“Did you all wake up this morning and decide you were going to play like complete assholes?”
It wasn’t Kulti speaking, it was Gardner.
The game that night had gone that bad. Gardner was a firm believer in positive reinforcement. He complimented players when they did something well, and coached them through when they didn’t.
We had bombed the game. It had been horrible.
He was right. It was like every player on the Pipers had woken up that morning and decided to play like we couldn’t stand each other. There had been no communication between anyone, no sense of teamwork, no real effort.
To be honest, I was more than a little relieved it was an away game. At least our fans didn’t have to watch the disaster unfold in person.
“I have no idea what to say to you all,” Gardner continued his speech. “I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to even look at you,” he said in a lethally calm voice before looking at the other coaches standing by him. “If any of you can think of something, please feel free to jump in. I’m at a complete loss for words.”
Sheesh.
“You were an embarrassment,” Kulti piped up the second Gardner stopped talking. He was standing two people away from Gardner. His hands were on his hips, his face as serious as ever. “That was the worst game I have ever seen. The only person who knew she was supposed to care tonight was Thirteen, but the rest of you,” his eyes met mine across the room and stayed there, “were disgraceful.”
Yeah. That hit me right in the chest. I was fully aware that he was looking directly at me as he made the harsh comment. Sure it wasn’t my best game, or anywhere close to it, but it wasn’t like we’d lost because of me.
The only thing wrong I had done was snap at Genevieve in the middle of the game. After I missed my second shot of the night, she said loud enough for me to overhear, “I guess you don’t get substituted if you’re messing around with the coaching staff.”
Could I have let it go? Sure—but during practice before the game, she’d run into me during some passing drills for no freaking reason, and then not apologized for it. Immediately afterward, she’d done it again. There’s only so much you can take, really.
I’d figured that telling her to ‘mind your own fucking business and focus on the game’ could have been a lot worse, but apparently not. Gardner had finally taken me out of the game with fifteen minutes left in the second half.
I wasn’t going to make any excuses. I sat there in the locker room and kept my mouth shut as the other assistant coach repeated everything that Gardner and Kulti had hinted at, but in a much more constructive way. His approach was more ‘I’m disappointed in you all,’ instead of the you-all-fucking-suck approach the other two had taken.
Jenny Milton, number thirteen, was sitting next to me; she nudged me with her elbow as she finished taking the tape off her hands. We had lost because we hadn’t scored points and because our defenders hadn’t helped Jenny when the Cleveland team made charges toward the goal. She hadn’t been able to block every attempt, and that was in no way her fault. She really had been the only one who hadn’t blown it.
“That was brutal,” she muttered, giving me wide eyes.
“My butt hurts from over here,” I agreed, leaning over to take off my socks.
Jenny tipped her head over in Genevieve’s direction discreetly. “What did she say to you during the game?” She’d been the only one who hadn’t heard, I guess.
“She said some stupid crap about me not getting subbed because of Kulti.” I kept my gaze down while I took off my cleats. “She was just being dumb.” Not really in the mood to talk about it, I got up and quickly stripped off the rest of my uniform, wrapping a towel around myself before taking off my underwear and sports bra. “I’m going to hit the showers,” I told her with a smile so she wouldn’t think that I didn’t want to talk to her. I just didn’t want to talk about what Genevieve had said.
I was tired of it. I was tired of a bunch of stuff.
The night before when we’d arrived at the hotel, I had laid in bed and thought about everything Cordero, Gardner, Kulti, Franz and my dad had said. I’d debated calling Eric but ultimately decided against it. He would have said something stupid about how I brought everything upon myself for being friends with someone he hated.
And wasn’t that the shit of it? I’d become really good friends with a moody ass who had nearly ended my brother’s career. Sure, my dad had given me the blessing to move on from it without feeling guilty, but still.
The pumpernickel was still not on speaking terms with me for some reason that I couldn’t comprehend.
I finished showering and getting dressed before hauling it out of the locker rooms toward the vans that were waiting to take us back to the hotel. I had just cleared the last set of doors that led outside the facility when I spotted him waiting off to the side, disguised in the shadows.
I mentally prepared myself for whatever nonsense was about to come out of
his mouth. My gut said it wasn’t going to be pretty, but you never knew, miracles did happen.
The instant the door snapped close, his head moved to face my direction. I didn’t know what to say, so I just pulled my bag up higher on my shoulder and continued walking forward.
He didn’t spare a word and neither did I, as I stopped a few feet away.
“Is there something you want to say?” I asked, a little sharper than I’d intended.
Kulti gave me that slow leisurely blink. “What the hell were you thinking tonight?”
“I was thinking that Genevieve was being a dick and not a team player.” I shrugged at him. “What’s the problem with that, Coach?”
“Why are you saying ‘coach’ like that?” he snapped, picking up on my sarcasm.
I looked at him for a second and then closed my eyes, telling myself to calm down. We’d lost and it was over with. There was no need for me to get riled up. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I know I played like crap, and I’m too tired to argue with you.”
“We’re not arguing.”
My poor eyes squeezed closed. “Whatever you say. We’re not arguing. I’m going to get in the van now, I’ll see you later.”
“Since when do you run away from your problems?” He caught me with a hand to my wrist as I started to turn around.
I stopped and looked him dead on, aggravation simmering in my veins. “I don’t run away from my problems, I just know when I’m not going to win an argument. Right now I’m not going to win against your freaking bipolar ass.”
Kulti dropped his chin. “I am not bipolar.”
“Okay, you’re not bipolar,” I lied.
“You’re lying.”
I almost pinched my nose. “Yes, I’m lying. I don’t know if I’m talking to you, my friend, who would understand why I’d snap at Genevieve during a game, or to my coach, or to the guy I first met who doesn’t give a shit about anything.” I blew out a breath and shook my head. Patience. “I’m tired, and I’m taking everything you’re saying personally. I’m sorry.”
He muttered something in German that I only caught bits and pieces of, but it was enough for me to string it together. It only further pissed me off. Three years of high school German had taught me a few things.
I turned around and leveled a look at him. “The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t know what the hell your problem has been lately, but I’ve had it!”
Kulti’s nostrils flared as a vein in his neck pulsed. “My problem? My problem?” His accent became so much thicker when he was angry; I had to really pay attention to know what he was saying.
“Yes! Your problem. Whatever the hell is up your ass needs to come right back out.”
“There is nothing up my ass!”
I almost made a crack about how there definitely had to be something up his ass, but at the last second decided I was too angry to try and make light of the situation.
“I beg to differ,” I stuck with instead. “You’re my best friend one minute, and the next minute you look disgusted when I try to play around with you in front of your friends. I’m not going to let you choose when we’re friends, and when we’re not.”
It took me a second to realize that the words had actually come out of my mouth. I hadn’t planned on bringing it up; I really hadn’t, but… well, too late now. Damn it.
I was an idiot. “I understand. It’s fine. We can be friends in private, but we can’t be friends in public.” I swallowed. “Look, there’s definitely something bothering you, but you don’t want to tell me, just like you don’t want to tell me anything else. That’s all right.”
