to be yours forever. I can't do that if you're not here, Ash. I can't do it if you're not fucking here, so you can't leave me yet."

When Ashlyn remains silent, frigid, you cry harder into her cooling skin. "Please, baby, come back to me."

"Clear!"

You feel Pinoe practically rip you away as another shock tears through your wife. Blood slowly slides down her mouth again, and you cry hysterically as the first medic shakes his head again as he feels for her pulse.

"Fucking fight, Ashlyn! You promised me forever, and you can't break it," you scream at her as you shove Pinoe away and wrap your arms around your wife. "You gotta fight for this, baby. Fight for our family. You have to fight for us."

"Clear!"

Pinoe shoves you away again in a desperate pull, just as another hard shock rips through your wife. You hold your breath as the medic feels for a pulse before his eyes widen and he looks up to where Miller is still pumping oxygen.

"I got a beat. Weak, but there. We gotta get her loaded up and ready to go now."

You practically sob in relief as the medics make quick work of securing her to the board. You shove aside your fear to help them get her situated and tied into the board. For a moment, you think back to that Spirit game where Ashlyn had stayed by your side the entire time, even helping the paramedics to get you to the safety of the ambulance.

You remember how calm she'd been, despite how panicked she later told you she had felt on the inside. You remember how she had held your hand and told you to stay awake, whispering words of love and encouragement. She told you a crazy story about how she'd gone surfing one time and was almost eaten alive by a shark, but how it only made her love them even more. She told you that it was in that moment she respected their power.

You look down at her now, smoothing away strands of sweaty and bloody blonde hair from her face as she's hooked up to an IV and hauled onto the stretcher. She's still so beautiful, even on the brink of death, and you know now that you don't ever want to lose her again. You and Syd get on the other end of the board and help lift her to the stretcher as you hear the distinct chugging of helicopter blades, and you look up to see one descending onto the field.

You look over to Syd, who remains steely and focused as you all rush Ashlyn to the air transportation.

If it's a helicopter, it's really fucking serious.

"Do you want me to come?" Syd asks as Ashlyn is transported on the helicopter. You look to the medics pleadingly, and they nod to gesture that there's enough room for the both of you. Alex tells you that she'll follow with your family in the car after the medics inform her of the hospital. You squeeze her hand in thanks before you hop in, keeping enough space between you to allow the medics to work, but you reach down and clasp her hand tightly.

Syd watches over you, helping the medics when and if they ask for assistance. You are so thankful then as your best friend keeps you both afloat. The ride to the hospital takes a matter of minutes, and you're more nervous as the landing feels like an eternity before the pads of the helicopter make contact with concrete.

"Okay, we gotta take her down to the ER. Processing is just down the hall from there, where you can fill out the various non-emergency forms," Miller explains as you pile in the elevator with Ashlyn and Syd. He gestures down to your wife. "After that, the doc will call. In case it's needed, what's her blood type?"

"O-negative," you say quickly. Syd nods and extends her arm.

"I'm the same. I can donate if needed."

Your heart stills in your throat as you finally realize why she was the one who insisted on coming. She knew she'd be needed. Syd gives you an encouraging smile, as if to tell you that just as Ash and you are ride or die for her family, she is for you, too. You give her a nod, shaking as the medic hums and gives her instructions for donation.

Eventually the elevator doors ding and the medics wheel Ashlyn down the hall and out of sight. You jog to a halt as they pass through the final set of "Do Not Enter" doors. You want to collapse into the ground there and then, but Syd's arms loop around your shoulders and draw you over to an empty row of seats.

"The girls and Deb are on their way. Kyle texted me in the elevator. Pinoe and Alex will get here first," Syd tells you in a clear voice, her hands framing your face. "We're gonna be here every step of the way, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back tears as you look down to your hands to see them coated in blood.

Syd grimaces and looks around before finding a sign for a bathroom. She glances back down at you.

"Let's go get you cleaned up, baby girl."

* * * 

You feel like you're in limbo.

You wake a few times to a blinding light and rush of voices, but the sounds and sights are overwhelming and you're drowsy again within moments. Sometimes you feel a rush of pain in your leg and chest, and other times you feel a sweet breeze, like sitting on the beach. You pass from awake to sleep in minutes.

At one point, you find yourself dreaming.

Only, it's not really a dream as much as it is a memory.

You're sitting behind Ali on the rocks at Clear Water beach, watching the waves roll in and the sunset paint your beautiful partner in a warm, ethereal light. You're sitting behind her, your arm looped around her middle as she teases you for a selfie, saying that this lighting is too good to pass up. There's a weight in your jacket pocket, and while you've had different versions of this moment dreamed up in your head, nothing screams a perfect moment than this. You stare into her beautiful tiger eyes, and you smile.

She doesn't think anything of it as she turns the camera up and smiles. You reach into your blazer pocket and pull out the ring. You hold it between your fingers and lift it behind her head, knowing the glare of the sun will prevent it from being given away in the frame. Eventually, Ali is frustrated at you for blocking the shot. She nudges your side when you kiss her cheek, whispering how you love her so incredibly much.

"If you love me so much you'll lower your arm," Ali says between giggles as you kiss her jaw. "C'mon, Ash."

You fall in love with her all over again, in the simple way she looks at you like nothing else in the world matters. You want nothing more than to live in this moment forever as you finally lower your arm. She goes back up to take a picture, just as you move your hand to rest right in front of her chest, the ring exposed.

