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The first time Jackie breaks up with Nat, Nat is scared shitless.
It happens in the middle of the locker room. Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, and the air still smells like sweat and a mix of perfume. Everyone else has already filtered out, loud chatter fading down the hall. Nat almost leaves with them. Shoulders slouched, headphones already half on until she realizes Jackie’s still inside.
She turns back.
Jackie’s sitting on the worn-out wooden bench in front of the lockers, elbows on her knees, head in her hands like something cracked open and is trying to hold itself together. The way she sits. Perfect posture sagged down, like her spine gave out sends a jolt through Nat’s chest.
The air shifts. The laugh still on Nat’s tongue from something Van said dies instantly. Her grip tightens on the strap of her backpack.
“Jack?” she says softly, stepping into uncharted territory like it might collapse under her feet. “Everything okay?”
Silence.
Not even a flinch. Just Jackie, still, like she doesn’t even register Nat’s voice. And that’s so unlike her that Nat’s pulse jumps in her throat. She starts cycling through every single thing she might’ve done wrong today. Did she forget something? Say something? Miss a look, Jackie was trying to give her?
She was sitting with Kevyn at lunch, sure. But Jackie had waved at her when she headed outside. And in warmups, she paired with Lottie, but only because Jackie had gone with Shauna, like she always does. That couldn't be it… right?
She opens her mouth again, about to apologize for something she hasn’t figured out yet, when Jackie finally lifts her head.
Her expression is unreadable. Lips pressed tight, eyes a little red-rimmed but dry.
“We’re done,” Jackie says, voice flat. Decisive.
Nat blinks, dumbfounded. “Done with what?”
Jackie looks at her like she can’t believe she’s asking. “ Us , Nat.”
It hits like a gut punch. Her body goes still, blood rushing in her ears. Us ? Done ? That can’t be right. Surely sitting outside with Kevyn instead of inside with Jackie wasn’t breakup material. Surely talking to Lottie during warmups couldn’t have—
Before she can get a word out, Jackie’s already standing up. She moves past Nat without brushing against her, not even a shoulder check, not even eye contact. The metal door creaks as it closes behind her, echoing louder than it should in the empty locker room.
It’s the creak that snaps Nat back into herself. Shit .
She bolts after her.
The hallway outside is dim and quiet. Jackie’s already a few yards away, walking fast. Shauna’s by her side now, like she always is, head tilted just close enough to make Nat feel like she missed something more important than just a breakup.
“Jackie—wait—” Nat calls.
Jackie doesn’t stop.
Shauna looks back first. Her eyes meet Nat’s for half a second. Then she shakes her head small, but definite. A warning. Or a boundary. Or a don’t make this worse than it already is.
That tiny motion guts Nat more than the breakup itself.
She stops walking. Hands clenched, heart pounding for something that’s already over.
It’s not anger she feels. It’s not even confusion.
It’s that cold, cornered feeling. Small and cornered like a stray dog that had been too loud, too messy, too much.
The two girls walk off. Jackie never looks back.
She doesn’t call.
And Nat’s just... there. Alone in the dim hallway
The next day, Nat is worse for wear.
Hair messier than normal. Her clothes look like they were pulled blindly from the floor. Headphones clamped over her ears like armor against the noise of the world.
She gets to school three periods in. Hands jammed deep into her jacket pockets, shoulders hunched. She stops at the edge of the school parking lot and just stares up at the building like it’s a threat. Like if she glares hard enough, it’ll back down.
Spoiler: it doesn’t.
She loses the staring match, lets out a low huff of breath, and turns away. There’s no version of today where she walks through the front doors and stand around like nothing’s wrong. No way she can sit through chemistry while Jackie and Shauna wander the halls like nothing happened, like she and Nat hadn’t been something. Like it didn’t even matter.
Jackie can go back to her perfect, well-lit side of the school hierarchy.
And Nat? Nat knows exactly where to go.
She cuts across the lot and starts toward the back of the school, the grass wet and squelching under her boots. A few extra tardies won’t matter. If anything, the teachers are more used to her not being there than bothering to call roll. She follows the path she’s taken a hundred times. The blacktop blending into scraggly lawn until she reaches the shadow of the only place that still feels like hers.
The bleachers.
Nat drops under them in her usual corner, far enough in that no one can see unless they’re really looking. She slumps down onto the dirt and dead grass, arms looped around her knees, the weight of everything sagging onto her shoulders.