“Who said I don’t want to be friends with you in public?” He sounded surprisingly indignant.
“You did. I tried to touch you after we were done with the kids, when we were around Franz and Alejandro, and you took a step away. Remember? We’re always pushing each other and messing around, and suddenly it was obviously not okay because we were in front of your friends. I know I’m not some super-celebrity or anything, but I didn’t think you’d pull away like that. You embarrassed me, and I don’t embarrass easily, all right?”
Kulti’s hands fisted at his sides, and then he brought them up to cover his eyes. “Sal,” he cursed in angry-sounding German. “You say that we’re friends, but you didn’t think to tell me that you’ve been spending time with Franz?”
Was this a joke? I made myself calm down. “I saw him three times after you started acting like I had the plague and frowning all the time. We weren’t really talking and you were already walking around with a dirty diaper for some reason I don’t even understand, buddy,” I explained.
Those eyes, a perfect shade between green-green and hazel-brown, stared straight ahead before he laid into me.
“He’s married!” Kulti shouted abruptly.
My eyes went wide, and I had to suck in a breath to rein in my anger. “What the hell do you think we were doing?” I asked slowly.
Kulti bared his teeth at me. “I have no idea because you didn’t fucking tell me!”
Patience. Holy shit, I needed a whole bunch of patience.
I didn’t find it.
I lost it.
“We were practicing, you jackass! What the hell is wrong with that?” I screamed at him. Holy shit.
“Then why were you were both being secretive?” he growled, fury lighting up his light-colored eyes.
My eye started twitching. “We went to the field by my house. He showed me some exercises I could do to work on my left foot ball handling, you fucking, fucking jackass. He said I should think about playing in Europe, okay? That’s the big conspiracy, the big secret, you idiot. He said I should go to Europe and join a club there so I could play for their national team…”
I couldn’t let go of the volcanic-like anger seeping out of him. It became a beacon for my anger and my damn curiosity. “What the hell do you think we were doing? Sleeping together?”
He stared at me for so long, I had my answer.
Oh my God.
Me sleeping with Franz. I couldn’t get over that wild assumption. What was he thinking? “I can’t believe you. Who the hell do you think I am? Easy? You think I’m going to sleep with any guy who pays attention to me? I already told you I don’t do that,” I yelled at him. I didn’t care if one of the Pipers could come out of the stadium and hear us, or worse, someone in the media. “Fuck!”
“Europe?” He looked about ready to blow a gasket. “You could have asked me to practice with you at any time!”
“Asked you? When? You already play favoritism with me according to eighty percent of the Pipers because we spend so much time together. If you were coaching me on the side that would come back on you, wouldn’t it, Kulti?”
“I told you not to call me that,” he gritted out.
“That’s what you are, isn’t it? Coach Kulti?” My jaw felt hard and tight. I could not get over what he’d said. “I can’t believe you would think I was messing around with Franz, Jesus Christ. I really,” I put my fist up to my mouth and blew a deep breath into it. “I really, really want to punch you in the face right now.”
“I can’t believe you would think about going to Europe without talking to me.”
I took a step back letting his words sink in to my gut. Europe was a better opportunity, and we both knew that. There was no doubt. Before the WPL existed, Americans went overseas because it was the only place to go. But if it came down to it, most athletes would rather stay close to home. I was one of them.
More importantly, Kulti had always told me that there was only one person in the world I needed to watch out for, and that was me. Yet, here he was telling me otherwise. He was making me feel bad for even thinking about going to Europe without mentioning it to him first.
“I didn’t say I would go, he just brought it up. It’d be a great opportunity if I wanted to leave my family, which I don’t think I want to, but…” I felt unsure. “Why are you being like this? I don’t badger you over stuff you don’t want to talk about, which is just about everything. Plus, you’re my friend; I figured you’d be happy someone was trying to work with me on improving my skills. You of all people should understand.”
The German seemed to be trying to bore a hole straight into the center of my face. “I would have worked with you any time, any day you wanted, Sal. I could care less what management or the coaching staff think. You of all people shouldn’t think twice about what your teammates say about you. They’re nobody.”
God, this man. “I’m sorry, Rey, am I a mind reader? Am I supposed to know you’d want to practice with me?”
“No. You’re stubborn and a pain in my ass.”
“I’m a pain in your ass? You’re a pain in my ass. I try and I try with you, and for what? For you to be an asshole when you’re frustrated or upset? Maybe other people will deal with your shit when you act like that, but I can only take so much. I like you. I like how well we get along sometimes, but I don’t know anything about you really, when it comes down to it. All you do is give me these bits and pieces when you’re in the mood. When you’re not in the mood, you don’t say anything at all. Or you go through this fucking phase where you give me dirty looks and ignore me for no apparent reason. How is that supposed to make me feel?
“I’ve already put enough on the line being your friend. I’ve shared my family with you, my home; I’ve told you things I haven’t told other people. I’ve put my career at risk for this—us. You have nothing to lose, and I have everything I care about in jeopardy. I’ve given and I’ve given to everyone, and for what? To have what I valued the most in my life taken away? I’ve been trying, and I’m fine with that, but you need to meet me at least a quarter of the way. There’s only so much I can take from you and your freaking mood swings.”
I palmed the back of my head as I watched him, waiting. Waiting for something. For some assurance, some promise that he would try to keep his crap under control, or at least try harder.
Instead his face took on a hard expression, the tendon in his neck straining. “I’m too old to change, Sal. I am the way I am,” he finally offered to me in a crisp voice.
“I don’t want you to change. All I want is for you to trust me a little. I’m not going to screw you over, and I don’t like giving up on things,” I told him in an exasperated voice.
And what did he say? Nothing. Not a single thing.
I’d never been a fan of people who talked a lot. I thought it was a person’s actions that really said what mattered. That was until I met Reiner Kulti, and I suddenly felt like stabbing myself in the eye.
My head gave a dull throb, a warning of a tension headache beginning. I suddenly realized this conversation was going nowhere. Exhaustion poured straight into my muscles, and for the first time in a long time, I felt defeated. I hated it.
But there comes a time when you have to listen to your gut and not your heart, and I did just that.
“Maybe we both have too much stuff going on right now. I’m overwhelmed, and I have no idea what I’m doing, and you have your own crap to work out. Maybe you need to figure out what you want to do with your life before we can keep being friends. If you even still want to be friends after this.” I told him.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth he looked outraged. Absolutely outraged. “Are you joking?”
I shook my head, grief coming down on me with such a force it made me want to cry. At the end of the day though, it was like he said: no one was going to watch out for me but me. “No.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, and a second later he shook his head and was gone.
Kulti didn’t come to my house that day or the next.
When I started to feel a little guilty on Sunday afternoon, I sent him a text.
Sorry for what I said. I’m under a lot of stress and I shouldn’t have blamed you for my choices. You’re a great friend, and I won’t just give up on you.
He didn’t respond.
Then Monday came and he wasn’t at practice.
He wasn’t at practice Tuesday, either.
No one asked where he was. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to do it.
I sent him another message.
Are you alive?
