For the Win

by Rochelle Allison

  “This is my brother Julian,” Allie said. “And our friend Marcus.”

  “Hi,” the doe said. “I’m Melina.”

  Chapter 7

  Melina’s eyes, still brown and thoughtful, are no longer the innocent doe eyes they were when we were kids. There’s wariness and skepticism, not warmth and trust, and it’s probably my fault. We watch each other for a moment.

  Okay, it’s definitely my fault.

  “What’s with the mountain man look?” she asks, gaze skittering over me.

  My hand shoots reflexively to my beard, but before I can speak my sister replies, “Hipster.”

  “Wow,” Melina says, eyes widening.

  “I’m not a hipster,” I say, scoffing.

  Allie nods, wide eyed and teasing. “Sure.”

  “So, okay. You guys drove all the way down here, four days before training, to hang out with me at the beach.” I glance from Allie to Melina, who averts her eyes pretty much immediately. God, she’s even prettier than she was in college. “With no notice.”

  “To be fair, I tried calling you,” Allie says. “Twice.”

  Okay, that’s true. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Hanging out in your van?” Melina asks, glancing at Sally.

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Why are you two here?”

  “Kevin McDowell sent us,” Melina blurts. Allie hits her on the arm, but she just rolls her eyes. “He’s not an idiot. He knows why we’re here. Right?”

  “I had a feeling.”

  “Saxon Thrasher shredded his Achilles. He’s out,” Allie explains. “They’re pulling Dominic up but they need a second. They want you.”

  I shook my head. “No they don’t.”

  “Don’t be a dumbass,” Allie says. “In an alternate universe you’d be the one replacing Saxon, not Dom. He’s put in his time and is ready, but they’ve got to have backup.”

  “So...they broke down and called me. I can’t be the only one on the list.” But I know the list of Olympic level goalies in the qualifying age range is slim, and if they need the best I would be on it, despite my year off. “I haven’t been training.”

  My sister walks over and lifts up the hem of my shirt, revealing my lower stomach and the evidence of hard work. Melina’s eyebrows rise despite the firm line of her lips. “Please, you’re in better shape than your entire senior year at Clemson.”

  I laugh and mutter, “That’s not saying much.”

  Allie drops my shirt but doesn’t move away. She rests a hand on my shoulder and says in a low voice, “You know you want this. You know it’s the right thing for the team and for yourself. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

  I look over her shoulder, past Melina to the field where my team will gather to play later in the day. I think about what I would say to them in this situation. It’s a no-brainer. Only a fool would pass it up.

  I drop my eyes to the ground. “The other guys don’t want me there. There’s no way they’d approve.”

  “Bullshit. They want to win and you’ll help them get there. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but you just have to prove to them that you’ve changed.”

  My sister’s blue eyes cut through me like a knife. Do I want this? Hell yes. Do I deserve it? Fuck no.

  “Just talk to McDowell,” she says. “At least do that.”

  I nod. “I can talk to him.”

  “Good.” With a satisfied nod, Allie plucks her phone from her pocket. I glance at Melina, wondering what she’s got to say about all of this. If her troubled eyes are any clue, she’s just as apprehensive as me.

  *

  I call McDowell from the privacy of Edgar’s office, thanking him for the offer. And then I tell him that no, I can’t play for the US National Team. Not now, and probably not ever.

  There’s a brief pause. I assume we’re finished, but then in his firm, Midwestern accent McDowell says, “I’m sorry to hear that, son, but there’s more to my offer than you understand. I’d like you to hear me out.”

  “Okay,” I say, leaning back in Edgar’s chair. Photos of his kids and wife line the desk. I pick one up, studying the smile on the boy with his arms around his sister.

  “The IOC is always looking for angles to promote and market the games. In the last decade, personal stories have become one of the biggest sellers. Viewers want to get to know the athletes they are cheering on, and as important as it is to have a winning team, it’s also important for us to have a marketable product.”