She pulls out her old Zippo. The cheap silver’s scuffed to hell, and the hinge sticks, but the flame still comes up smooth. She flicks it open and closed with steady hands. One of the few things she can control.
She doesn’t know how long she’s down there, listening to the distant murmur of school life from the other side of the wall, letting the fire lick close to her fingers.
Then—footsteps.
At first, she doesn’t react. Probably Kevyn. Maybe a teacher finally coming to write her up. Whatever.
But when she sees the white Converse step into view, bright and too clean to be anywhere near the bleachers, her stomach drops.
She follows the shoes upward, up the tan legs, up the pleated skirt, and stops at the familiar face looking down at her.
Jackie.
Nat’s eyes go wide. She snaps the Zippo shut and straightens up like she’s been caught stealing something.
“Jackie?” she says, voice too quiet, too careful. “What are you doing out here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Jackie says like Nat’s asked the dumbest question in the world. Her arms are crossed, and she’s already stepping closer. “No one’s seen you all day.”
Nat skeptically watches her eyebrow slightly lifting, trying to say, Well… yeah? On its own.
Jackie rolls her eyes. Then, with the most casual, infuriating ease, Jackie closes the distance, tips up on her toes, and plants a soft kiss on Nat’s cheek.
Nat goes still. Frozen. What the hell is happening?
Jackie must see the look on Nat’s face because all she gives is a quick, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it.” As she wraps herself around Nat’s arm.
And Nat… doesn’t push. Doesn’t question.
Because she feels like she’s stepped into some alternate reality where things fix themselves if you just wait long enough.
She should ask. She should pull away and demand to know what that breakup was even for. She should insist on being treated like someone whose heart isn’t just a light switch.
But Jackie is warm, and close, and here.
So instead, Nat lets her wrap around her. She slides an arm around Jackie’s shoulders, pulling her in tighter. Her fingers tremble just a little.
She’ll take the win.
The second and third time it happens, Nat handles it the same way she did the first.
She clams up. Keeps her head down in the halls, avoids the team, and picks at her lunch without eating. She waits for Jackie to turn a corner, to reappear at her side like nothing ever happened. And eventually she does. Usually with a small smile or a breezy comment like "You're dramatic," as if Nat hadn’t spent the last 24 hours spiraling.
By the fourth time, Nat starts to clock the pattern.
The language is always the same: Jackie’s voice clipped, her arms crossed, her face shuttered as she mutters something like “I can’t do this anymore.” Nat still flinches when she hears it, but the sting fades faster now. The panic gets replaced with a quieter resignation.
She doesn’t let it show, though. Not in front of Jackie. Nat learned quickly that if she reacts too much, if she chases, if she pushes, it starts to feel real. And she’s not willing to risk that.
So she adapts.
Nat starts thinking of these moments not as endings, but... intermissions. Breaks in the script where Jackie goes quiet and Nat gives her space. No questions asked. No guilt-trips. Just time.
She fills the quiet the best way she knows how.
Spends afternoons thumbing through dusty vinyl sleeves in the back corner of the record shop, headphones on and volume way too loud, exactly the kind of noise Jackie claims gives her a headache. Sometimes she disappears behind the liquor store, chasing a quick burn down her throat, not because she needs to, but because she can without the guilt of someone watching too closely.
And still, Jackie always comes back.
She’ll show up behind Nat after practice, curl her fingers around Nat’s elbow and rest her head there like nothing ever happened. Or she’ll bump into her locker in the morning, dropping some dumb line about Nat’s messy hair or the scuff on her boots before leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Nat always lets her.
She matches Jackie’s smile. Let's herself be tugged back in. Places her calloused hand over Jackie’s smaller, softer one and pretends for a moment that it was never gone.
But even as she accepts it, even as she leans into Jackie’s returning warmth, Nat can’t shake the growing awareness of the gap that always opens between them. The silence they never talk about. The quiet part of Jackie that disappears for a day or two and leaves Nat alone in her own head.
And though she never says it out loud, part of her is starting to wonder if she’s supposed to be doing more than just waiting.
It doesn’t take long for Nat to realize that only Jackie is allowed to end their relationship.
Not that Nat wants to. Still, sometimes she feels the urge. That little flicker of defiance. The what-if. What would it feel like to flip the script? To toss that same emotional weight back and watch Jackie try to carry it?