No response.
Two things caught my attention when I pulled into the middle school’s parking lot.
There was a black Audi already there with familiar license plates.
Parked right next to it, was a big white box van.
Unsure whether to feel relieved that Kulti was still alive, or aggravated that the sauerkraut hadn’t texted me back once, I took a deep breath. I pulled into the parking spot, putting my Big Girl Socks on, though my instincts said that he more than likely hadn’t gone out of his way to show up for camp if he wanted to get into an argument.
At least that’s what I hoped.
I’d barely gotten out of the car and popped the trunk to grab my bag and the two cases of bottled water, when I heard steps come up behind me. I knew without turning around that it was him. Out of the corner of my eye, he stopped right beside me and pushed my hands away from the cases, hoisting them out.
“Tell me where to take them,” he said simply as his greeting.
All right. “Their field is in the back. Come on,” I said, shutting the trunk with my bag in hand.
We walked silently across the lot and down the paved path leading toward the field. Three teachers had volunteered and were providing the goals from the school’s existing sports equipment. I spotted two of them already there and made my way toward the table they had set up for registration.
When we stopped in front of them, the man and the woman physically jolted when they realized who was standing next to me.
“Mr. Webber, Mrs. Pritchett, thank you so much for helping out. This is my friend, Mr. Kulti, he’ll be volunteering with the camp today,” I introduced them.
The two teachers just kind of stood there, and it was Kulti that nodded a greeting at them.
“If you can let me know where the goals are, I can start setting up,” I told Mr. Webber, the physical education teacher.
He was looking at Kulti as he nodded absently. “They’re heavy,” he warned, eyes still on the German.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured him, only just barely restraining myself from rocking back and forth on my heels.
“I’ll help,” Pumpernickel added, which finally got the teacher going.
Between the four of us, we pulled the soccer goals out and set them up. There were only two, but it was enough. The pre-signup sheet had fewer kids registered than the week before.
I was busy spraying lines on the grass when I spotted Kulti speaking to two female teachers who would be working the registration table. He was gesturing at something on the sheet and they were nodding enthusiastically, which didn’t say much because he probably could have been telling them that he pooped golden nuggets and they would have been excited, based on the way they’d been looking at him.
Hookers.
All right, that wasn’t very nice.
I finished spraying the lines just in time for the first of the kids to start showing up with their parents.
“Are you okay with doing this like we did last week? Only working together this time?” I asked Kulti once I’d approached the registration table where he’d been standing.
He tipped his short brown-haired head at me, his eyes directly meeting mine. “We make a good team, schnecke, it will be fine.”
So now he was back to calling me schnecke, whatever that meant.
I eyed him a little uncertainly.
In return, he punched me in the shoulder, which would have made me smile, but him dodging me at the last camp was still a little too fresh in my thoughts. The facial expression I made—a weak, watered-down smile you gave someone that you didn’t find particularly funny but didn’t want to hurt their feelings—must have said as much, because Kulti frowned. After a beat, his frowned deepened.
The German, who had reportedly gotten into a fight years ago when someone called his mother a whore, grabbed my hand, raised it and hit his own shoulder with it.
What in the hell had just happened?
Before I even had time to think about what he’d done, my oversized bratwurst took a step forward and he did it.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, bringing me in so close my nose was pressed against the cartilage right between his pectorals.
He was hugging me.
Dear God, Reiner Kulti was hugging the shit out of me.
I just stood there with my arms at my sides, frozen. Completely freaking frozen in place. I was stunned, beyond stunned. Stupefied.
“Hug me back,” the accented voice demanded from up above.
His words shook off my paralysis. I found myself wrapping my arms around his waist, gingerly at first, our chests meeting in a real honest hug. My palms went flat against the twin columns of his lower back, arms overlapping.
“Am I dying and I don’t know it?” I asked his chest.
He sighed. “You better not be.”
I pulled back and looked up at his face, completely unsure about what the hell had just happened. “Are you dying?” I blurted out.
“No.” Kulti held that same serious expression that was so innate for him; I wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling. “I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings. I only stepped away because Alejandro is… competitive. He wants what he can’t have. It was my mistake inviting him.” He glanced up quickly before looking back down and adding in a lowered voice, “I’m sorry for all the problems my presence has caused in your life. Soccer has given me everything, but it’s also taken away just as many things.”
He gave me a sad determined look. “I don’t want it to take you away as well. You are the least shameful thing in my life, Sal. Understand?”
He was dead serious.
If we had not been around strangers watching our every move, I might have started tearing up. It was bad enough I had to press my lips together to keep from doing something I would regret.
I managed to suck in a tiny breath and aim a smirk at him. “Can I give you another hug or is that over your daily allowance?”
The German shook his head. “Have I told you that you remind me of a splinter I can’t remove? You’re incredibly annoying.”
“Is that a yes?” I blinked up at him.
“That’s a stupid question, Sal,” he stated.
But was it a yes?
I didn’t get a chance to ask for clarification because I spotted four kids making their way across the field from the parking lot, and I knew I’d have to put off this conversation for later. I still didn’t completely understand why Kulti had been such a douche the other day with the kids, but he’d apologized, and in his book that was the equivalent of giving me his kidney, so I’d take it and demand an explanation later.
More importantly, what had inspired him to give me a hug right then?
I squeezed his hand and gave him a nod. “Let’s start, all right?”
“Yes.” He didn’t break eye contact with me once. “I brought shoes for everyone. I think it would be best to give them to the kids at the end.”
“You brought…” I shut my mouth and got it together. “In that van? There’s shoes for the kids?”
“Yes. I asked the volunteers to take their size information during registration. There should be more than enough for everyone. I brought nearly every size.”
It’s funny how things work sometimes. It really is.
I had learned and accepted my place in a stranger’s life a decade ago. I’d grown up and accepted what would and could happen, and I had known that there was no future for me and a man who didn’t know I existed.
And then one day, that same man for some reason decided to step into my circle, of all the circles in the world he could have chosen. Slowly, slowly, slowly, we became friends. I knew and understood that procession. I was okay with my place. Friends. Not so simple or easy, but those were the best things in life, the hard things that didn’t fit perfectly, weren’t they?
In one instant, in one kind deed and unexpected gesture, something inside of me woke up. There was a reason I put up with his shit and forgave him for being a dick so quickly.
I was still in love with this man.
I had no right to be. No sound reason to. I liked to think I made wise decisions, but reviving my childhood adoration for him was one of the dumbest things I could ever have let myself do. But, obviously, I couldn’t take it back. My heart hadn’t completely forgotten what it was like to feel this way for him, but no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise, it had swelled and grown over the years.
Now, I understood. I had loved Reiner Kulti as a kid. I had loved my ex-boyfriend as a young adult, learning and growing. And the Sal Casillas I was today knew that I couldn’t love someone who didn’t deserve it.
It was the shoes for the kids whose parents couldn’t afford them that tied the noose around my neck.
Him bringing his friends to my soccer camps.
Kulti buying my dad the trip of a lifetime.
Calling me his friend in front of people that he genuinely knew he didn’t give a single shit about.