The sunlight gives it the perfect glint, and you watch as Ali snaps a picture right as she notices it.

There's a pause, before she cocks her head over her shoulder at you. You watch her lower her phone and look back down at the ring in awe. It isn't a surprise that you're proposing; you'd made it clear years ago that she was only ever the one for you. You watch as she stares at the ring before she takes a shaky breath.

"Ash, oh my gosh--"

"Wait," you whisper, cutting her off before she can speak. "I know you've waited a long time for this, but I've waited the same amount, if not longer. If I had it my way, I'd have married you right at camp ten years ago." Ali laughs as happy tears fill her eyes. Her hands cup your face as you lean your forehead to hers.

"Alexandra Blaire Krieger," you say, your voice filled with reverence and love. "You are my entire moon and my stars. We've been through so much together in the last eight years, and I want to do life with you until we're old and grey, and even then, I'll always want you, baby. Will you make me the luckiest, happiest woman alive and marry me?"

You barely get the question out before Ali kisses you so hard the two of you fall back. Usually, you're both really good about keeping PDA under wraps, but Ali is ferocious as she kisses you like her life depends on it. You lose yourself in the moment as she weaves her hands through your short hair, tugging you to her.

You lean right in, knowing there's no place you'd rather be.

When you pull back, breathless, you chuckle against her lips. "That was amazing, but it wasn't an answer."

"Yes," she whispers, kissing you again. "One hundred times yes, Ash. I can't wait to marry you, baby."

You smile harder than you've ever smiled as she lifts her shaking hand up. You fumble for a moment with the ring before you slide it on her ring finger. She squeals in glee and you laugh as she practically jumps you with the ferocity of her next kiss. You're two steps away from a full-fledged beach make out, but you couldn't care less about paparazzi or fans or the world, because Ali Krieger is going to be your wife.

And in that moment, nothing else matters but you and her, lost in time together.

Forever.

* * * 

Time passes slowly.

Syd eventually comes back from donating blood, a bit woozy on her feet and a juice box in her hand, but she offers up a halfhearted smile. You're not sure how long you've been sitting in the waiting room now, and no one's come to get you. Syd takes a seat beside you, offering you a sip of her juice box as the two of you continue to wait it out quietly.

Due to the nature of the pandemic, you were initially instructed to go back home and wait for a call, but you plead and begged with the chief to stay in a quiet, far-away area. Due to your influence and the fact that his daughter idolized you, he was bought off for an autographed pair of scrubs. It sickens you that you are only able to be here because of your privilege, and you think about the countless families were given the dreaded phone call, far from their loved ones.

You can only hope and pray you don't get that news.

"Have you heard anything?"

You blink, looking over to Syd as she nudges your arm gently. You shake your head and swallow your tears.

"I don't even know how long it's been."

Syd looks up at the ticking clock and sighs. "About six hours."

Fuck.

You want to curl into ball on the floor, but Syd wraps her arms around you and holds you close to her chest. She murmurs sweet nothings in your hair, and for a moment, you're transported back to when you and Ashlyn had waited for your father to get out of the ICU after his accident. You remember how strong she'd been for you, being your rock. Even if your father struggled to approve of her, she never lost the respect and care and love for him because he was your father, and you loved him. He said nasty things to you both, but Ashlyn would never let it get to her personally.

"She'll make it," Syd says against your temple. "She's our fighter, remember?"

She is a fighter, that's true, but you're not sure if she can fight her way out of this one.

"Syd?" You say her name in a quiet croak. Your friend turns to you, giving you all of her attention. "Yeah, baby girl?"

Your eyes well up with tears as you imagine a whole new reason to be at the hospital. You picture yourself in the room, your belly swollen enough to nearly burst. You see Ashlyn beside you in full scrubs, holding your hand and telling you to breathe through the pain. You feel her pride and her happiness as she squeezes your hand and you're being told to push. You hear the sweet cry of a newborn, and you can practically taste the salt of your tears as you hold her for the first time in your arms. You picture your child, small and pure, nestled in Ashlyn's big, protective arms. You see how your wife melts, how she falls in love with the baby. And how, when it's all over, she stares back at you in gentle awe.

"Ali? What's wrong, baby?"

You blink out of the vision, and suddenly when you look down, your hands are caked back in blood.

Syd rubs your arm just as you look over at her with a miserable, broken shrug.

"I figured out what I want," you say, your voice cracking. "But it's too late now, isn't it?"

Syd pieces it together, but instead of a sympathetic look, her lips form a firm, resolute line.

"Not yet. She's not out until they say she is, Ali."

* * *

You always wondered about the afterlife.

Not that you believe that you're in it, of course, but this is a weird sensation even for you.

It's like you feel everything and nothing at once.

You feel no pain, but there is a haunting loneliness. You feel cold, detached from reality, and perhaps you are. You want to move, but you can't get yourself to do anything except take in the feeling of complete and utter nothingness.

And while you think, you visualize Ali. You think of your wife, and you hope to God that if this is how you are to go, that she knows that you always loved her. You hope that she will not dwell on the bad times, that she will remember you for your goodness. You think that of everyone, really. You always worried that you wouldn't be able to make an impact on the world, something meaningful that would last after you passed. Your work with TWOLHA was something that made you feel that meaning, but in this moment of limbo, you find yourself asking if you'd done enough.

You just hope, wherever you are now, that the life you left behind isn't in shambles.

But more than that, the feeling deep inside is something more selfish.

You want to go back.

