Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

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 th
ought 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 apparen
tly 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.