  Frowning, I put the frame back on the desk and lean forward. The idea that the International Olympic Committee is aware I exist is pretty overwhelming. “What are you trying to say, sir?”

  “You and your sister are one of the biggest feel-good stories coming out of the US this year. They’ve had twins before but not a brother and sister pair and never playing the same sport! Add the struggles of your childhood, your diabetes, and the fact you’re coming off a sabbatical finding yourself journey, it’s ratings gold.”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I can’t believe McDowell is actually pushing this agenda.

  “We need you on the team, not just to back up Dominic, but to be the face of the Men’s National Team.”

  Fuck. No.

  “Sir, as grateful as I am for the opportunity I’m not sure how the other guys are going to feel about me being the face of the team. Not after last year and, you know…how I left Clemson.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Coach Mitchell and I will deal with any attitude issues.” He isn’t getting it.

  I try again. “Mr. McDowell, I spent the last year fighting for my life and rebuilding my body. I dug deep into my head to try to figure out why I’d allow myself to let down my team, my family and myself. I’ve finally worked it out and am enjoying the life I’ve settled into. So as much as I will probably kick myself when this is all over, I have to say no.”

  The other end of the line falls quiet again, and for a minute I think the call dropped. I look at the screen of my phone, but no — we’re still connected.

  “Hello?”

  “Son, I didn’t want it to come to this but there’s another part of this deal I need to explain to you.”

  I sigh and rub my forehead. McDowell certainly is persistent. “And what’s that?”

  “Allie’s position on the women’s team is conditional on your return.”

  And there it is. I jerk up, my back ramrod straight. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m afraid not. There’s no doubt she’s an outstanding player, skilled with the heart of an Olympian. But she’s got a risky Achilles, Julian, and our medics aren’t sure it’ll last the games. There are four other players lined up and ready to take her spot—all injury free.”

  Years of Allie and me on the field blur by in a flash. “You can’t take this away from her.” I clench my jaw and wish for one second he was in front of me.

  “I can, and I will, if we don’t reach an agreement. Her playing time is already limited—which she is aware of, but removing her completely isn’t out of the question.”

  “You’ll actually kick her off the team if I don’t agree to your demands?” I don’t even ask about my own playing time. There’s little chance I’ll make it past the practice field, and frankly, I don’t care. We’ll both be there as media pawns.

  “Yes.”

  “Does she know about this?”

  “No. No one knows about this but me, you and Mitchell. We had a feeling you may be a tough sell.”

  Mitchell coached me on the Men’s National Team—twice. He’s a good guy, and a legend on the field. We got along well and he even made an effort to get me back on track senior year, but I blew him off, convinced I knew better. For that fact alone, I’m a little surprised he wants me back under these circumstances. They must have him by the balls, too.

  “If I do this, you’ll never tell her?” I ask. Allie can’t know. She’s worked too hard, and confidence is too important in this game.

  “No. We’
ll never breathe a word.”

  “Dammit,” I mutter.

  “Should I take that as a yes?”

  My eyes catch the photograph of Edgar’s kids. What am I doing?

  “Yes.”

  Reporter: Did you always think the two of you would grow up to be Olympians?

  Julian: Me? No way. Allie? Absolutely.

  Allie: I always wanted to push myself. There was no limit.

  Reporter: I’m sure you realize you’re the first brother-sister twins to ever make to the same Games, not to mention in the same sport. How does it feel?

  Julian: It feels like no matter what I do, I can’t shake this girl. She’s been following me around my whole life.

  Allie: You know I’m older, right? By eight minutes. It drives him crazy.

  Reporter: So who is more protective of the other?

  Allie: Me.

  Julian: Definitely her. I’m a selfish bastard, haven’t you heard?

  Chapter 8

  I find Allie and Melina sitting at a wooden picnic table down by the dunes, plastic beer cups and a clear pitcher of amber liquid in front of them. This is probably their last hoorah before training — for real training — starts.