It’s a weekend morning, if you can call the ungodly hour “morning.” The sun barely cracked. The inside of Nat’s trailer is still gray with sleep, everything quiet and cold. They’re tangled together in Nat’s too-small bed, bodies pressed close, warm beneath a shared blanket.
And then Jackie’s moving.
Nat tries to grab onto her to pull her back into bed, but all she gets is air. Nat groans and tries to roll away, face mashed into her pillow. “Why are you awake?”
And then the blanket is gone. The sudden rush of cold against her bare legs and oversized T-shirt has her jolting upright.
Jackie, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smirking. That infuriating, untouchable Jackie Taylor smile.
“Jesus Christ, ” she groans, shooting up to her elbows and glaring murderously. “What the hell?”
“Come on, you’re already up.”
“No, you woke me up,” Nat mutters, flopping back down and pulling a corner of the sheet over her stomach.
And then, under her breath, half-joking, half-resigned, she mumbles, “If we weren’t together, I wouldn’t even be up right now.”
Wrong thing to say.
Jackie’s victorious smile immediately falls, and something else washes over her.
“No,” she says, sharp and final.
Nat frowns, eyes still adjusting. “No, what ?”
“You don’t get to end this,” Jackie says, flat and fast.
Nat pushes herself upright again, blinking hard at her. “What?”
“You don’t get to be the one who ends it.” Jackie’s voice doesn’t rise, but the intensity is there. Tight, serious, almost off in a way that startles Nat more than if she’d just yelled.
Nat stares at her, totally thrown. “Jesus. Okay. I was joking, Jack.”
Jackie doesn't answer right away. Just holds Nat’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then her shoulders relaxed, like that somehow settled something.
“Good,” she says simply. Like that’s that.
Then she tosses a pair of athletic shorts at Nat’s head.
They hit her square in the face, falling into her lap like a confusing prize.
“What—what are we even doing?” Nat mutters, still half-asleep, half-wary. She pulls the shorts off her face and squints at Jackie, who's already halfway to the door.
“Morning run,” Jackie calls back like nothing weird just happened. “Five minutes.”
And then she’s gone.
Nat just sits there for a beat, staring down at the crumpled shorts in her lap.
She’s not sure what that was. Not really. Maybe Jackie’s just being Jackie. Dramatic, controlling, all preppy intensity and no explanation.
Still. Something about the way she said it— you don’t get to end this —lingers.
Nat shrugs it off.
Sometimes, the rhythm of their so-called “breaks” goes off-script.
Like Friday, Jackie stalks off after a clipped exchange outside the gym, and by the end of the day, she hasn’t circled back like she usually does. No waiting by Nat’s locker. No brush of fingertips in the hallway. Just radio silence.
By nightfall, Nat finds herself at a house party she barely remembers agreeing to. It’s loud and packed, but she sticks close to Van and Tai like a lifeline, even as their laughter starts to fade into background noise. She nurses a red solo cup like it’s water, staring blankly across the room while bodies move around her like static.
She feels Jackie before she sees her.
Eyes flick over the crowd, zeroing in on Nat. That familiar weight of being watched. Not in a bad way, but intense, like Jackie’s trying to take her apart and piece her back together from across the room. Nat’s breath stutters a little. She remembers this feeling. It’s what it was like before, back when they hadn’t gotten together yet and Nat was too afraid to ask for more.
She doesn’t know whether to approach. Whether she’s allowed to. Whether this is still the kind of break Jackie will come back from.
So she drinks instead.
Whatever’s handed to her, she downs it like it might carry an answer. A solution. A switch to flip them back to normal.
When the dizzy heat behind her eyes becomes too much, she slips away to the kitchen. It’s quieter there. Mostly empty. She finds an unmarked bottle of something sharp and pours it heavy into her old cup. The whiskey hits the back of her throat like punishment.
She leans forward, palms braced on the sticky counter, staring down like it’ll steady her.
“Nat?”
Her head jerks up, heart catching before she even places the voice.
Jackie.
She’s standing in the doorway, brows pulled together, concern written all over her face. The dim kitchen light softens her, makes her look younger, almost fragile.
“Are you okay?” Jackie asks, stepping closer like she already knows the answer.