You aren't ready to die.

No. Not yet.

You're not sure if you're able to do it, but you will find a way. You'll fight death itself to get back to her if you have to.

No one takes you away from Ali Krieger, not even you.

* * *  

"Family of Ashlyn Harris?"

You startle awake from where you'd been dozing on Syd's shoulder. A doctor in scrubs is holding a clipboard, looking over at you. When you finally register his question, you nod. The entire alcove awakens within minutes, and you're soon surrounded by your chosen family. Your mother and brother find your side, and the two of them clasp your shaking hands as you nod up at the doctor requesting for you.

"I'm her wife," you tell him before gesturing to your teammates and family. "We're her family."

He looks a bit bewildered at the diversity, but nods regardless. "Well, I'm relieved to be bringing you some good news. Your wife suffered traumatic injuries, and while it was touch and go for awhile, I anticipate a good shot at a full recovery. We did lose her a few times, but she made her way back to us." You sigh in relief and your teammates cheer and hug each other, earning a glare from an orderly. None of them are bothered with all of the looks they're getting, and neither are you, because you're wife is okay. You look back up at him, but then you remember what he said earlier.

"You said some good news," you say, your voice trembling. Your family quietens. "Is there bad news?"

The doctor sighs, thumbing the pen clip on his board. "I'm afraid that while she is expected to make a full recovery, barring any complications, I'm afraid that your wife may never be stable enough to play again."

Your heart shatters, and the mood suddenly goes tense. "What do you mean?"

"The severity of her injuries is too high. Her leg shattered in four pieces and is being held up with a metal piece and screws. While she should have enough mobility to do regular activities and even engage in light exercise, it won't be at the level of competitive play," he says with a remorseful sigh. You cup a hand over your mouth in shock and fear.

"And that's not it. Your wife had sustained three rib fractures that looked to be at least a week old, and were left untended. They eventually broke and punctured her left lung, which due to the internal bleeding and risk of infection, we had to remove the lung," the doctor continues to list off the injuries, taking no time to sugar coat the answers as he relays the information to you. "Again, while this won't affect her day to day life, she will be unable to perform at the same level. Finally, the concussion she received puts her at risk of developing post-concussive syndrome, regardless."

You fall to your knees as the weight of his words hit you like a train.

"So, that's it?" Pinoe's shaky voice calls out. "She's just... done?"

The doctor takes a breath before nodding. "Unfortunately, yes. She still retains a normal life expectancy. She will still live a full and healthy life, she just won't be able to play professionally anymore. I'm sorry."

When you and the family stay quiet, still shocked by the devastating news, the doctor sighs again.

"Look, usually I don't do this unless it's necessary, but the extent of your wife's injuries was critical," he says, his voice a bit firmer than before. "She's damned lucky she's not paralyzed or worse, dead. There were multiple opportunities for either of those outcomes, and honestly, I'm surprised she got through it. Take comfort in that, if not anything else."

You gaze up at the doctor as he gives you an awkward, terse smile. "It's the little victories that count."

"She's alive and she will recover," you hear your mother say, a note of gratitude in her voice as she reaches out and shakes the doctor's hand even as you remain knelt on the floor. "You're right. We'll take what we can, Doctor."

He nods and lets go of her hand before gesturing down the hall. "She's in room 401, just down the hall and to the left. Should be up soon if you want to give her a visit. Only one person at a time, though. Technically visiting hours are over, but I can make an exception if you keep it discrete." You nod, wiping away tears as you hobble to your feet.

"Thank you," you say hoarsely, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry I'm not more grateful."

"I understand," he replies, letting go of your hand. "It's not an easy situation."

You don't stick around to continue to conversation, instead leaving your mother in charge of any other pressing concerns or instructions for taking care of her at home. You make your way down the hall until you come upon her room. You open the door slowly, noticing the lights are completely turned down.

The soft beeping of machines almost lulls you as you pad into the room. You cup your hand over your mouth as you take her in, bandaged and swaddled, her broken leg in a cast and suspended above her waist. Her sheets are pulled down to just under her breasts, and you can make out the drainage tube filled halfway with blood and other fluids.

You take a seat beside her, your hand reaching for hers as she sleeps through your touch.

"Hi, baby. It's me," you whisper, afraid to wake her up. You blink back tears as you hold onto her and kiss her palm. "I'm so sorry I ever let it get this far. I never... I never wanted this for us, and never for you. I'm sorry I took so long."

You start to cry as you rest your head against the back of her hand. "I love you, Ash. You're my forever and a day, and I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it. You deserved to be treated better, and if you'll give me the chance, I'll spend the rest of our lives together making it up to you. I can't bear to lose you, baby. I'll do anything, just come back to me."

You continue to cry softly against her hand until you feel a light twitch. You jerk your head up in shock to see her half-open eyes staring back at you. A gasp leaves your lips, but Ashlyn's mouth parts in a rasp.

"I... love...," she croaks dryly, her chapped lips moving slowly to get the words out. "Love.. you..."

You can't help yourself as you reach over and bury your head in her neck. You close your eyes, your tears sliding into her skin as you cry into her. She weakly rests her fingers on the corner of your shorts, and you lean back to press a soft kiss to her forehead. She looks at you and then space on the bed pleadingly.

"S-Stay with me?" She asks, gesturing to the space. "I... want... be here..."