  “Well,” Allie says. “What did he say?”

  “Uh, he told me that he knows my history and that although he is fully aware of my weaknesses, he also thinks I have what they need for a second behind Dominic, who has struggled a bit lately and they feel like they need a strong backup just in case. Apparently they’ve been keeping tabs on me even though I thought I was off the grid. They think I’m ready to make my comeback.”

  Shit. I’m twenty-three years old and need a comeback.

  “I’m supposed to meet him in Colorado Springs for a physical and ‘tryout’ on Monday,” I add.

  “They’re making you try out?” Allie asks, not even trying to hide the start of a grin tugging at her lips.

  “I think they just want to make sure I actually show up before committing.”

  Melina rolls her eyes, mumbling, “Makes sense,” under her breath as she takes a sip of her drink.

  I deserve that, so I ignore the jab. “From there I’ll go to training just like everyone else. As long as my health is good and my performance is together, I’ll be in Brazil with the team.”

  A full smile breaks through and spreads across my sister’s face. She lunges across the table, squeezing me a tight hug. “Oh my God, Jules. It’s happening.”

  The Olympics. Holy shit. The sharp reality of it breaks over me, and I wrap my arms around her. “I know.”

  “I mean, it was our dream but then everything happened and I just…I never thought we’d actually go to the Olympics together,” she says, voice muffled by my shirt.

  “Trust me,” I agree, “neither did I.”

  Part of me still doesn’t. There’s no way I don’t screw this up somehow before the plane to Brazil takes off. Unfortunately, though, it’s not just about me anymore. If I go down, Allie goes down with me. McDowell made that more than clear.

  I catch Melina’s eye and she looks away. Again.

  Allie grabs her hand. “Who would have thought—three kids from Lexington Acres, repping the USA?”

  Melina smiles, but it’s weak. I’m not surprised when she shakes Allie loose and leaves the table. My sister stands to follow but I motion for her to stay. “No, let me go.”

  Melina heads straight to the shore, kicking her shoes off at the edge of the wet sand. Her toes hit the water and she shivers, folding her arms. It’s early June, but the ocean still thinks it’s winter.

  “It’s really nice here,” she says when I catch up. Her eyes are on the restless water, watching a pair of surfers by the pier.

  Following her gaze, I stare out at the horizon, letting the view soothe me as it’s done since day one. “Ocean Beach has been a good place for me.”

  Turning my way, she looks me over. “You look good, Jules.”

  “So do you.” I don’t check her out. I don’t need to. She’s always beautiful.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “You look healthy. Strong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  I shrug. “Ostracism suits me, I guess.”

  “You weren’t ostracized.” She scoffs. “You ran away.”

  Ouch. “What’s this about, Melina? Why did you come down here if you’re still so pissed at me?”

  Her eyes blaze. “I wanted to see for myself how you were doing. I figured there was no way you’d be okay on your own, that your mother was just telling us that you were good to make herself feel better. To make Allie feel better. I thought we’d show up and find you in a pile of your own filth, reeking of alcohol and one night stands.”

  I consider being offended, but what’s the point? She has reason to believe all that.

  “But here you are—better than ever.” She laughs darkly. “I should have known. Always the golden boy.”

  “That’s not fair—not everything has come easy for me.” My hand reaches for the pump connected to my lower stomach, but I drop it, shoving aside any self-pity. “I work hard—just like you. And I’ve really worked my ass off this last year.”

  “Only because of your mom.”

  True. I made my mother a promise and kept it. But at least I kept it. I’m caught between knowing I deserve Melina’s ire and wanting to defend myself from it.

  She bites her bottom lip and kicks the sand. “I can’t believe you agreed to this. I thought you’d tell Allie no for sure—that you’d tell McDowell to fuck-off. I thought you’d be the same, self-absorbed bastard you’ve always been.”

