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Chapter 7 - Chapter Seven - Grief On The Pitch

The late-afternoon sun cast a golden haze over the St Phillips soccer field, bathing the grass in warm light that shimmered like glass. The air was thick with the mingled scent of cut grass, sweat, and sun-warmed turf. Cleats thudded against the earth, the sound of rubber meeting soil and shouted encouragement echoing across the field.

Aura's ponytail clung damp to the back of her neck as she moved in sync with Leah, exchanging short, sharp passes. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this: the ache in her legs, the sting in her lungs, the rhythm of bodies in motion. It wasn't just soccer. It was a tether to something that felt familiar, something before.

"Keep it moving!" Coach hollered from the sidelines. "Eyes up, Baldwin!"

Aura locked in, sent a clean pass across the field, and turned to sprint. She wasn't back to her full strength, not yet, but it felt good—almost like herself again. Almost.

"Nice one!" Leah laughed between breaths, jogging up beside her with that easy smile she always wore. "You're not rusty at all!"

"Liar." Aura said with a breathless grin.

A sudden sharp whistle broke through the rhythm.

"Sophie!" Coach called out. "Your grandma's here—dentist appointment! Grab your stuff."

Sophie groaned dramatically. "Great timing.." she muttered as she slowed her pace and started jogging toward the bleachers. 

"Don't have too much fun without me guys."

"We won't!" Leah called after her. "Unless Aura scores, then we'll party."

Aura laughed quietly, watching as Sophie peeled off her practice jersey and grabbed her backpack. On instinct, Aura's gaze followed her across the field.

A black car idled just beyond the fence. From it stepped a woman—mid-sixties maybe—with kind eyes and a soft smile. Her gray hair was twisted into a loose bun, and she wore a lemon-yellow cardigan despite the heat. The moment Sophie reached her, the woman opened her arms without hesitation, and Sophie all but leapt into them.

They hugged—like really hugged—with full-bodied warmth, laughter, and the kind of easy affection that wasn't for show. Sophie's voice rose in excitement, animated, and her grandmother just stood there, nodding, listening like every word was sacred.

Aura froze.

A sharp ache bloomed behind her ribs.

She looked away too quickly, pretending to adjust her shin guards. Her fingers trembled slightly.

"Hey." Leah's voice cut through gently. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry.." Aura murmured. "Just—cramp. I'm fine."

Leah didn't push it. Just passed her the ball again and jogged a few feet away, giving her space like always.

But Aura's mind stayed behind the fence, still watching Sophie. Watching the way that woman had looked at her—like she was her whole world. Like she belonged in her arms.

Aura couldn't even picture that.

Cece had never hugged her like that. Never made her feel safe or chosen or soft. Her grandmother had been all edges and silence. Especially to her. A room that grew colder when you entered. A woman whose love came with conditions Aura was not even close to meet.

And now she was gone.

Aura wasn't sure what she was mourning more—the loss of her grandmother, or the loss of what could have been. She had spent years holding onto some desperate, impossible hope that one day she might soften. That one day she might call Aura "sweetheart." or slip a proud arm around her shoulder after a game, or even just see her without judgement.

But none of that had ever come.

Soon after, the locker room was half-lit, the motion sensors slow to recognise Aura's still form as she sat hunched over on the bench, her elbows on her knees, head bowed, fingers absently twisting the ends of her shoelaces. 

The cool air prickled along her damp skin, clinging to the sweat she hadn't bothered to wipe off. Her jersey stuck to her spine, her ponytail was loosening, but she didn't move. She just... sat in silence.

The distant sound of a closing gate echoed from the field. Everyone had gone. The other girls had laughed and drifted out in noisy groups, full of post-practice energy and weekend plans. Aura hadn't joined them. She didn't have it in her.

The locker room door creaked open.

Soft, measured steps followed and Aura didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She knew the rhythm of Leah's walk better than her own heartbeat these days.

"Aura?" Leah's voice came low, quiet, with a hesitance that didn't match her usual confidence.

Aura gave a small smile and a tired exhale, not quite a sigh. 

"I'm okay. I'm coming now."

The lie hung in the air between them like a fog that neither wanted to admit was there.

Leah didn't answer right away. Aura heard the shuffle of her cleats against the tile, the squeak of rubber soles as she approached. Then the soft thunk of a gym bag being dropped nearby.

"I don't believe that." Leah said, gently but firmly.

Aura turned her head. Leah was sitting down now, across from her on the other bench, her hands resting loosely on her knees, posture casual—but her eyes, always expressive, were serious. She studied Aura, not in a pushy way, but in that Leah way—like she was trying to see under the surface, past the walls Aura didn't even know she'd built.

There was a pause.

Aura let the silence fill the space before she finally spoke.

"I just miss my grandmother."

Leah blinked, then tilted her head. "You do?"

A faint smile twitched on Aura's lips. "Yeah. Shocking, right?"

Leah's brows knitted. "A little."

"She wasn't nice.." Aura said, her voice distant. "Not to me. Not to any of us, really. But today... After I saw Sophie's grandma pick her up. She hugged her like she was her whole world."

Leah nodded slowly.

"And I just—" Aura paused, forcing the words through her throat, "—I think I wanted that. I still want that."

Leah's expression softened. She leaned forward, forearms resting on her thighs, giving Aura her full attention.

Aura continued, her voice wobbling only slightly. "I think I miss the version of her I made up in my head. The sweet grandma who made cookies and smelled like mints and lavender. Who came to my soccer games and sent me stupid birthday cards with glitter that got stuck under my nails."

Her laugh was hollow.

"She was never that." she said. "But I wanted her to be. So badly."

Leah reached out, resting her hand over Aura's in a gentle, grounding touch. Her skin was warm. The contact sent a quiet flutter through Aura's chest—delicate but undeniable.

"You're allowed to grieve that.." Leah said softly. "The relationship you wished you had. That's a real kind of loss."

Aura looked at her. Leah's face was open, earnest. Kind.

"Thanks." Aura murmured, her voice tight.

They didn't move. Leah didn't let go. And Aura didn't want her to.

She looked down at their hands, then quickly back up at Leah's face. She had the sudden urge to say something—anything—but her thoughts were a tangle.

Instead, she said, "You're always really good at knowing what to say."

Leah gave a half-smile, eyes dropping briefly to their joined hands. "Only with you, I think."

Aura's breath caught.

She wanted to ask what that even meant. She almost did. But the words curled in her throat and died there. Her pulse was loud in her ears.

There was something there. A question unasked. A space between them that neither reached across—but both felt.

Eventually, Leah stood up, breaking the moment but not the tension. She hesitated as she hoisted her bag back over onto her shoulder.

"I meant it, Aura." she said. "If you ever want to talk. About your grandma. Or... you know, anything. I'm here."

Aura nodded, a bit too fast. "Okay. Yeah.."

And then Leah left, the door swinging slowly closed behind her. 

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Aura sat there for a long time, staring at her hand where Leah had touched her. The warmth lingered. So did the confusion. So did the ache.

She wasn't sure what she was mourning more now—the grandmother she never even had, or the maybe that had just walked out of the locker room.

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