Lottie's goal triggered the crowd at the bleachers to erupt into a wildfire of cheers. Whistles were blown, applauses had overlapped, and standing ovations from proud parents perked into attention against seated bystanders.

Blowing a kiss was enough to send both the girls and boys squealing like a microphone going haywire. But it was meant for one stoically unimpressed face in the crowd—her girlfriend of one tumultuous year.

From that alone, she hoped to charm that frown upside down and sprinkle magic dust to erase the ominous We need to talk message you sent her this morning.

That text was a death sentence for your relationship, a fact she had gleaned from the late-night gossip sessions with her friends.

Lottie's past gift-giving track record didn't help her case.

For birthdays, Lottie brought her sweaty jersey home instead of a thoughtful present. On Valentine's Day, it was a half-eaten chocolate box her teammates previously feasted on, generously labeled as "I saved the best for you!" to compensate for her lack of planning.

And now, for your anniversary, it was watching sweaty athletes kick balls instead of a romantic dinner.

Her lame efforts were never met with an expression brimming with a "Wow, my girlfriend is amazing!" Quite the opposite, really.

She couldn't blame you, and certainly couldn't use soccer season as an excuse when it was all that her mouth rambled about anytime she was with you.

But Lottie was on a mission to salvage this sinking ship.

Just give her the chance.

As the final whistle blew, sore legs sprinted to what remained of their relationship—a fragile, crumbling foundation.

"Did you see my goal earlier?" Lottie attempted a strained smile, wiping sweat from her brow.

Silence followed like a ticking time bomb about to lead the dangerous territory of that text.

Keep going, Lottie thought, talk until your tongue falls off.

She couldn't let you end what you two had.

"It was for you, you know? Pretty nice shot."