I was in love with this pumpernickel.
God help me, I think I wanted to cry.
I tried to find something to say—anything, and I hoped that my face didn’t say, ‘You are a fucking idiot, Sal.’ Because I was. I really was. There was no escaping the truth when it was looking at you from two feet away, brown haired, bright eyed and six-foot-two-inches tall. I scratched my cheek and fought the urge to look away, to find my breath and sanity wherever it had gone. “I didn’t think your sponsor would do something like that.”
Here’s the thing about the German: he wasn’t one to beat around the bush or play coy or be modest. He looked me right in the eye and said it. “They didn’t. I bought them.”
He…
“Ms. Sal!” one of the teachers by the registration table called out.
“You,” I poked Kulti in the stomach knowing I only had a second before I needed to haul it back to the table. “I don’t know how to thank you—“
“Don’t.”
“Ms. Sal!”
Gaze to gaze with the bratwurst, I told him in a rush, “Thank you.”
He gave me a heavy-lidded glare but didn’t say anything before following me over to registration.
Needless to say, the kids went wild when they saw the German. Me, they could have given less of a shit about. Kulti, they were losing it over. They listened to him and were excited out of their minds when we began different drills and exercises.
The bratwurst was right. We were a good team. I had just as much fun with him as I had with Franz if not more, because of the amount of playful shit-talking we had going on with each other.
A crowd triple the size of the one we had on the field, formed on the far end of the school’s blacktop throughout the duration of camp. Camera flashes continued going off, but luckily no one approached us—and by ‘us’ I mean Kulti—while we were busy. I just pretended they weren’t there and told myself to keep acting normal.
When the time came around for us to wrap up, I let Kulti tell his young fans that they were all getting a pair of his latest edition RK running shoes. Any passerby would have thought the kids had been told that they’d won the lottery from the way they reacted. The German hadn’t been joking. There were more than enough shoes for all the kids.
“Can I get one of just the two of you?” the mom of one of the kids asked after we’d taken a picture with her son.
“Sure,” I said, right before the German threw an arm around my shoulder and hauled me up to his side, roughly and deliberately.
Well.
I whacked him in the hard slab he called his stomach with a smile.
“I know this isn’t my place to say anything,” the lady gushed once the picture was taken. “I thought the age difference was a little strange, but seeing you together, it makes perfect sense. You two are stinking cute.”
My face went hot. “Oh, it’s not—“ I started to say before the German reeled me up against him.
“Thank you for bringing your son,” he cut me off.
Thank you for bringing your son?
I almost choked.
The second we were alone, I held my arms out to my sides. He had given those people the wrong impression of our relationship. “What the hell was that?”
He gave me a bored look as he began collecting the cones scattered around the field. “People will believe whatever they want to believe. There’s no point in telling them otherwise.”
Maybe he had a point, but still.
“Rey.” The palm of my hand went to my forehead. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The stuff I hear on the field is bad enough.”
“Ignore them.”
It was so easy for him to say that when he wasn’t the one hearing it constantly. “I just don’t want it to get worse. That’s all.”
The cone he had been in the middle of grabbing landed back on the ground. He turned his entire body in my direction. “Is the idea of a relationship with me that distasteful?”
The fuck? “What?”
He settled his hands on his slim hips. “You don’t find me attractive? You like older men, you told me so. I’m only twelve—thirteen—years older than you.”
I woke up that morning thinking it was going to be a day like every other. Apparently it wasn’t. What the hell was I supposed to say?
The truth. Blah.
I found myself scratching at my cheek. “You are attractive. You’re very attractive and you know it, you conceited bastard. And you’re not too old. It’s just that…” I coughed. “You’re my coach and my friend,” I added absently, like that was supposed to be the big reason why I couldn’t look at him any different. Unfortunately, I now knew the truth: it was a bit too late for that crap.
His response? “I haven’t forgotten.”
What hadn’t he forgotten?
“Stop worrying about what everyone thinks. You’re the one that said the only thing that matters is what you know about yourself.” He kept right on looking at me until I nodded. “Let’s finish up, yes?”
In less than twenty minutes we were finished putting all the equipment back and helping the teachers put away the tables they had borrowed. I thanked them profusely for their help and watched as Kulti grabbed my bag and the water bottles that had been left over, hauling it all to my car.
“I’ll ride with you,” he said the instant the trunk had been slammed shut.
I shot him a look as I went to the driver side. “My place or yours?”
Kulti looked at me from the other side of the car. “Yours. Mine is too quiet.”
Considering we both lived alone, I didn’t understand how one place could have a different noise level than the other. The only difference was that his house was at least about six times bigger than my garage apartment.
“Why don’t you get a pet?” I asked.
“I have fish.”
That made me laugh. He had fish? “You do not.”
He tipped his shaved brown head in my direction. “I have three, a beta and two tetras. My agent gave them to me when I moved here. I have an aquarium at my flat in London.”
I tried not to make it seem like his admission was a big deal. “That’s neat. Who takes care of them?”
“A housekeeper.”
A housekeeper. No surprise there. “How many houses do you have?”
“Only three,” he answered nonchalantly.
Only three. I’d grown up the kid of paycheck-to-paycheck parents. While I knew that someone who had as much money as he did could realistically afford way more than three houses, it still amazed me. At the same time, it made me like Kulti a little more. I could respect someone who didn’t blow his money on stupid crap.
Instead, he spent it on buying shoes for kids.
Damn it, I needed to quit this mooning crap, but today had been a real whirlwind.
“Where’s your other house?” I found myself asking so that I wouldn’t think about other things.
“Meissen. It’s a small town in Germany.”
I made an impressed face.
“The house is tiny, Sal, but I think you’d like it,” he noted.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Germany,” I told him. “It’s on my list of places to go on my bucket list.”
He slanted a look at me. “What’s a bucket list?”
He didn’t know what a bucket list was? I shouldn’t have found that as cute as I did. “It’s a list of things you want to do before you die. Have you heard the term ‘kicking the bucket’?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the German shake his head. “Well that’s what it’s referring to. Stuff you want to do before you die.”
Kulti made a thoughtful noise. “You have more things on your list?”
“Yeah. I’d like to see the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, I want to bike the Continental Divide, do an Ironman, see the Northern Lights, hike a glacier, hold a baby panda and win an Altus Cup…” I sensed myself babbling and cut it off. “Things like that. I almost have enough money saved to go to Alaska after the season is over. Hopefully I can knock out some glaciers and the Northern Lights in one trip.”
There was a pause. “Alone?”
“I was going to see if my brother would go with me. He’s the only person I know besides you with the time and money, but we’ll see. Last year we went to Peru to see Machu Picchu.” I shot him a smile over my shoulder. His fortieth birthday was coming up in October, but I didn’t want to mention that I knew that he should be the one thinking of making a bucket list. “What about you? What are you doing after the season is over?”
“I haven’t decided,” he answered in a low voice. “It all depends on a few things.”
A single thought entered my head. “Is your contract only for this season?”
I couldn’t remember hearing anything about the length of his employment, and the idea that he’d be leaving in a little over a month made my stomach churn.