Nat nods, just once. Her eyes are glassy, but locked on Jackie like she’s afraid she’ll vanish if she blinks. She doesn’t trust her voice to speak. Jackie doesn’t push. Just opens her arms in a quiet offer.
And Nat goes. Stumbles forward and folds into her like muscle memory.
Jackie’s arms come around her without hesitation, firm and steady, like a promise she doesn’t know how to say out loud. Nat doesn’t resist. She lets her body sink into Jackie’s, lets herself be gathered like something fragile, like something worth holding onto. Jackie’s chin comes to rest lightly on her shoulder, and Nat closes her eyes. The noise of the party fades. The ache in her chest quiets. There’s no performance here, no walls, no need to pretend she’s fine. Just the solid warmth of someone who always comes back. Who wraps her up like she’s something to protect, not fix. And for the first time all night, Nat stops trying to hold herself together and just lets herself be wanted.
Nat huffs out a breath as she throws herself onto the cafeteria bench.
"You single again?" Van asked, not even looking up from the notebook they were doodling in.
"I think so?" Nat mutters, still glancing in the direction Jackie stalked off to. "She’ll decide tomorrow."
Van just nods, calm as ever, and spins their notebook around. With a flick of their wrist, they flip to a page near the back, the sound of paper rustling pulling Nat’s attention.
She leans in, eyes catching the top of the page: Nat looked at another girl for too long (36 hrs)
“What? What is this?” Nat asks, slapping a hand down on the notebook before Van can pull it away.
Van makes a grab for it, but Nat’s faster. The two start half-wrestling over it right there in the middle of the lunchroom, trays clattering around them as a few other students glance over. Nat thanks whatever gods exist that Jackie already “broke up” with her today, because if she hadn’t yet, this would’ve done it.
Eventually, Van gives up with a huff and leans back in their seat, letting Nat cling to her prize like a dog with a bone.
Nat flips the notebook right-side-up. At the top of the page, written in Van’s all-caps block messy handwriting: NAT AND JACKIE’S BREAKUPS
It has every detail Van normally gets from Nat about these ordeals. Dates, reasons, and durations that are estimated.
- Nat late for practice (3hrs, 25 mins)
- Nat skips homeroom (2hr, 5min ?)
- Nat gets too drunk at Matthenson’s party (54 hrs)
- Nat rides with Lottie to away game (5 hrs, 45 mins.)
Nat skims through it, first with disbelief, then amusement, then something softer. The list is ridiculous, petty, detailed, and kind of impressive. Anyone else would be calling them insane. But the patterns start to show. She starts keeping mental tabs.
Punctuality. (Which she swears isn’t about Jackie because whenever Jackie really needs her, she’s already there.)
Stubbornness.
Unawareness.
All the usual suspects.
But the stupid reasons start to make sense. Nat sees it now the moments where Jackie needed reassurance and didn’t get it. Where she felt dismissed. Invisible. The spots where Nat could’ve stepped up if she’d been thinking more with her heart and less with her usual I-don’t-give-a-shit armor.
She’s also not stupid. She knows why Van’s got this list shoved in the back of a beat-up notebook. She’s seen the dramatic head tosses Mari does when Jackie and Nat rolled up together for a road game, or the way even Misty tries to discreetly hand money over to Lottie.
And honestly? Nat can’t even be mad. If it wasn’t her own relationship, she’d be in on the betting pool, too.
But it’s not just her relationship. It’s Jackie’s. Jackie, who still runs this team like she was born to do it. Jackie, who can bench half the squad with a word if she wants to. Jackie, who, when she’s not slamming metaphorical doors in Nat’s face, is everything Nat wishes she could deserve.
The reminder lights her up differently. Knowing she isn't alone in this how she has someone else to look out for. It’s strategy now.
They want to play games? Fine. She’ll play back. She’ll throw the team off the scent and make sure Jackie never finds out. If they’re going to gamble on her love life, they’re gonna start losing money.
Nat exhales slowly and flips the notebook shut with a smack, sliding it back to Van without looking at them. Nat looks down at them one more time before she gets up, hands covering her face as they sink more into the table.
That should be fine for now. Van was never going to be one of the main issues in this situation. And with that, Nat marches off to find her not-quite-ex-girlfriend.
When Nat finds her, she’s in the library. Somewhere, Nat has never willingly gone, but her eyes find her immediately.
