Page 34 of Backhanded Compliments

Juliette rolls to her side, cradling her arm to her chest. Pressure points of pain on her back and hip make her curse a litany offuck.

“I’m so sorry, Juliette. What’s wrong?” Kacic asks frantically, pale-faced and stricken.

Juliette rolls onto her back and gasps as the pain sparks up her spine. “Ah.”

Warmth engulfs her knee, and she feels Kacic drawing little circles with her thumb against her skin.

The moment stretches out, lingers, as Kacic stares down at her. Then the world snaps back to full speed, and suddenly Karoline is crouching next to her, touching her shoulder.

“Is it your wrist?” Karoline asks, her voice low and calm. She rubs Juliette’s shoulder.

Juliette nods. “Yeah. And my back.” Lying on it makes it pulsate with the beat of her heart, but she can’t move anymore.

She pants as the pain in her wrist starts to dissipate. She looks down at her palm and the flecks of blood from tiny cuts on her skin.

“I’m sorry.” Kacic’s voice is low and laden with guilt.

Payton is at Kacic’s shoulder, gently tugging her up and away. A trainer swarms where Kacic has left, and Juliette’s knee feels cold without her touch. A camera looms closer, focusing on her misery.

“Jules!” Claudia’s face blocks the camera’s eye, and Juliette sighs in relief.

“It’ll be okay, Jules,” Octavia says, her voice near the side of her head.

It takes every bit of Juliette’s self-control not to burst into tears, but her eyes prickle with heat. She becomes hyperaware of the crowd’s concerned murmurs, with a few people yelling encouragement in Italian. The lights high above are so bright, and when she looks away, her vision swims and black spots bloom.

Her fingertips find the scar on her wrist, lacing up the edge of her pinky. With help from the trainer and Karoline, she sits up, but her back spasms and pain ricochets up her spine. She can barely stand without shuddering.

“Kacic?” she asks once they get into the locker room.

“She only scraped her hands,” Payton says as the trainer prods at her aching back. The pain has started to dissipate, but with each jab it ripples outward.

“We should get scans to make sure nothing is damaged.”

Juliette flinches.Damaged.The word cuts into her, sharp panic winding around her ribs. “The match,” Juliette gasps out between clenched teeth.

“Don’t worry about it,” Karoline says. “It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes are warm and crinkled with concern. “Your health is more important.”

“We were playing well,” Juliette laments, shaking her head.

Karoline chuckles. “Maybe you two aren’t so bad together after all.”

Juliette’s stomach jolts and the phantom feeling of Kacic’s hand on her knee, shoulder, palm tingles on her skin.

Maybe they aren’t so bad together.

SIXTEENLUCA

Luca digs her knuckles into her sternum, wishing she could release the anxious pressure building in her chest as she stands in front of Juliette’s door. She wants to turn tail and run.

Karoline had told them that Juliette’s scans came back negative for any injury, but she was put on bedrest. Still, she knows if she avoids Juliette and the role she played in her fall, the guilt will consume her. It already eats at her stomach, an acidic inferno that makes her palms slick with sweat. So after dinner, her guilt drives her upstairs, followed by the wolf whistles and cheers of the other women. It’s unfortunate that their tenuous relationship has been on display for months. It’s like a soap opera, and Luca wants to turn the channel.

With a final deep breath, Luca gathers her courage and knocks.

For a moment, there’s only silence. She wonders if Juliette is sleeping or if she’s purposefully ignoring visitors. She leans closer, trying to listen for snoring or soft sounds of life beyond the door.

It opens, and Luca nearly tumbles into Juliette. Again.

They’re close, too close, her head curved down slightly and Juliette leaning against the doorframe. For a hesitant beat, they stare at each other. Juliette’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed, such a deep brown that Luca is reminded of the espresso Juliette loves to drink.

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