“I only agreed to this season with the Pipers.”
There was one thing I knew: Kulti didn’t like coaching. He’d said so himself.
Why would he want to stay and coach again?
Jesus Christ, the idea of him going back to his flat in London made me so sad that the excitement from the whole shoe-buying thing, crumbled under its weight.
At the same time, that made me feel like a selfish dick. Who was I to be sad over someone, especially a friend, doing something that made them happy when I knew damn well something else didn’t? I knew I was in no position to give anyone a guilt-trip over anything, but the idea of him leaving sucked.
I swallowed the sadness away and forced a smile on my face even though I wasn’t looking at him. “I see.”
He was going to leave Houston. Blah.
He might have turned his head, but I wasn’t positive, and I didn’t want to talk about it any longer. “So… are you hungry?”
At the next soccer camp four days later, Kulti showed up with two more people. The first guy I recognized was an American goalie who had played for the national team in every major tournament the last six years right along with my brother. The second one was a pleasant surprise.
“Franz!” I walked toward the older man, bypassing Kulti, to give him a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
He hugged me in return, two quick taps to my spine. “My business in Los Angeles didn’t take as long as I had anticipated.”
“Well, thank you so much for coming back,” I told him.
Someone made a grumpy noise. “Sal.”
Franz let out a short laugh as he let go of me, stepping back. His face was tipped down, open and easy, as he whispered, “Someone is territorial, hmm?”
I turned to look at the man whose gaze was burning a hole into my skull. Pretzel face territorial? I highly doubted it, but I found myself way too pleased by his scowl.
“Are you going to introduce me?” I asked, gesturing toward the popular goalie.
“No.” He kept that damn insolent look on his face, his arms extending wide in a universal gesture I was becoming familiar with.
Curling my lips over my teeth, I raised my eyebrows at him. God, someone was in a freaking mood and it put me into an excellent one. The smile on my face grew even bigger.
He flicked his own eyebrows up at me. Those dark brown, thick slashes went up and back down, silently telling me that he wasn’t going to introduce me until he got what he wanted.
For one second, I thought about ignoring him and just introducing myself, but…
Kulti liked to play games, and I liked to win them.
Somehow I managed not to smile as I stepped forward and hugged him, silently worrying that he would make me look like an idiot if he didn’t actually go through with it and hug me back. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time he acted like I had cooties. I just hugged him and I hugged him tight.
Completely catching me off-guard, Kulti, my freaking German with supposedly no conscience, pressed his cheek to the top of my head and wrapped himself around me. He hugged me back. His body was hard and tense as he did it, but it was different. It wasn’t an angry hug; it was something else. It was like when I was a kid and would hug the crap out of my dog because I loved him so much.
Like that—but not.
When he finally pulled away, I glanced up. I didn’t take it personally that he wasn’t smiling down at me. He was just glaring, well really more like glowering, but whatever. I gave him another hug, and felt the weight of his arm settle over my shoulder.
It stayed there.
The other man was a goalie named Michael Kimmons. He was taller than Kulti and just a little older than me.
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” I thrust my hand out at him when I felt the German’s arm clamp down the instant I introduced myself.
“Mike Kimmons,” he said with a hard shake.
“Sal Casillas.”
“I know your brother Eric,” he threw in. “We play together.”
I nodded at him and smiled.
“You mentioned to me he plays, too. Where?” Franz asked in a curious tone.
“He’s on loan to Madrid right now,” I explained.
“I had no idea.” The second German nodded with a slight frown. Before he’d retired, he’d played for Madrid’s top opponent, Barcelona. “Do your parents play?”
“Oh no. My dad has asthma and my mom,” the gigantic bicep surrounding my neck like a boa constrictor bulged, “isn’t exactly a fan.”
For one stinking moment, I had the fear that Kulti would say something about who my mom’s dad was. One brief, painful moment I imagined him spilling the beans because it was something impressive to say in front of people who would think it was interesting. I really thought he might.
He didn’t.
He steered the conversation away. “We’ll split up into two groups,” he ordered and I let him, because it had become evident to me that he was starting to enjoy these days playing with the kids. It almost made me feel a little bad that there was only one camp left after today.
The day went fine. Mike Kimmons was a little too serious for the kids, but some of them recognized him and it made up for him not playing around with them much. Kulti offered to be paired up with him for some reason, and I tackled the other group with Franz.
Once the three hours had passed and most of the kids had left, Franz pulled me aside while Kulti continued taking pictures with a few straggling participants and their parents.
The older German gave me a serious look. “I overheard something while I was in Los Angeles, and I need to tell you.”
Fuck. Preparing someone for news was never a good thing. My Big Girl Socks went on. “Okay.”
He cast a glance in Kulti’s direction before hurrying through what he felt the need to tell me. “There’s a rumor you will be traded to New York at the end of this season.”
My ears started ringing. My stomach churned.
New York? With Amber? If that wasn’t bad enough, the team already had a solid popular starting line-up. I would never get to play.
Most importantly, I didn’t want to go to fucking New York.
Franz touched my shoulder. “I recruit for NL,” he was referring to the Newcastle Lions, one of the top men’s teams in the United Kingdom, “Think about what I told you the last time. If you decide you’d like to try something different—“ he shot me a look, “something better, I can help. I don’t understand how you’ve gotten buried in the system here, but between Reiner and I, there isn’t much we can’t do with our connections.”
Fully aware that this wasn’t the time to lose it, I pulled my Big Girl Socks on higher than ever and forced myself to nod at the man who had told me news he didn’t have to share. Could he have been lying? I didn’t see why he would, so I wasn’t going to be narcissistic about it.
Why bounced around in my head over and over again.
Everyone knew I loved playing in Houston. The WPL wasn’t big enough for people to be forced to play where they absolutely didn’t want to. Most of the time, players were willing to go wherever they were sent. When I’d first gotten drafted, I’d been allowed to choose the top three teams I wanted to play for. Obviously, Houston had been at the top of my list with stars by it, followed by California, since it was close to my brother, and then the Phoenix Novas, who had since moved to St. Louis.
I was the top scorer for the Pipers. I worked hard and didn’t give them much hell besides what had been going on these last few months, and I helped out my teammates as much as possible. Somehow this was how they were repaying me?
Gardner’s warning, Cordero’s dislike and the things my teammates had been doing recently swirled in my head.
I felt betrayed. Cheated on. And I couldn’t decide whether to be sad or take a key to Cordero’s car.
Okay. That was a little extreme. Sort of. Patience. Patience.
There was only one person who could have been behind this possible move. That spiteful, little asshole.
“Thank you for telling me,” I somehow managed to tell Franz, even though my insides were ready for anarchy.
“Don’t waste your potential, ja?”
I nodded at him, feeling this huge surge of emotion climb up my chest, and it wasn’t good. It made the smile on my face feel short of the braveness I wanted to portray. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Call me, email me, whatever you need,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you, Franz. I really appreciate it.” I did, even if the news made me want to cry.
Going to play with freaking Amber and her minions?