The second she steps inside, her eyes find her—Jackie. Sitting at a table with Shauna, slouched over in a way that reads bored out of her mind, while Shauna is actually, like, reading. Or studying. Whatever.
Nat doesn’t bother approaching slowly. She marches straight over, boots thudding against the tile like she owns the place, and grabs Jackie’s bag off the table with a loud fwump. A few heads turn instantly, glaring from over books and monitors, and even Shauna looks up in stunned silence.
Jackie’s jaw drops, halfway through mouthing something like What the hell when Nat cuts her off.
“I need to talk to you,” Nat says, eyes flicking toward Shauna and adding, “Alone.”
She doesn’t wait for Jackie to respond. Just turns and walks out with her stuff, and Jackie follows, silently, caught between confusion and reluctant curiosity.
They reach an abandoned hallway that Nat deems acceptable. Nat drops Jackie’s bag to the floor with a soft thud and finally turns around.
She’s met with a face of confusion and slight irritation, and before Jackie can say anything,g Nat takes a breath, the kind you take when you’re trying to be the bigger person even though you don’t fully understand why you're the one who has to.
But instead, she just says, quietly and flat: “I’m sorry.”
Jackie tilts her head. Not impressed. Not moved.
Fair.
Nat shifts on her feet. Feels the words pile up behind her teeth and forces only a few of them out. “I’ll do better.”
It’s not a big speech. It’s not some grand gesture. But it’s real.
And she means it. Not just to end the silence. Not just to make this easier.
Because she wants to do better. Wants to be better. For her.
Jackie doesn’t move. But something in her shoulders softens.
“You’ll come to practice early to help me set up?”
Nat swallows the sigh that rises in her throat. She could list a dozen places she’d rather be than under Coach Martinez’s watchful eye, or within arm’s reach of Misty Quigley at all. But she promised herself and now to Jackie that she would try harder.
“Yeah, I’ll come.”
“And stay after?” Jackie takes one step closer, eyes still locked on Nat’,s watching for her to misstep.
Nat keeps her expression neutral, even as the sarcasm claws at her tongue. Instead, she nods, even tacking on a wry little smile. “Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”
That earns a small huff from Jackie. Her shoulders drop a little more.
Nat doesn’t move, just lets her stay close, lets the silence stretch.
Jackie doesn’t say we’re back together. She never has to.
But when she brushes her hand against Nat’s wrist before picking up her bag, Nat knows they’re okay again.
And it works.
It actually works.
Nat starts showing up early. Not obnoxiously early, not Misty-early, but enough to already be stretching by the time Jackie arrives. Jackie tries to play it off at first, just raises her brows like Oh, you’re here, but Nat can see the twitch of her mouth, the corners barely held back from smiling.
She stays late too. Not because Jackie asks, but because it’s easier now. The cool-down laps. The quiet conversations while lacing up cleats. The warm weight of Jackie’s hand in hers when they walk out to the parking lot together. Nat never knew she’d crave a routine like this,s something steady, something real. But she does. And Jackie’s at the center of it.
She watches her more now, too.
Not in the way she used to, half-glances from across the field, curious, distracted. No. Now it’s different. Now she watches the way Jackie folds in on herself when Coach shifts focus. The way her voice fades when she’s not being heard. And Nat catches it, every time. Offers a smile. A shoulder bump. A quick, grounding “You good?” under her breath.
She’s the first one across the field when someone cleats Jackie mid-play. Doesn’t even think about it. Jackie’s still half on the ground, cursing under her breath, and Nat’s already crouched next to her like she’s ready to take someone’s head off. Jackie looks up, startled, and then reassured.
Even Shauna gets treated with... not kindness, exactly. But something approaching it. Nat nods at her in the hallway now. Doesn't spit out passive digs. It’s not much—but it’s a hell of a leap, and everyone notices.
All of it builds something in Nat’s chest. Something real and aching and warm. Something that lives right behind her ribs, curled up with Jackie’s name carved into it.
And the rest of the team?
They’re spiraling.
The bets are collapsing like wet cardboard.
She hears them when Jackie’s off, talking to Coach Scott. Mari muttering under her breath, Tai kicking at Van with a whispered “You said two weeks, max.” Money exchanges hands during stretches. Discreet nods. Glaring losses.
The best part is that they think Nat doesn’t notice.
But she does.
Every time she sees one of them groans as she and Jackie leave together. Nat’s hand laced casually into the belt loop of Jackie’s jeans, and she feels something satisfied bloom inside her.