You can tell she's fighting sleep, but you nod. If she'd asked you for the world, you'd have given it to her. It takes a bit of maneuvering before you crawl next to her, your arm wrapping around her carefully and softly. She nuzzles into you, her head falling against your chest as you press kiss after kiss to her hair.

"It's gonna be okay," you tell her, firm and strong. "We're gonna be okay, baby."

When she falls asleep, you stay awake, vigilant and protective.

You'd die before you let anything take her away from you this time.

It's in that moment, as you look down at her, at the way her hand is loosely clasped with yours, that you realize what you are going to do. You know, years ago, you'd have thought twice about the decision, but as you think back to the whirlwind of the last forty-eight hours, you realize that you've never been so sure.

The end of this chapter doesn't have to be the end of anything.

No, you think with a soft, hopeful smile. Sometimes endings lead to more beautiful beginnings.

* * * 

Eight Weeks Later

It doesn't surprise you that your career is over.

You find yourself lucky to be alive, but you can't help but feel sad and withdrawn and a bit mournful at the loss of your chance to achieve your goals. You always thought the Olympics would be it, the final chance to prove yourself, but you know now that there wasn't a good chance of you being on the starting line anyway. You would've worked your ass off, but you'd always be the second keeper, living in the shadows. And maybe you would have been more disappointed that way, even if you knew in the back of your head that you truly had given it everything to get where you'd been.

They say near-death experiences change you, and you know now how right they are.

You and Ali are healing, slowly but surely.

You make your peace with the final game you ever played as being the championship winner. You're sent roses and commendations and being hailed as a hero for risking it all to keep the clean sheet and give Orlando the best championship win the league had ever seen. You'd gotten so much love and support from the Reign, especially from Allie and Pinoe. Your other international teammates also sent their love and came to visit to wish you well, and let you know that if there was anything they could do to ease the burden of recovery, they'd be there for every step of the way.

It makes your heart swell, knowing your chosen family loves you so dearly.

Even if you couldn't do what you always wanted at an international level, you're grateful you managed to get one thing right for your city, for your people, and for your team. They surround you with their love and support, pledging to help you through this transition period. They try to find you ways to get back in the game, but it's as you're recovering and working through your more limited mobility, your lingering aches and pains, that you realize that you shouldn't have to torture yourself with this anymore. You shouldn't have to feel like you deserve the self-destruction, the forced injuries, the burdens of unrealistic expectations by others. You don't owe anyone anything, and you never did.

You deserve happiness. You deserve peace. You deserve your own normal life.

And so when you're finally discharged from the hospital after two months and greeted with a surprise welcome home party by your team and closest family and friends, you decide to let the last proverbial shoe drop in catharsis.

"I had a good run," you tell them as Ali curls into your side, "and I'm proud of all of you."

"But...?" Marta asks, confused at the inference of something big. "What's going on, Cap?"

You look out to your teammates, your family members, and you smile with unfettered relief.

"I'm retiring from soccer for good," you tell them, and while a few who had been at the hospital had known about your unlikely chances of a return to professional sport, they still look surprised at the announcement. "Part of it is because I have to, but also because I realized a lot over the past few weeks, and I've had a shift in my priorities recently."

You look to Ali, who's smiling up at you proudly, and you smile back, tearing up. "I don't want to live with life passing me by because I looked away. I don't want to miss the important things, the little things, the big things--everything."

You glance back to your teammates and sigh contently. "I'm not walking away. I'm taking my bow."

Your family, friends, and teammates look somewhat surprised, but when you look to Syd and Alex, you can see the happiness and relief on their faces. You know they must've worried that you'd try to push against the doctor's orders, to demand to get back to professional level, even if it meant risking it all, all over again. You watch Alex nod proudly, lifting her glass of sparkling water to you in a subtle cheers, and you nod back at her, thankful for her friendship.

But the moment is broken as Ali clears her throat and quietly announces, "as am I."

Everyone in the room, including yourself, looks over to Ali. Your wife only has eyes for you, however, as she leans into you and kisses your lips tenderly, wiping the shock from your face. She pulls back and glances at the team, smiling.

"I'm retiring," she announces, "I handed my notice in the day Ash was cleared from the ICU."

You frown at her, surprised. "Ali--"

"Maybe we should go," Alex says, clearing her throat to get the other's attention. "This seems like a private convo."

You both look at the family, and before either of you can get them to say, Alex is ushering them out and giving you a knowing wink. Syd wrangles up the last of them before closing the door. When it clicks shut behind her, you lapse into a moment of silence. After minutes of you and Ali's fingers grazing and your breaths steadying, she finally speaks.

"The day you went down," she chokes out, her voice raw with emotion as she looks over to you. "When I saw you there... when you weren't moving... breathing... I realized just how much I wanted to have with you. It was like as if my whole life flashed before my eyes. I saw everything we had achieved, and everything we would have been robbed of if you left this Earth early. I was scared before, of letting all of this go. I thought soccer was all that we had, and that after it would end that we wouldn't be the same people we are now. But I realized something in that waiting room."

You lose yourself in her eyes as she kisses your cheek and smiles harder this time. Her lips tremble slightly with the emotion pouring from her, but you soak it all in with nervous anticipation. Ali takes a deep breath.

"I realized that it was never a fantasy for me either," she whispers as she strokes your cheek with her free hand. You lean into her touch, your eyes watering as she rests your foreheads together. "The more I saw it, the more real it seemed. I want to have a family with you. I want all of the milestones and changes and to grow old with you."

