Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the month that followed Franz’s admission, life seemed to strap a jetpack to itself and take off in every direction, both the good and the bad.

  Pipers practice went on as normal, or at least as relatively normal as possible. Going back after I found out what Cordero was planning was tough, really tough. I was a horrible liar with an itty bitty temper that desperately wanted to make an appearance. How could I face these people like nothing was wrong? How could I make it seem like I wasn’t dying a little inside while planning my escape?

  It was hard. We had advanced to the first round of the playoffs. I was resentful and angry, and my emotions hadn’t wavered at all. The worst aspect of being so bitter was the part of me that held my ego above winning. Pride told me I shouldn’t give a single crap how the rest of the season went. The reasonable half of me that didn’t get sappy right before my period, said that I had no business thinking that way. I needed the Pipers to do well.

  Everything was wrapped up together now. I’d spoken with my agent and asked her to discreetly see if we could find a spot for me somewhere else in Europe—specifically the teams Kulti and Franz had suggested that afternoon at his house. She’d been more excited than I could have imagined, and within two weeks sent me an email telling me there were three teams interested in speaking with me.

  I talked to my parents on the phone and told them everything. The first thing out of my dad’s mouth before he told me he had plenty of airline miles to visit Europe was, “Este cabron.” This bitch, referring to Cordero. After that, I called my brother where he proceeded to chew me out for being friends with the German, and then offered to help me find a place to live, followed by a passing “fuck them,” referring to the WPL. We ended the conversation with me critiquing his latest game.

  Then there were the emails, the phone calls and the reporters.

  Why people even cared about the pictures that popped up of Kulti and I during the youth camp blew my mind. Four youth camps worth of cell phone pictures taken by parents, teachers and students, flooded both gossip and Kulti fan sites. Shots of us smiling, laughing, a few with his arm around me or with blurred faces of kids between us, were being sent to me by my dad who thought it was the coolest freaking thing ever. I on the other hand, was only slightly horrified by the attention.

  ‘A LOVE AFFAIR ON THE FIELD,’ was the last headline he’d sent me with stars in the subject.

  Before that had been, ‘KULTI’S EX WANTS HIM BACK’ and, ‘KULTI CAUGHT WITH PLAYER.’

  “How long have you been dating?” became the question I dreaded hearing the most in the world.

  Honestly, it was only thinking about my dad and knowing he was probably egging on the rumors in his circle of friends that kept me from actually commenting. I could die tomorrow knowing I hadn’t done a single thing wrong. There wasn’t anything to weigh down my conscience.

  I stopped talking to members of the media who asked. I stopped checking my email nearly all together once I received a message in Italian along the lines of you’re an ugly bitch and I hope you die. I also only answered calls from numbers saved in my phone.

  I didn’t say anything to the German, because what was the point? No one was threatening to kill me. I was also partially concerned he would overreact and blow it out of proportion.

  Overall things were fine.

  Until they weren’t.

  * * *

  We were in Florida for the first playoff game when it happened.

  I was standing near the Jacksonville Shields’ goal with a few other players from both teams, crowded together to wait out the winner of a battle for the ball, when Grace managed to steal it away. We were tied zero to zero and well into the second half. Someone needed to score.

  I waited and waited. I watched the veteran Piper move the ball around and kept up my vigilance to see who stood close enough to accept a pass at a moment’s notice. I’d been playing with Grace long enough to recognize her body language and what she wanted to do. There was an opening between us but the distance was a problem. Obviously there was only one thing to do, and I
was ready.

  She kicked the ball up high. I braced for it and watched it fly right at me.

  It was going to be a header, definitely. Head meet ball, ball meet another player with a better shot at the goal. It was one of my favorite moves.

  I went for it; I jumped straight into the air as a version of my lifelong friend and enemy, the ball, continued its trajectory toward me. Someone elbowed me right in the boob, but I ignored the pain. I could sense people moving around nearby.

  I was going to get it. I was going to get it.

  Later on, I would realize that I didn’t get it.