The bus rides are even better.
They sit together now. Always. Jackie curled up with her head against the window, legs tangled with Nat’s under the seat. Every so often, Nat feels Jackie’s hand graze her fingers, seeking fingers like it’s instinct. And behind them, there’s always someone losing five bucks to someone else.
At parties, the shift is even clearer.
Once, some guy tried to flirt with Nat, lingered too long, leaned a little too close. But Nat barely looked at him. Her eyes were already on Jackie, standing by the kitchen, arms crossed, trying not to watch. And when Nat slid her arm around Jackie’s waist like it belonged there because it did. Jackie didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Just leaned back into her.
Tai blinked like she couldn’t believe it.
Van lost a ten right there.
Nat didn’t care. She wasn’t doing it for them.
She was doing it for Jackie.
And for once for once it felt like that might actually be enough.
That’s why it hurts all the more when Jackie closes in on herself again. Arms folding tight across her chest, shoulders caving like she’s trying to disappear right behind the gas station after school.
It happens fast.
One moment, they’re loitering like usual, lingering in that post-practice haze, sun lowering, asphalt still warm beneath their shoes. Jackie’s rambling about something, grades, Shauna, maybe her mom, and Nat lights a cigarette, distracted, nodding along but not really catching the thread. When she mumbles a dismissive, “Yeah, okay,” Jackie falls silent mid-sentence.
The shift is so subtle that Nat almost misses it.
Almost.
But then she sees Jackie’s mouth flatten. The way her jaw tightens just slightly. Her arms wrap around her middle like they’re holding something in, and Nat knows that look.
Knows it too well.
“Shit, Jack. I’m sorry,” she says, fumbling the words around the cigarette still dangling between her lips.
Jackie doesn’t look at her. Just shakes her head like she’s already somewhere else.
“Don’t. It’s whatever,” she says, voice light but cold. Then straighter, stiffer: “I gotta get home.”
She turns on her heel and walks away before Nat can blink.
Nat’s hand twitches, half-lifting like she might reach out might grab her jacket sleeve, her wrist, anything.
But she’s already gone.
And maybe Jackie didn’t say the words this time. Didn’t officially call it. But Nat knows a breakup when she sees one. Knows the difference between a spat and a leaving.
This is a leaving.
She slumps back against the brick wall, cigarette shaking slightly between her fingers. The sharp edge of the building digs into the back of her skull as she hits it gently once, twice. Smoke curls up into the quiet like a sigh.
She was trying. She was really trying this time.
The next morning reminds Nat a little too much of the day after their first breakup.
She’d spent the night tossing in bed, rolling over again and again, replaying the moment Jackie walked away behind the gas station. Wondering how to bounce back this time. If she even could.
This was the longest they’d stayed on solid ground. No petty fights. No performative silences. Just... good days. And she knows Jackie knows that, too.
So she tells herself she just has to wait it out again. Wait for Jackie to reattach herself like always. Pretend it’s normal. Pretend she didn’t feel something crack wide open last night.
However, when she enters the halls of school with her headphones blaring over her ears, she feels a little awkward. She’s missing something. Someone. A small blonde who normally moves through these halls like she owns them, the kind of quiet authority that doesn’t need to shout to be obeyed. And Nat knows everyone else sees it too.
She presses her headphones tightly to her ears, trying to drown the silence with Courtney Love, but it doesn’t help.
And then, just to twist the knife, she sees it.
At the end of the hallway, Mari pumps a fist in the air, victorious, and Lottie hands over a crumpled bill with a wince.
It’s not subtle.
It’s never subtle.
Everyone sees it. Everyone knows.
The bets are back on.
And just like that, Nat’s done pretending.
Her resolve splinters. The whole I’m fine act disintegrates.
She turns around and walks straight back out the doors. Head down. Hands in her jacket. The concrete hot under her boots even in the morning air.
She doesn’t stop until she’s under the bleachers. Until the sounds of school fade behind her. Until it’s just the pounding of her heart and the static of her music.
And that’s when she sees her.
Jackie is already there.
Waiting.
Arms folded behind her back, shifting her weight from foot to foot like she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
Nat’s first instinct is to brace for it. The final blow. The real end.
But Jackie speaks first.
“I’m sorry.”
The words come out in a rush, like she’s been holding her breath since yesterday.