You shiver as she leans back to give you another look of comforting reassurance. "We were kids, you know. When we met, we were young and in love, and we were living for the day. But now, after everything, I don't want to just live in the moment with you, Ash. I want to live for the future, for our future, for our family's future, and I want to experience the next big change with you by my side. You're my best friend, my soulmate. We got through the last twelve years together, and we were never torn apart. And now, I want to hold us together for that next important stage of life."

She palms a hand over your chest, resting against you gently. "I won't let us get torn apart now."

There's a moment of silence passed between the two of you as you simply leave the words to be absorbed. The past few months have been drenched in hurt and recovery, in mending broken bones (literally and figuratively), and rebuilding burnt bridges. There's still miles for you to go before you know you're truly ready for a family, but you can see in Ali's eyes that she has no regrets, no doubts, and you feel something in your chest snap in freedom and joy.

"We've been through a lot of trauma in the past few months," Ali says softly, her fingers reaching over to trace over your lips. "So far, we've only focused on the physical rehab, but I think we should look at talking to a therapist."

Your eyes widen, and your heart expands in your chest for this woman. "You'd do that with me?"

Ali nods, smiling as she leans down and kisses you. "I want to do this right, Ash. I love you too much not to."

You digest her words, taking everything in for what it is. You watch as she waits patiently, and you can see in her eyes that she's not expecting anything from you. She simply waits, the ball on your field. Your play.

For the first time, she leaves you with the full reigns.

"You're really ready to take a bow?" You ask, your voice airy. Ali smiles, nodding.

"It'd be the best bow of my life," she tells you, her arms looping over your neck. "I'm ready for the next chapter of our lives, baby, whatever that looks like. I want it all, every good day, every bad day, with you."

Your eyes water as you lean forward to kiss her. "Forever?"

She nods against your lips, breathing out, "forever and a day, baby."

* * * 

Ashlyn's tongue deepens the kiss, and you grin against her lips as she sighs against you.

"Fuck," she mutters as your hand lingers on her chest. "I want you, Ali."

You bite her bottom lip, but pull away reluctantly as you look her in the eyes. "Baby, you know we can't."

Ashlyn pouts up at you with her beautiful doe eyes, and you can't help but giggle as her hands slide up to touch your hips gently. She pulls you close, and you can't help but fall into her. You feel her fumble for something on the couch, and before long, you hear the hum of the stereo in the background as familiar guitar stings pluck in the background.

Wise men say, only fools rush in

But I can't help, falling in love with you...

Shall I stay, would it be a sin?

If I can't help, falling in love with you...

Tears well up in your eyes as you think of your wedding day, of how this song played right after your first dance. You look into Ashlyn's eyes, and you see nothing of the hurt or pain from the past few months. You only see the woman you have come to love and think of your future. You cup her face, brushing tears from her cheeks with your thumbs.

The song continues to play in the background as you see the need in her eyes. She nods, and you can't help yourself as you edge off the couch and stand. You reach down for her, helping her up as you lead her, hands held tightly, to the bedroom. She limps behind you, and you take it slow, helping her up the stairs until you reach your bedroom.

You think of the last time the two of you were in this room, about to do what you're going to do now.

Ashlyn's eyes water as you reverently undress her in the low light of the evening sun. You take care to avoid putting pressure on her injuries, and she kisses you when she's sitting on the edge of the bed, fully nude aside from her bandages and the cast on her leg. You step between her open legs as she places her hands on your hips, her fingers grazing the bottom lip of your shirt before she gestures for you to raise your arms.

It's hard with her restricted motion, but your wife has always been determined to do what she wants. You let her take her time in getting you undressed until finally you're just as naked as her. You shiver under her gaze as she looks over your body in its' entirety. You see nothing but the familiar awe and respect in her eyes as she kisses your navel softly. You weave your hands through her hair as she places her own on your hips, pulling you infinitely closer to her.

You think back to the months ago, and you know exactly what you want.

"Babe," you whisper as she pulls back from your stomach. "I want to do it. I want to make a baby with you."

* * * 

When the words leave Ali's lips, you're sure you've actually died and gone to Heaven this time.

Your mouth opens in awe, and she smiles as she reaches around you for the dresser. Your brain picks up on the action as you watch her take out your favorite strap-on, some lube, and the harness. You look down at yourself, and you thank your past self for taking the pain-killers before coming home. While you know you shouldn't probably do anything too strenuous given your recovery, at this point you honestly couldn't give a damn about anything.

You want to love your wife, dammit.

And you will.

It takes little to know time for Ali to gently get you ready, and when you hear the final click of the buckle and the harness locking into place around your hips, your breath is stolen. Ali seems similarly affected as she looks at you with such vulnerability and love that you want to wrap her up in your arms forever and to never see the world again. Instead, however, you lay back and lead her to the bed with a gentle squeeze of her hand. You watch in awe as she adjusts herself over your hips, the tip of your cock just gently nudging through her warm, pulsing slick. 

You can't yourself as you reach down between the two of you and slide your fingers against her.

"Fuck," Ali hisses, shivering as you reacquaint yourself with her. "Ash, baby, please..."

"I'm here," you say, and this time the words hold a different weight. Ali looks down at you, teary-eyed and emotional as you slide your free hand up to intertwine with one of hers. "I'm here to stay, Ali. I want this. I want us, baby."

Ali squeezes your hand back and breaks into that familiar megawatt smile as you continue to stroke and touch her gently. She eventually sighs and her head falls back as she loses herself in your touch. There's nothing more beautiful than the sight of her like this, truly and utterly uninhibited. It's when she's the most raw, the most vulnerable.