  The last thing I was aware of was the sharp pain that cracked the back of my head.

  ….

  ….

  Sal!

  Casillas!

  Schnecke!

  Goddamnit!

  Schnecke!

  SCHNECKE!

  ….

  ….

  I didn’t even know I’d gotten knocked out until I opened my eyes and found myself on my back, staring up at Kulti’s face, whose eyes were maybe two inches above mine.

  Kulti’s breath washed over my mouth, ragged and uneven. His face full of an expression I wasn’t remotely familiar with. And his eyes….

  “Move back! Move!” someone yelled from nearby, and I found myself blinking, trying to remember what the hell happened.

  A second before Kulti was pushed away by two paramedics, he squeezed my hand. I hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it.

  * * *

  “Overnight?”

  The doctor smiled at me. “Yes, overnight. We just want to be on the safe side with your medical history.”

  This wasn’t my first or my second concussion. It also didn’t help that the player who had elbowed the daylights out of me, was twice my size and had an arm that would have given a professional bodybuilder a boner. If I was going to get knocked out, at least it had been by a girl like Melanie Matthews, the second most aggressive defender in the WPL after Harlow. My concussion was practically a badge of honor.

  “All right.” I didn’t sigh because it would have made me move half an inch and that was more than I wanted to. She really had knocked the shit out of me.

  “Excellent. The nurse will be in here to check on you. The call button is to your left if you need anything.”

  Unfortunately or fortunately, however you wanted to look at it, this wasn’t my first stay in the hospital. Knee surgeries, ankle surgeries and that one time I got pneumonia had all landed me an overnight stay. It wasn’t the end of the world.

  “Your team rep is outside, I’ll let her in,” the doctor said.

  “Thank you,” I called out to his retreating figure loud enough that it made my head buzz with pain.

  By some miracle, they had given me a room to myself. My best guess was that it was the Pipers insurance that provided it, so I wasn’t going to complain at all.

  A knock came at the door, but it didn’t open until I called out. Sheena’s head popped through the door before she swung it open and came in. “Sal, how are you feeling?” she asked, a small plant in her hands. She’d been the one who had ridden over in the ambulance with me after they’d carried me off the field like I’d broken my spine.

  “I’m all right,” I told her. “I feel like I’ve been beaten with a sledgehammer, but it’s okay.”

  She smiled and set the plant on the rolling table next to the bed. “I’m happy to hear that. What did the doctor say?”

  “It’s a concussion, but since it isn’t my first one they want to keep me overnight to be on the safe side.”

  Sheena let out a slow whistle. “You gave us a scare. That’s for sure. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “I’m fine, but do you think you can have someone bring me my bag or at least ask Jenny if she can keep it for me? It’s in the locker room.”

  “Sure, Sal. No problem,” she agreed.

  Then I asked her the question I’d been wondering about for the last two hours. “Do you know if we won?”

  “We did. Genevieve scored in the last three minutes.”

  Well at least this crap hadn’t been in vain. “That’s great,” I said.

  “It sure is. She’s the next generation, isn’t she?”

  The next generation. She was only five years younger than me, for the love of crap. It wasn’t like I was about to croak or needed to invest in a wheelchair anytime soon, jeez.

  “Yeah, she is,” I gritted out, annoyed. I wondered if she knew what Cordero was planning.

  We looked at each other awkwardly, at a loss for what else to say.

  She smiled and glanced at the door. “Well, if there’s not anything else, I should head back now. I wanted to make sure you were fine.”

  “I’m all right, thanks.”

  “I’ll leave my number on the pad over here in case you need me, and I’ll make sure your bag gets picked up,” she assured.

  I somehow smiled using only the minimal amount of facial muscles. “Thanks, Sheena.”

  She left, and I sat there in the quiet room alone, finally letting myself think about how much this concussion sucked ass. I knew what was going to happen. They were going to make me sit out of practice, and at least one game depending on what the doctor suggested and what the Pipers’ trainer decided.