Nat frowns, thrown. That’s... usually her line.
Jackie keeps going, voice quiet but urgent. “I don’t mean to do it, you know? The way I pull away. It’s not on purpose.”
Nat shifts her weight, unsure. “Then why do you?”
Jackie looks up, like the question startled her. “I don’t know. It’s like I... I get scared, and I just push you away before you can do it first.”
There’s a pause.
Nat swallows, staring at the ground before answering.
“You never tell me why,” she says, her voice small. “I figured it just didn’t matter to you.”
Jackie blinks, clearly stunned. “What? Nat—of course it matters.”
“I don’t know that,” Nat says, shrugging helplessly. “You go cold, and I’m just... left guessing. And I don’t ask because I figure if I push, you’ll really walk.”
“I guess I thought... you’d stop me,” Jackie admits, barely audible. “Or that you wouldn’t come back. That if you ended it, it’d be for good.”
Nat lets out a bitter little laugh. “Jack, I was scared shitless that first time. I thought I’d actually screwed everything up.”
Jackie doesn’t respond right away. Just watches her, breathing heavily.
“Look. I know you get overwhelmed, and you shut down. I do the same. But maybe... maybe we’d be better off not doing that alone. Maybe we’re good for each other in the middle of all the mess.”
The two of them stand there in silence, letting the gravity of the words linger around them. This new page they’re on at the same time, and together with. Jackie exhales slowly, like something in her chest is finally letting go.
“I didn’t know how to say it,” Jackie said quietly. “You... scare me sometimes.”
Nat flinched. “Because I’m a screw-up?”
“No,” Jackie said, stepping closer. “Because I feel things with you I can’t control. You’re messy. And honest. And... good to me. Even when I’m not.”
Nat lifts a shoulder. “I get that. You scare me, too, you know.”
Jackie looks up at her, surprised.
“You matter to me,” Nat continues, softer now. “More than I know what to do with. And I’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t mean anything when it’s the only thing that actually does.”
Jackie’s eyes glisten. “I want to be with you.”
“Really be with me?” Nat asks, just to be sure.
Jackie nods. “Yeah. All the way. No more tests.”
“Then yeah,” she says. “Let’s actually do this. For real.”
Jackie crashes into her like she’s been holding her breath for weeks.
Nat catches her easily, hands finding her waist like muscle memory, grounding her. For a second, they just stay there pressed together, breathing in sync, hearts racing in the small, quiet space under the bleachers. Jackie tilts her chin up, her eyes searching Nat’s, and Nat doesn’t wait.
She kisses her softly at first, carefully. Like she’s afraid to push too hard and wake up from it. But Jackie kisses her back without hesitation, fingers curling into the fabric of Nat’s jacket, pulling her closer like it’s instinct. The world fades out. It’s just the two of them, finally choosing the same thing at the same time. And when they pull back, their foreheads rest against each other, grinning, a little breathless like they both know this time, they mean it.
The bets didn’t end with a bang or a dramatic showdown. They just… faded. Everyone is coming to their own individual conclusions about how strong their relationship was. Tai’s was when Nat ran into practice ten minutes late and Jackie gave her nothing more than a look. Lottie’s was when Jackie started joining her and Nat at parties for smoke breaks, and how she always lit up at the idea of lighting one of Nat’s cigarettes. Even Misty had her moment of clarity when Nat was with Jackie before an away game early one morning, helping load equipment into the bus without a word.
No one talked about the odds anymore, no more counting down how long their next “breakup” might last. The unspoken truce settled in, and with it, a sense of peace that Nat hadn’t dared hope for.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low and the team gathered on the field for warm-ups, Van fell into step beside Nat, her breath visible in the cool air. Nat had just grabbed Van’s floppy notebook and ripped out the breakup log, a quiet gesture to seal the end of all that.
“So,” Van said with a sly grin, nodding toward Jackie, who was stretching near the fence with Shauna, “how’d you actually pull it off?”
Nat glanced up, catching Jackie’s eyes from across the field. They held each other’s gaze steady and familiar.
Rolling her eyes, Nat smiled with a quiet pride. “What do you always say about Tai?” she teased, voice light. “‘Happy wife, happy life’ or something like that.”
Van laughed, the sound bright and easy. Nat turned back to the field, Jackie’s smile faint but unmistakable, warming her from the inside out.