You feel honored to have it all back again.

Soon enough, Ali feels close enough to reach down and gently redirect your hand to your cock. She works with you to hold it, before she slides it right at the head of her entrance. She looks up at you, her lips curling into a wide smile.

"Together?" She asks, and you've lost all ability to speak so you just nod reverently. Ali smiles again, shy.

It takes a minute of shaking fingers before the two of you are easing you into her. Ali's lips part and a tiny whimper escapes her lips before she starts to slowly sink down. You can only watch in love as she bottoms out in minutes.

"Fuck," you whisper, still in disbelief. "Baby..."

"I love you," Ali whispers as she reaches down to connect both of your hands. "I love that you're inside me."

A jolt tears through you, and you shiver as she starts to slowly grind down on you. She leans down, blanketing your faces with her hair like a curtain. You feel safe like this, cocooned in her warmth and her love. You feel the way she keeps her weight off your thighs as she starts to ride you slowly. You taste her love as she kisses you deeply.

It's been too long, and you're hungry for her.

"You're the most important person in my life," you whisper between kisses, holding still. "I love you, baby."

Ali gasps in your mouth as she kisses you deeper, and you shiver as you feel yourself growing closer. By the stuttering of her hips, you can tell Ali is right there, ascending that peak right alongside you. Both of your hands squeeze together again, and you feel both of your tears falling on your face as she picks up the pace ever so slightly.

"Come inside me," Ali hums between frantic kisses, "I want to feel you come inside me, Ash."

You gasp as your hips jolt upwards, seeking that familiar release. Ali smiles down at you, still teary-eyed.

"That's it," she whispers as she squeezes your hand tighter, "I want our baby, Ash. I want our family. I want you."

And with that, the two of you come crumbling down. You find yourself crying out into her mouth as she collapses against you, keeping her weight to her forearms on either side of your head. Her hips stutter and slip, but she keeps you rooted tight inside. You imagine for a moment that you can feel her clenching walls wrapped tight around you, keeping in your seed and turning your dreams into a reality. You hide your face in the crook of her neck and kiss her.

A few moments later, after you've both caught your breath and Ali rolls off you, the two of you lay side by side, spent. Ali's takes off the harness and deposits it somewhere in the room before she gets up and heads to the bathroom, bringing back a warm, damp towel. You sigh in pleasure as she runs it between your legs tenderly and gently.

After she's tossed it in the hamper, she lays beside you, a smile nearly threatening to break her face. You reach out, tracing her lips as you memorize every inch of her. Ali nuzzles closer, her forehead grazing yours as she sighs.

"Are you sure?" You ask, afraid to break the moment. Ali smiles again, nodding slightly.

"I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything, baby."

Something in your heart bursts free at the admission, and you find yourself falling in love all over again. Ali extends her arms and pulls you into her, resting your head against her chest. She kisses the top of your forehead, her hands running over your body and soothing your aches and pains. You revel in her touch, closing your eyes as you relax.

Somewhere between everything, your free hands wind together, and don't let go even as you fall asleep.

* * * 

Two Years Later

"You ready?"

You look over at your wife, your hands clasped together tightly. She smiles down at you, happier and more carefree than you're sure you've ever seen her before. You swing your arms between the two of you as you hear the cheering in the distance. You press closer to her side, your head resting on her shoulder.

"I remember the first day we did this."

You look up at her, watching as Ashlyn's lips curl into her signature dimpled smirk. You nudge her shoulder and laugh as she kisses the top of your head romantically. "It was something like this, a wide-eyed girl and her surfer girlfriend. Living in secret, playing for the same team--in more ways than one."

"Cheeseball," you tease, but you blush regardless. Ashlyn chuckles, shaking her head in nostalgia.

"Just a couple of goofy kids in love, taking on the world together," she says as you hear someone speaking on the megaphone. You clasp her hand tighter as she sighs and glances out the tunnel, lost in memory.

"I'm calling it now," Ashlyn says as she turns to you with a grin. "I want Kristen Stewart to play me in our biopic." You roll your eyes and shove her again, but it's playful and free, and you feel authentically you.

"As if she could ever be as hot as you."

"Aw, babe. I'm flattered."

"And for me?" You ask, playing along. Ashlyn hums, before she smiles, smitten as she looks upon you.

"Honestly, no one could ever come close. They don't make 'em like you anymore, baby."

You blush against her shoulder as she kisses the top of your head. You wrap your arms around her middle as you hear the crowd cheering again. You stay in the moment, wrapped up in your own little love bubble.

"For real though," you hear her murmur as a guard makes the signal to get ready. "I don't think anyone will ever be able to top our story, baby. We're made of legends and stardust. Two souls, connected together."

You feel happy tears burn in your eyes as she looks down at you, her eyes full of love and awe.

"One for the history books, you and me."

You lean up on your toes and press your lips to hers. You think back to a year ago, when you thought you would never see her again, let alone touch and kiss her. A lot has changed in the past twelve months, and even if some days were worse than others, you wouldn't trade any of it for what you had before. 

"And now welcome back, your legends, your Warrior and your Fighter: Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris!"

You break away from her lips as the crowd goes nuts in the distance. You squeeze her hand.

"Ready?" You ask softly, your eyes gazing into hers. She nods, smiling brightly as she squeezes back.

