Flashbulbs from the reporters’ cameras still exploded behind Ginny’s eyes, even long after she walked out of the press box and toward the locker rooms. The loss had been so close and the season had been so triumphal; those ten points felt like a personal affront. In front of the cameras (and for the team), she had meant to be as sportsperson-like as possible. She wanted it to be known that the Harpies could win well and lose well.
But when she finally made it to the locker room, she pulled her jersey off and threw it hard against her locker.
“Damn it!”
The sound of the door to the locker room opening up had startled Greer, but she hadn’t bothered to look up. It could be nearly anyone associated with the team; she had nothing to say to most of them, so she didn’t move from her bench. She didn’t even look up until she heard Ginny’s voice, and all of the anger, frustration and disappointment in it.
Greer knew how that felt. It was worse hearing one of her Chasers express her frustration, though, and Greer knew she only had herself to blame at the end of the day. The team won and lost with her guidance or lack thereof.
“Sorry, Gin,” she finally mumbled after a moment, still leaning forward and resting her forearms against her knees. “I know how much you wanted this.”
Greer’s voice shook Ginny out of her emotional response; she turned, her face pale and voice quiet as she reached out for her. “I know how much you wanted this,” she said. “You played your heart out. We all did.”
A pause. “I spoke to the press and told them as much.”
When Greer opened her mouth to respond, she found her voice had dried up and caught in her throat. She’d played her heart out — and for what? To lose, when there was a team out there that didn’t even deserve to be there at all? Her girls had given their all; to say the loss was devastating would be an understatement.
This one hurt more than any others.
Slowly, Greer nodded. “I need to go out there, I just … didn’t know what to say.”
“They’ll wait.” Ginny took Greer by the hand and led her over to a bench. She sat down, leaning on her hip toward Greer. “Take a second. Maybe … first.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “First, take a deep breath. Tell me what you want to say that has no filter.”
What did she want to say? Greer frowned. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair. That she’d fought so hard for so long and that sometimes it felt as though she had nothing to show for it. After a minute, she shook her head, resigned. “I want to say that it’s bullshit, but --” But maybe it wasn’t. They lost for a reason. She always lost for a reason. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wasn’t as worthy as she thought she was. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. It happened. Nothing I’m gonna say is going to change that.”
She took Greer’s hands and held them tightly. “Nothing we say will change the outcome of the game, but what we say will show them that we know how to win and lose. We were worth a win, love. And we came damn close.”
“Yes, you girls are worth a win,” Greer echoed, leaving herself out on purpose. She didn’t usually feel unworthy herself, but —
As far as she was concerned, as Captain, the team’s success or failure was on her shoulders.
She gave Ginny’s hands a squeeze. “Makes me wonder if it’s ever going to happen for me, to be honest.”
Ginny leaned forward and rested her (albeit sweaty) forehead against Greer’s, as if she could will confidence into her captain and girlfriend. She heard the specificity in her pronouns. And she disagreed with it vehemently. “We’re all worthy of the win. It will come. If not now, then the World Cup. If not the Cup, then next year … we keep chasing glory.”
The smile on Greer’s face was faint, but it was there. We keep chasing glory. That was what they would do, in the face of a loss that ripped Greer’s dream out of her hands again. That was what she’d continue to do until she couldn’t anymore. And if she never earned it, at least no one would be able to say she didn’t play honourably. Her integrity was worth more than that.
She pulled away just enough so she could press a kiss to Ginny’s forehead. “I’m still mad as fuckin’ hell,” she said, though she doubted Ginny needed a reminder, “but thank you.”
“I don’t expect anything less than pissed the fuck off,” she said, running her fingertips along Greer’s cheek. “But over everything, I believe in us. You go out and tell them about how we win and how we lose.”
Once again, Greer was struck by a thought: “You’re going to make a better Captain than I am one day.” She sat back more and nodded, inhaling deeply to center herself. “Okay, let’s get this over and done with. Sooner I answer their questions about how come we failed again, the sooner I can get the fuck out of here.”
“ … and we dig into the pie, the wine, and the snacks at home? Yes? Yes.” Ginny let her grin go crooked and she scooted back on the bench and leaned back to give Greer room. “No matter the score, we came out of this year with growth. That is a win to me. You are a win to me. Kick their arses.”
Greer was halfway to standing when she heard what Ginny had said -- you are a win to me -- and she smiled broadly, unable to resist one slow, lingering kiss. “I’ll try to make it quick. I’d rather be home with you than out there talking to them any day.”
As Greer pulled away, Ginny’s fingertips lingered over her jawline. She was proud of them. Even in their loss. She was proud of their tenancy. She attempted to imbue a little bit of that tenacity into that smile for Greer.
“Get back and we’ll go home, open scotch, and put on the fuzzy socks.”
“I like the sound of that,” Greer answered, leaning her face into the touch just slightly. “And then we’ll concentrate on the World Cup.” When she stepped back, there was a sly grin on Greer’s face again. “Not sure what I’d do without you. You know that, yeah?”
Ginny folded her legs in front of her and leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. Her brows arched and she could not help but laugh.