Apparently my thoughts were written all over my face. He gave me a sad smile that made me feel even worse.
A soft touch at the small of my back had me straightening up my shoulders. “Franz is spending the night. Have dinner with us,” Kulti said, stopping at my side.
Bile pinched my throat, and I had to keep my gaze away from his. “I need to go home. Thank you, though.”
He ignored me. “I’ll ride with you. Franz, take my car.”
“Rey, I want to go home,” I told him firmly.
“I want you to come over,” he replied, already turning around. “Where are your things?” Kulti didn’t even wait for me to say anything else before he started walking in the direction of my bag. Damn it.
“Rey,” I called out, following after him.
He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stop walking. “You don’t have anything else to do. Stop being difficult.”
“Umm, I do have things to do. I have to go for my run later, or I might do some yoga.” Or cry, or scream… the usual.
The German waved me off.
I was going to kill him.”Reyyyyy!”
Nothing.
Son of a bitch.
“He’s difficult, isn’t he?”
“That’s the understatement of a lifetime,” I told Franz. “What a pain in the ass. I really don’t know how someone hasn’t killed him in cold blood yet.”
The other man barked out a laugh.
From across the field, I spotted the Kulti in the process of throwing my bag over his shoulder. “There’s no point in even trying to argue with him, is there?” I asked Franz.
“Nein.”
“He’s such a pain in the ass.”
Franz snickered. “He is.”
I sighed. I could leave after a little while. Hopefully.
I met Kulti at my car where he had apparently already gone through my bag to get my keys. He tossed them over the roof and we got in, waving at Franz as he slipped into the Audi parked next to mine. As soon as we were inside, I shot him a look. “You could have let Franz ride with me instead of making him ride alone.”
He gave me that annoyingly even look. “He will survive by himself.”
I glared at him for a beat before shaking my head. “You’re being rude.”
“I don’t care.”
Not a surprise. I turned on the ignition and pulled out of the lot before I finally thought about it. “Why didn’t you invite Mike?”
“I don’t like him.”
Seriously, I would never understand men. “Then why did you invite him today?”
“He owed me a favor,” was his simple response. Then he added, “And his plane ticket was reasonable.”
Wait a second. “You—“ I couldn’t get the words out. I had to swallow and process what he’d said. “You paid for their tickets here?”
Kulti didn’t even bother looking at me; his attention was directed out the window. “Yes.”
I dropped my head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. This was all too much for one afternoon. Way too much. Everything seemed to pile on top of me. “How do you expect me to ever pay you back?”
“I don’t,” he answered, turning to face me. “The light is green.”
Sitting up, I kept my gaze forward. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I wasn’t sure what the hell I would do. “I didn’t even think about how they made it here. I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry for not thanking you more.”
Nothing.
I clutched the steering wheel and kept my mouth closed the entire drive back.
I was getting traded.
Half of my teammates thought I was a tramp.
The idiot next to me had been paying for people’s plane tickets to come to my youth camps, my free camps.
I was at least a little bit in l-o-v-e with the same idiot, but realistically it was more like a lot. My childhood feelings had come back in full force, more real than ever. Plus I knew myself, and I didn’t tend to half-ass anything.
And said idiot was leaving at the end of the season.
What the hell was I doing with my life? Everything I’d worked up to, worked for, suddenly seemed to be repelled by me.
What was I going to do?
My nose tickled in response.
We arrived at his house and parked, but still I couldn’t get myself to say anything. I wanted to cry. I really wanted to cry, and I sure as hell didn’t want to do it anywhere near here.
I kept my gaze down and followed the German up to his door where Franz was already waiting. We’d barely gone inside when I felt a choking cough in my throat. I knew I needed to get away from them. “Where’s your bathroom?” I asked him in a voice that sounded even weird to me.
“Up the stairs, first door,” he answered, his voice distant enough to let me know he wasn’t standing that close.
“I’ll be right back,” I lied, already hauling my butt up the stairs, desperate to get away.
Two swipes at my leaky nose later with the back of my hand, and I was inside. I didn’t even bother turning on the light before I was plopping onto the porcelain rim of a tub I could appreciate when my life wasn’t falling apart.
I was getting traded because I was friends with someone.
My throat convulsed and I hiccupped. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t do it, Sal. Don’t you fucking do it.
I managed to hold out thirty seconds before the next hiccup wrecked my upper body. It was followed by another and then another. By the fifth one, I hunched over and pressed my palms to my eye sockets. I didn’t cry hardly ever. When I was upset, I did other things to get my mind off of whatever was bothering me. There were very few things in life worth crying over, my mom had told me once.
Sitting on that tub, I really tried to tell myself that getting traded wasn’t the end of the world. I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t take it personally. It was just business and it happened, sometimes, to other people.
That only made me cry harder.
I was an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot.
When I thought about Kulti cashing in favors to get players to come to my camp and buying kids’ shoes and how he’d given me a freaking hug, it only made things worse.
I cried like a baby, a big silent baby that didn’t want anyone to hear her.
“Schnecke, did you—“ Kulti’s voice abruptly cut off.
In hindsight I would realize that I didn’t hear him come in because he didn’t knock. He just barged right in, sticking his big fat head in the room like there wasn’t a chance that I was on the toilet doing something he wouldn’t want to see. I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t muffle the next sob or bother to try and hide it.
I missed the horrified look on Kulti’s face before he came inside and shut the door
behind him. I didn’t see him drop to his knees or put his hands on my own, lowering his head so that his forehead pressed to mine.
“Schnecke,” he said in the softest, most affectionate tone I’d ever heard. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I managed to blabber out. I was shaking and my upper body was convulsing with soundless cries.
“Stop with your lies and tell me why you’re crying,” he ordered even as he scooted forward and stroked a big hand down my spine.
“I’m not crying.”
“You are the worst liar I have ever met.” He moved to rub my shoulder. “Why are you upset?”
Every time he asked, I somehow managed to cry harder, my body shaking more; there were actual noises coming out of me. “It’s stupid.”
“More than likely, but tell me anyway,” he said in a gentle voice.
I couldn’t catch my breath. “They’re… going… to… trade… me,” I bawled to my freaking humiliation.
The hand on my shoulder didn’t let up its comforting circles. “Who told you?”
“Franz,” I said, but it really sounded like more Franzzzz-agh.
Something quick and vicious-sounding in German shot out of his mouth: a spit, a curse on top of a curse.
“He’s not lying, is he?” I asked his shirt collar.
Kulti sighed into the top of my head. “No. He wouldn’t say something unless he was sure,” he confirmed.
My heart and my head were both well aware that the signs had been there.
“Gardner warned me, but I didn’t listen,” I told him. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the end of the world and this is embarrassing, but I can’t stop crying.”
The big German I’d been in love with since I was a kid, put his arms all around me. And he shushed me. Literally, he said, “Shush.” Then he held me a little closer and said into my ear, “You’re better than this. Stop crying.”
“I can’t,” I whined for probably the first time in at least ten years.
“You can and you will,” he said tenderly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now—“
Of course he couldn’t. He’d never been traded against his will and if he had, it had to have been for a better position and more money. For me, it was like getting dumped. Violated. Thrown away.