  Melina knows me well, since that’s exactly what I did, so her insight into the mind of Julian Anderson isn’t a surprise. Not to me at least. “So, let me get this straight: you’re pissed that I’m not selfish?”

  “No. I’m pissed that you’re pretending to be something you aren’t.” Tears shine in her eyes, but her jaw is tight with defiance. “Do not ruin this for me or your sister—do you understand me? If you come—if you really make it to Brazil—do not fuck it up for the rest of us.”

  Her anger and heat make the frustration I’m carrying against McDowell wane a little. I know our relationship has been rocky, but her tears are unexpected. I move toward her, wanting instinctively to touch her, but we haven’t been like that for years. Glancing up the beach at my sister, I see the worry lines on her face even from here.

  “I’ll prove it to you—to both of you—that I’ve changed,” I say, as though I have any choice in the matter. “I promise.”

  Giving me a quick nod, she breaks into a run up the beach. I watch her grow smaller and smaller, until she’s a tiny smudge against the white coastline. A small wave washes over my feet, pulling the sand back to the sea, and I hope I can keep my word.

  Because I have changed. In more ways than one.

  Chapter 9

  (2008)

  By sophomore year, we were a crew: me, Allie, Marcus, and Melina. Usually we were together, but sometimes we sort of paired off; I tried not to think about the times Allie and Marcus slipped off alone. My own feelings for Melina had evolved, growing pretty intense, and if Marcus felt like that for Allie? Well, he was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.

  Melina had always been a pretty girl, but by the time we were fifteen she had me nearly obsessive, in that hormonally-charged, bursting-out-of-my-skin, kind of way. I couldn’t stop staring at her, and she couldn’t stop catching me.

  We bounced from apartment to apartment, watching TV and doing homework, but mostly we hung out at the soccer field. I think we all sensed that the field and those black and white balls we goofed around with might be our shot out of that place. If only we tried hard enough. Worked hard enough.

  “I should go,” Melina said one afternoon. We were mid-field, shuffling around the dirt worn area at the center. No matter how many times the school replanted grass, the dirt always won. She rubbed her hands over her arms. The sun had fallen behind the trees, makin
g the air much cooler. I untied my hoodie from my hips and offered it to her, but she shook her head.

  “You’re cold,” I insisted. “Take it.”

  The sweatshirt had my number on the chest. Fifteen. She knew being seen in it implied something, and I wanted it to. I wanted the world to know she was mine, even though it probably worked the other way around better. I was hers.

  “My dad won’t like it,” she said.

  Ah, her dad. He was the reason Allie stuck around so much, even when she’d rather be alone with Marcus. Traditional and very Catholic, Melina’s father was loving but strict with his girls. Melina was the oldest, so she took the brunt of his worries the hardest. Boys and dating were out of the question; he wanted her to focus on academics and sports. College was a big deal to him.

  The fact I was a white boy from a poor, single parent home didn’t help, either. I don’t think he saw me ever getting out of the neighborhood. Over the years, he’d accepted me because of Allie but the looks he gave me made his real thoughts clear: hands off.

  My fingers clenched the red and black fabric in my hands. Allie ran by with Marcus hot on her heels, snatching our weathered ball with her fingers. She lobbed it mid-air and punted toward the end of the field.

  “You didn’t,” he said.

  She cracked a smile, ponytail swinging. “Race you.”

  They dashed down the field, leaving me holding the sweatshirt next to a shivering Melina. Stepping forward, I tugged the neck over her head and pulled the shirt over her shoulders. My heart beat double time as I pushed her hair out of the way. She struggled at first against my hands, but I stopped her. “Ask your dad what’s worse; wearing a boy’s shirt or knowing that boy that didn’t offer one to his freezing daughter.”

  A small grin crossed her lips and I knew I’d won. Melina pushed her hands through the sleeves. Red tinted her cheeks. “I will.”

  Allie laughed, the sound carrying clear across the empty field. She and Marcus dodged one another, now involved in a game of tag with an excessive amount of touching.