  I would have hung my head low except I knew it would be painful. Sure I didn’t want to die; I understood how important it was to put my health first. But when it came down to it, this was the last thing I freaking needed. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Ugh.

  One minute of wallowing was what I usually allowed myself. I made the most of it.

  As soon as the sixty seconds were over, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was lucky my injury wasn’t worse. I could have died, right? In the end, this concussion wasn’t the end of the world.

  Then I reached over and grabbed the phone next to the bed, even though it made me a little dizzy; I dialed my mom’s number first. When she didn’t answer, I left her a voicemail, and then called my dad who I knew would have been watching the game at home. Dad could have been in church and still found a way to watch my game. He always did.

  “Hello?” he practically shouted into the phone.

  “Dad, it’s me, Sal.”

  That time he did yell, away from the phone at least, saying something that sounded like “It’s her!” in Spanish. “Are you okay?” he asked in that worried tone only fathers were capable of.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just a concussion,” I assured him.

  He spat out some more curse words in Spanish, and I could faintly hear my mom in the background telling him to control himself. “I almost fainted, you can ask your mom,” he exaggerated. “You’re really okay? No brain damage?”

  “No brain damage, I promise I’m all right. I wanted to call and tell you before you booked a plane ticket here. I’ll survive.”

  Dad let out an audible exhale. “Gracias a Dios. You get that hardhead from your mother—“

  Mom screeched something in the background, and I had to fight the urge to laugh.

  “Save your jokes for tomorrow. I don’t have my phone on me, but I’ll make sure to call you as soon as I get my things back. If you need anything, I’m staying at the…” I looked around and gave him the name of the hospital printed on the whiteboard in front of the bed. “I really am okay though, so don’t worry, and tell Mom I tried to call her but she didn’t answer.”

  “Si, esta bien. Call me as soon as they release you. I love you. If you need me, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I smiled on the other end. “Thanks, Dad. Love you. Bye.”

  My dad said goodbye in return and we hung up.

  With nothing else to do, I turned on the television and watched what was left of a movie about house-sized tarantulas. About an hour later, a few knocks tapped at the door before I heard who could only be Harlow and Jenny arguing on the other side. They, and by ‘they’ I meant Harlow, didn’t wait for
me to welcome them inside. The defender pushed the door open and strolled in the room, followed by Jenny and three of my other teammates.

  Har looked around the room. “This is fancy.”

  “Hi, Har, Jenny.” I greeted the other girls that came along with them too.

  Jenny came to sit on the bed with big bright eyes. “You scared the devil out of me.” She grabbed my hand gently. “I thought you were dead.”

  Harlow chuffed as she sat by my feet and let the other girls take the chairs. “I knew you were fine.”

  “They told us you have a concussion,” one of the girls said.

  “A moderate one,” I told them.

  The wince was visible around the room. They all knew what it meant and none of them tried to feed me kind words. The situation sucked.

  “Yeah, it blows.” I sighed. “I’m not even going to bother asking if I’m playing the next game, it’ll just piss me off when they tell me, ‘no’ to my face.”

  Jenny squeezed my hand. “What matters is that you’re okay. Did they make sure you don’t have any hemorrhaging?”

  How could you not smile at that?

  The girls stayed for almost an hour, making me smile and fight back laughs as we joked around about random things that had nothing to do with the Pipers. They finally promised to see me the next day, if I was on time for the flight, and Jenny assured me she had taken my things back to our room. As they got up and started to head out, Harlow leaned in and whispered, “You want me to do something about Mel?”

  Oh dear God.

  I patted her cheek and totally lost it. “No, Har. It’s all right. Thank you.”

  She eyed me. “If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure. Thanks though, I really do appreciate it.”

  Harlow eyed me suspiciously as she walked out, as if expecting me to change my mind and ask her to exact vengeance on my behalf. I suddenly realized I wouldn’t just be leaving the Pipers. For the first time since I’d decided I didn’t have any choice but to go somewhere else, the reality of leaving two of my closest friends for the last few years really got to me.