“—but you’re better than this. In two years you’ll be thanking them for being so stupid—“
His pep talk wasn’t helping. “I gave them the best years of my life,” I might have wailed, but hoped I didn’t.
“You have not. You haven’t even reached the peak of your career.”
I was inconsolable. Reiner Kulti was telling me I still had better years ahead of me, and it wasn’t making me feel better.
“Taco. Stop. Stop this instant,” he demanded in a grave voice.
I couldn’t. All I could keep thinking was that Houston was where I wanted to be. It’s the place I had made my home. If they had asked me first if I wanted to go somewhere else, it would be one thing, but these under-the-table deals were for the players you tried to get rid of so that they wouldn’t blow a gasket.
There was snot running down my nose and it made the German huff in exasperation and tighten his hold around me, his arms like a shield against the world. “I know this is my fault, and I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured in that thick accent I wanted to wrap myself in.
“It’s not your fault,” I said muffled against him before changing my mind. “I don’t regret it at all. This is their fault for being so damn dumb. I’ve always done whatever they wanted me to do. I’m a team player. I don’t completely suck. I get to practice early and stay late, and this is how they repay me? By trying to send me to fucking New York? Where I’ll probably never get to play again?”
I sat up, not caring in the least that I had to look like a giant mess and sniffled at my friend. I was feeling the weight of a hundred galaxies on my shoulders, feeling my dreams on the cusp of slipping away. I knew I was being overdramatic, but it was all too much. “What am I going to do?” I asked him, like he had all the answers.
Kulti palmed my knees again. That handsome face that had aged gracefully was solemn, but he looked me dead in the eye as he spoke. “You’re going to keep playing. I promise you, Sal. I would never put your career at risk.”
I sniffled and made a watery noise in my throat, my shoulders shaking and warning of another round of tears.
The German shook his head. “No. No more. I won’t let you down; now stop crying. It makes me nauseous.”
That was almost funny. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and he scowled, reaching back to pull a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll before handing them to me. “Control yourself,” he ordered.
I almost laughed. I sniffled and wiped at my face with the tissue he gave me. “You can’t tell me to ‘control myself,’ it doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re supposed to do what I say,” he said, snatching the tissue away from me and dabbing at my cheeks a little more forcefully than necessary with a frown.
That made me crack a small, pitiful smile. “Who said that?”
He met my eyes. “I did.”
I pressed my lips together. “That’s convenient.”
Kulti reached back and grabbed more toilet paper. “You’re a mess,” he said, continuing his cleanup process. “I didn’t take you to be a crybaby.”
“I’m not.” I tried to snatch the tissue away from him, but he held his hand out of reach. I stretched and he easily pulled his hand away further out of my grasp. “I can wipe my own face off.”
He smacked my hand away. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he grumbled, returning to dabbing at me.
“You know, the world doesn’t revolve around what you do or don’t want to do,” I said as he rubbed a little too hard under my nose, making me wince.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m not used to this.”
“You’ve never had to clean off a girl’s face before?”
He pulled back to observe his work. “Never.”
I let out a deep sigh, eased by his admission. “In that case, thank you for the honor.”
Kulti didn’t say anything; instead he put a hand on each cheek and tipped my head back. I had never been more aware of not having make-up on or looking like hell than I did right then. The man, who had dated supermodels, actresses and probably a whole bunch of sluts, didn’t comment on my freckles, the bags under my eyes or the scars I had.
He finally dropped his hands and gave my thighs a pat with a long, deep exhale. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said.
An exasperated breath later, he’d taken hold of my hands and pulled me up to my feet. “No. You’re fine.”
“Rey, seriously, give me a minute.” I buckled my knees so that he couldn’t drag me along.
With one yank, he pulled me forward. “So that you can cry more? No. Come. I have the coffee you like.”
I sniffled and he gave me a dirty look in return. Why did I even bother? “You’re a bossy bitch, you know that?” I asked him even as I let him lead me out of the darkened bathroom.
“You’re a pain in my ass, do you know that?” he shot back.
I snorted as we went down the stairs one after the other. “I used those exact same words to describe you to Franz, buddy.”
The German turned to peek at me over his shoulder. “Another thing we have in common.”
“Ha. You wish.”
A snicker came out of his mouth, but he didn’t argue anymore. We found Franz in the kitchen sitting on a stool, looking at his phone. He glanced up and immediately frowned.
“I’m fine,” I said before he said anything. “I really am; I’m just being a baby.” Even saying it as an excuse did nothing to lessen the bolt of disappointment that shot straight through my heart. They are going to trade me.
But in the back of my head, Kulti’s voice reminded me that it was only if I let them.
Fuck me.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Franz interjected quickly. “Please forgive me.”
“No, no way. There’s nothing to forgive. Thank you for telling me. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I guess I don’t handle getting the shaft well.” They both looked at me over my word choice. “I don’t like to lose and I feel like I’m losing,” I explained.
They both finally nodded in understanding.
Kulti bumped my shoulder, talking to Franz over me. “Make a list of the women’s teams you know of.”
“Wait. I don’t even know what I’m going to do,” I said, suddenly panicking again at the thought of going somewhere even farther away than New York.
Jesus Christ.
Europe? Was I really thinking about it? I was kicking up a fit about New York, but considering going to freaking Europe?
“You want to stay here with these people?” Kulti asked, just shy of sounding incredulous. “Not everyone deserves your loyalty.”
He was right, of course, in a selfish way.
“I still have a year left in my contract.”
“Too much can happen in a year, Sal. You could tear your ACL again, break a leg going down the stairs… anything.”
Kulti 2, Sal 0. He was right again. Anything could happen. In eight months I would be twenty-eight and if I was really lucky and my body held out on me, I might have three or four years left in my career. Maybe more. Maybe. I didn’t want to put too much hope into longer than that; my knee and my ankle would be the ones making the decision, and there wasn’t much I could do to change their mind when they decided they’d had enough.
So.
Europe? New York was closer. Then again, New York was a decision being taken out of my hands and I was not a fan of that, not a fan at all. I didn’t want to go to there and it was mainly just to spite Cordero. Who the hell did I know in Europe, anyway?
Was I really using not knowing someone as an excuse to stay in the U.S. when that choice would have me playing under a woman that would make it impossible for me to do well? Was there even a choice, really?
Indecision filled my chest and shamed me. Was I going to let fear get the best of me and keep me somewhere I wasn’t going to be happy? Keep me with an organization that obviously didn’t want me anymore because I was friends with my coach? How fucking stupid would that be? If twenty-two-year-old career driven Sal Casillas could hear me now, she would kick my twenty-seven-year-old ass for being a pussy.
A tiny part of me realized that I didn’t need to rush into a decision yet. There were still four games left in the season, and if we moved on to the playoffs—when we moved on to the playoffs—there would be more games. I had time, not much but some.
Big Girl Socks on, I thought about it.