"For you?" She asks back, kissing you one last time. "Always, my love."

* * * 

"And so, the Pride is honored to retire the numbers eleven and twenty-four into our rafters."

The crowd cheers as you are both handed your honorary Pride jerseys with your original numbers. You watch as a copy of them are lifted into the rafters, coming to rest right beside the championship banner. You feel your eyes water as you recognize the weight of the gesture, of how only your names are here.

"You have given this game everything," Amanda Duffy says as she looks at you proudly. "The Pride wouldn't be where they are now without your leadership and sacrifice. You've given more than just your athleticism and your strength to the game, but your whole lives. The city of Orlando will forever be grateful to the both of you for everything you've done in the last five years. On behalf of all of us at Orlando, thank you both."

The crowd erupts in cheers again as you're handed the mic from Amanda. You wipe your tears, and you look over to see Ali just as emotional as you. You take a moment, letting the cheering and chanting of the crowd rush over you before you raise the microphone to your lips. You smile up at the hollering crowd.

"These past few years have been an adventure," you start to say, your voice cracking with emotion. "Over our time here, we saw wins and losses. We saw the good and the bad. We started new things, went on new adventures. But I meant it when I said I'd bleed purple for life. This is my home, Orlando. You are my home, and while I'm sad to be leaving this sport and this incredible place for good, I won't be gone forever."

The crowd cheers again and you take a moment to take it all in before you continue. "And if I can leave you all with one thing, it's this: don't take anything for granted. Life is a beautiful, scary mess, and hold your loved ones close. In this world, now more than ever, we need unity, kindness, and forgiveness. Our team stood for more than just playing the game. We stood for fighting for equality, for love, and for freedom."

The crowd cheers and you look to the executive team. "Thank you to the amazing CEO's and administrative team at Orlando for giving us such a wonderful team to work with. To Marc and Carl, Seb, and Llyod, thank you for never giving up on us. You put so much money and time and the blood, sweat, and tears into this team. While you thank us, it would be wrong to leave this place without thanking and acknowledging you."

You then turn to the bench of players smiling proudly back at you. "It would be unfair to go this fair without calling attention to the greatest teammates either of us could have ever asked for. You guys are more than just that, though. You are family, our family, sisters not by blood, but by choice. Thank you for standing together, for having our backs, and for keeping the faith and seeing this through to the end."

The crowd cheers and you watch as your teammates wipe their own tears and cheer for you as well. You blow them kisses, watching in glee as they take them and hold them close. Marta gives a playful eye-roll again, but you can see the corners of her eyes misting with tears as she holds back her own emotions.

You take a breath as the crowd claps and cheers again, before you turn to face Ali with a warm smile.

"And to my beautiful, amazing, patient wife," you say, earning a few aw's and whistles from the crowd. "You are my rock. You've gotten me through the worst, and everyday I wake up grateful knowing I get to do life with you. It hasn't always been easy, but we always find a way to make it work, to be together in whatever life throws at us. Not even death could take us apart. I can't wait to see where our next step falls. It'll be great, as long as I always have you."

You wait for the crowd to settle before you lock your gaze with your wife. 

"I love you, Ali. Always and forever, baby."

Ali blows you a kiss, and you smile as she blushes and wipes at her tears. The crowd chants 'kiss' over and over again, and you look at Ali, who chuckles at them goading you on. You grin at her, reading her eyes for hesitation.

You don't even find a single ounce.

"Alright then," you tease the crowd, "one last one for the road, I suppose."

The crowd goes nuts as you take your wife in your arms and dip her into a romantic kiss. You feel her smiling and grinning against your lips as you both lose yourself for a moment. After a few seconds lip-locked, you pull back and she takes the microphone from your hand, kissing your cheek tenderly as the crowd and your former team cheers.

The crowd quietens as she looks out into the stadium, radiant and strong and so beautiful.

"Ashlyn spoke for both us with our gratitude," she says as she looks out to the stadium. "I truly am grateful that I decided to make the move to Florida, to have played for such a great city, and to live with my amazing wife."

There's another series of cheers as Ali smiles at the crowd. "You know, this is something Ash and would always do. When were first started out as kids, she was the one following me, staying by my side and keeping me steady in life. When she left the Spirit and I stuck behind, I realized something that taught me something incredibly important."

Ali turns back to you, her eyes glittering in the mid-afternoon sun. "When you love someone like I love Ash, you don't just let it go. You don't give up. You don't just fight for that love, you nurture it and care for it. You cherish it."

Your eyes burn with happy tears as she reaches down and takes your hand gently. 

"Ashlyn and I have finally ended this chapter of our lives here," she says as she turns to face the crowd again, her eyes beaming with pride and happiness. "But one thing's for sure: the Orlando Pride hasn't seen the last of us."

You frown in confusion as she slides your hands over her stomach. This hadn't been part of your speech. You watch in shock as she turns to face you, a grin spreading over her lips as you make the connection at the same time as the crowd. Syd and Alex come forward from where they'd been standing at the bench with a baby-sized jersey.

You read the inscription on the back and gasp in awe. 

Krieger-Harris # 14.

The first number of her jersey and the last number of yours. It's fitting in all the right ways.

"And to my wife," she says, even over the roar of the crowd. "We can't wait to start this next chapter with you."

You can't help it, bad leg and all, as you sweep her up into your arms and kiss her senseless in front of the cheering crowd. Her feet lift from the ground as you sway from side to side, never once letting your lips separate. You're lost in your own joy, your private bubble. You hear her laughter in between kisses as you settle her back down on her feet. She takes the mic again, but instead of turning to the cheering, near-hysterical crowd, her eyes are only for you.

"You were right, baby, our love is one for the history books," she says above the roar of the crowd as she runs her thumb over the back of your hand. "I can't wait to experience each and every moment, to share it with our family."

She takes the mic again, her eyes locked on yours in a trance of love and passion.

"I love you, Ash," she says, tossing the mic aside and leaning up to kiss you. "Forever and a day."

Your eyes slide shut in unfettered joy as she kisses you with everything she has.

Yeah, you think as you lose yourself in her love, forever and a day sounds pretty amazing, too.

* * * 

Seven Months Later

Of all the times you'd imagined this moment, it doesn't compare to the real thing.

You lay in bed, exhausted from an eight hour labor (something Syd tells you that you should be grateful for, all things given) and grateful to be able to experience the glow. Beside you, the two most important people in your life are together. You watch as Ashlyn holds the tiny pink bundle of blankets up against her chest, tucking in the small beanie.

You can see the reverence in her eyes, the beautiful journey of how far she's managed to come. You don't want to disturb the moment as you watch Ashlyn cradle your newborn in her arms, her eyes drawn to the baby's tiny yawn.

"Aren't you a beauty?" You hear your wife whisper. "I'm gonna have to pull all the boys and girls off of you."

Your lips curl into a small smile as you watch her grin down at your daughter with a teary expression. You watch as she leans forward to carefully peck her beanie before pulling away to look down at her reverently, almost in disbelief.

"You're born into a special family, kiddo. You're so loved by all of us," Ashlyn whispers as she gently rocks your daughter. "Not a single day will go by when you aren't reminded of that. I promise that, my sweetheart. I love you."

All of the doubts you'd had two and a half years ago suddenly fade to back as you look at her. You were always scared for this moment, for how your life would change with a new person. You were never great with changes, always scared of the unknown. But right now, right here, with your wife and your newborn daughter, you fall in love with new change.

"And you, Mommy, should be resting," Ashlyn says as she turns to face you with a teasing look. "Don't be acting like you didn't tear up your vagina getting this sweet little bug out." You roll your eyes at her humor as she snuggles closer to you on the bed, never relinquishing her grip on your daughter. You look over at her and then at your baby girl.

"And is Mommy going to get a chance to hold her baby girl, or is Mama gonna hog you all to herself?"

Ashlyn scoffs in mock offense, pulling your daughter closer. You laugh and rest your head on her shoulder, content with letting your wife be completely and utterly wrapped around your daughter's finger. Literally, you realize, as you look down to see Ashlyn's palm spread on your daughter's chest, and one of those tiny hands wrapped around her index finger. You watch Ashlyn follow your gaze, and at her small gasp of awe, you realize she'd never noticed.

"Wow," Ashlyn whispers as she blinks back tears before looking at you. "Ali, she's so amazing. You're amazing."

"No you are," you say as you lean up to kiss her softly. "Thank you for giving me purpose. Without you, I don't think I'd be as happy and in love as I am now." You look back down to your daughter, and your heart bursts in love for her.

"I can't wait to watch her grow up," you hum as you reach over and adjust her beanie, earning an adorable little yawn. You try not to fall to pieces right there, but luckily you're holding it together than your emotional, vulnerable wife.

"I can," she says with an air of humor, "I want her to stay this little forever."

You smile, reaching down to place your hand atop hers on your daughter's chest. "Me, too."

The two of you rest for a few moments, content to take in the small noises your daughter makes, or to simply share kisses between particularly emotional moments. You can't take your eyes off the two of them, even if you're sleepy.

"You know," Ashlyn says after some time, "we still haven't decided on a name."

You look at your wife, the nerves building in your stomach as you swallow thickly. "Actually, I think I have."

Ashlyn waits as you kiss her forehead. "What about Michelle?"

Ashlyn's eyes water as she realizes what you want. You know she didn't want the child named after herself, but you know that there would be no better way to honor your wife, and your daughter, than to name her after your wife.

When she doesn't reply, your smile falls slightly. "If you don't want to, that's--"

Instead of letting you finish, Ashlyn takes you up in a passionate kiss. You almost forget about your child, who squeaks adorably and gurgles at the sudden jostling. Ashlyn pulls back with a blush and looks down at her softly.

"Aw, I'm sorry. Did Mommas startle you?" Ashlyn coos, and you feel your heart burst even further at the happiness exuding from her. You watch as Ashlyn nuzzles the baby's forehead. "I'm sorry, honey, my beautiful little Michelle."

Your daughter gurgles happily, nuzzling closer to Ashlyn's chest, and your wife positively beams.

You can't contain your smile as Ashlyn turns to you, grinning. "I think it's safe to say she likes it."

Ashlyn then turns back to your daughter and kisses the top of her forehead again.

"Welcome to the world, Michelle Alexandra Krieger-Harris," she whispers, and your heart bursts as you watch her look over at you knowingly. Michelle yawns again, and your heart melts as Ashlyn brings her over to rest between you both.

And as they both eventually doze, you still find yourself awake. You study ever feature of your wife and your daughter, memorizing all aspects of them. You treasure each little curve and dimple and scar, because it's proof they're here.

There is one thing life that you know for certain now:

You are one-hundred percent in love with your family.

Notes:

thanks for coming to my ted talk and i hope u enjoyed the ride