Screw it. There wasn’t a decision to make. I’d be an idiot if I stayed in the WPL and gave someone, who didn’t have my best intentions in mind, a key to my future. Wasn’t I? What would my dad or Eric tell me?
It only took a second for me to decide what they would say: get the hell out.
“You’re right,” I said and straightened my spine. “I have nothing to lose even if things don’t work out.”
I didn’t see Kulti roll his eyes. “Make a list of the teams you’re familiar with,” he said to Franz.
The demand got me thinking instantly.
“Hold on. I don’t want to get on a team because you ask someone for a favor. Tell me the names of the teams you think I could be a good fit for, and I’ll talk to my agent about seeing what she can do.”
I didn’t miss the look they shot each other.
“I’m serious. I don’t need this to haunt me down the road. I want to go somewhere where I’m needed, or at least wanted.” Because it was the truth. I hadn’t gotten to where I was by taking advantage of who my grandfather was, or who my brother was. I had worked too hard to avoid getting screwed over, like I was now, and I didn’t plan on letting it happen again.
They exchanged another look.
“I’m not joking. You especially, Pumpernickel, promise me you won’t pay someone to take me.” I cringed, realizing what I’d said and gave Franz an apologetic smile. “It’s a joke, I swear. I have nothing against Germans.”
“No offense taken.”
Kulti agreed to nothing.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “Rey, promise me.”
That time I did catch him rolling his eyes. “Fine.”
“That doesn’t sound like a promise to me.”
“I promise, schnecke,” he grumbled.
I totally caught the small smile that crossed Franz’s face as he heard the nickname Kulti called me. It was the first time he’d used that term in front of someone, and Franz’s smile said that it couldn’t have meant a bad thing. At least that’s what I was pretty sure of.
“You’re positive this is what you want to do?” the German asked seriously, a gentle reminder of how he’d lost his crap when I first mentioned Franz’s idea of me playing overseas. Now, he was totally focused and calm. He looked ready to kill someone.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit terrified. The fact was, I could either let my fear of the unknown make me a victim, or take control of my career.
There wasn’t really a choice in the matter.
You don’t get to live your dreams by waiting around for someone to hand them to you.
Or at the very least, you hold on to them for dear life when others try and take them away.
I nodded at my friend, determined. “I’m positive.”
I was yawning every two minutes by the time Kulti finally glared at me from across the table where we were all playing poker. I hadn’t laughed when he busted out the cards and asked if we wanted to play, but I’d wanted to.
“Stop giving me that look. I’m going home now before I fall asleep,” I said, pushing the chair away from the table.
“Call a taxi.”
“No. I can drive home. I live close enough, it’ll be fine.” Before he could argue with me I leaned over and gave Franz, the man who had won both games we’d played, a hug. “Thank you for coming to camp today and thank you for all your help with the other stuff, too.”
“Let me know as soon as you hear back from a team. I can help you narrow it down,” he said, giving me an affectionate pat on the back. “You still have my information?”
“Yes.” I pulled away from him. “I’ll definitely let you know if I hear from anyone.”
“You’re an idiot. You will,” the bratwurst interjected, getting up.
“I don’t know how I’ve lived my entire life without you and your kind, encouraging words. Really. It’s a miracle I’ve survived this long.”
Kulti was doing his usual scowl-thing, but the corners of his mouth were tipped up as he grabbed the back of my neck with his broad palm and swung me around to face the doorway. “I have never met anyone that needed me less than you do.”
The way he said it, I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not, so I didn’t comment on it. I just bumped my shoulder against his. “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”
He nodded as we walked out the path leading toward my car. When we stopped by the driver side door, he put one hand on it and the other on my upper arm. “I’ll make this up to you.”
“You don’t have to make anything up to me. This isn’t your fault. I knew what I was doing. As long as you don’t forget I exist after the season is over, there won’t be anything to regret, all right?” I said, even though on the inside a small part of me was still frustrated and a bit depressed about all of this.
Kulti cocked his head. “You think I could forget about you?”
“No… well, I don’t know. You haven’t known me that long. I’m sure you have—“ I almost said ‘tons of friends,’ but at what point had this guy given me the idea that he had a lot of friends? Never. Not once. “I’m sure that you have plenty of distractions back home. I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I just know life gets in the way sometimes.”
“I don’t waste my time on things, Sal. Do you understand what I mean?”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled up, and hoarsely I answered. “Sort of.” He wouldn’t waste his time doing things with me if he didn’t like me and didn’t want to be my friend, I knew that much.
He opened his mouth and closed it. He wanted to say something; it was evident on his face. The German swallowed hard and an even look crossed his features, making me incredibly aware of everything: of the sticky summer night, the darkened sky missing its stars, the way his skin let off the barest hint of something sweet smelling. His fingers tightened over me, his thumbs digging into that groove where my shoulder met my collarbone.
I’d seen his face hundreds of times, and it seemed to never be enough. After I had gotten over my infatuation with him, I’d envisioned myself with someone who worked for himself: a go-getter maybe, good with his hands, quiet, honest and nice. Possibly a mechanic. I had wanted someone who would come home, a little dirty, a little sweaty and capable of fixing things. I pictured a steady, reliable type of guy. I wasn’t sure where I’d gotten that fantasy from, but it had stuck with me. Adam, my ex, had been that way, mostly. He’d been a general contractor straight out of a romance novel—incredibly good-looking and sweet. I hadn’t thought he was real at first.
Now facing Kulti, so much taller than me, older than me, serious, sneaky, temperamental and having only mowed a lawn once in his life… I couldn’t find it in me to be disappointed that this was where my dumbass heart had taken me. I was an idiot, of course. What the hell was I doing having feelings for this jackass again? Unrequited love and I had known each other once, and I didn’t want to be up close and personal with it again. So what was I going to do? I had no clue, but I was worried my heart would get stomped to death.
Hope for the best? Blah.
I missed the glance he took at my mouth. Missed the way he fisted his hand as he pried it off my shoulder. I didn’t see the look on his face when he stared at mine for a brief second.
“Good,” he finally said, easing his hand off the car door and tearing me away from thinking about how I was going to get over this whole being-in-love-with-the-wrong-person-crap. “Call when you get home.”
I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. Maybe he wasn’t in love with me, and maybe I wasn’t really the best friend he’d ever had, but he cared about me. Most of his actions made it loud and clear, even when he was being a bit of a gruff, emotionless dick. I could have done worse.
All right, that wasn’t true. I couldn’t have loved anyone else, definitely not anyone worse. I wouldn’t have done something so stupid.
Not that having feelings for him wasn’t completely fucking dumb, because it was, but… whatever. This was so hard.
“I’ll send you a text when I get home,” I agreed, opening the door and getting in. Once the car was on, I rolled down the window and watched him standing just a few feet away. “You know, even if you didn’t get Mike, Alejandro and Franz to come to the camp, and bought shoes for the kids, I would still think you were kind of great… most of the time, right?”
The lights outside of his house caught him looking up at the sky. “Go home.”
To my great pride, I only felt determination in his silence on the way back to my place.
What was the saying? When one door closes, another one opens. I might just have to do a little breaking and entering to get the right one for me.
