Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  But as I took in his thirty-nine-year-old face that had been such a huge aspect of my life when I was younger and had somehow become an ever larger figure now that I was a lot older, I accepted the fact that there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him. I wasn’t positive whether to let that make me feel weak or to accept it for the gift it would have been if I let myself think of it that way.

  I had a man I respected that respected me, and he didn’t care if the world knew we meant something to each other. Our friendship hadn’t been given to either one of us, we had worked at it. On top of that, I felt something for him even if he was an egotistical, arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass. He was my egotistical, arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass.

  So, yeah, I wasn’t about to let someone—anyone—cheapen our friendship. That person sure as hell wasn’t going to be Cordero either.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” The only thing I didn’t want and wouldn’t want, would be to get stared at. That was all. A thought entered my head. “Does your publicist hate us hanging out together?”

  “My publicist hates most things, schnecke, don’t worry about him.”

  That wasn’t super reassuring but all right. I smiled at him. I guess his publicist could sign up on the long list of ‘People Who Aren’t Fans of Sal.’ Someone had told me once that you couldn’t make everyone happy, and I’d kept that close to my chest for a very long time. Once you reluctantly accepted that people were always going to judge you no matter what, it got a little easier to deal with having people dislike you.

  A little.

  “Why are you frowning? Is your head bothering you?” Kulti asked in a worried tone.

  Yeah, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.

  I repeated that to myself the instant the first person recognized Kulti at the airport. I kept repeating that to myself when a security officer was forced to lead us into a special room to wait until boarding began. When I became overwhelmed at the people craning their necks to get a good look at the German, I told myself that this was all part of it. My face got all red because he wouldn’t let me walk ahead and pretend like I didn’t know him. This was all part of being friends with the German.

  But it definitely sucked and I wasn’t a fan.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?” Marc asked.

  Two weeks had passed since my concussion, and I was itching to start playing again. I hadn’t been allowed to practice with the team, but I hadn’t slacked off. I’d kept up running on my own and doing some easy ball-dribbling with the German in his backyard. He made sure to stay at least five feet away from me at all times so that he didn’t accidentally hit me in the face.

  “In the front, please.”

  He nodded as he turned on the street where the Pipers building was located. Marc hadn’t been super-talkative the last week or so, and I knew it was my fault. After my parents and Eric, he’d been the next person I told about possibly going to play somewhere else. While he said he understood, he hadn’t taken it as well as everyone else had despite my explanation that I’d probably be sent to another team regardless. Marc didn’t even pretend to not be sad about it.

  Then again, no one spent as much time with me as he did.

  “Call if you change your mind and need a ride,” he said as he eased his big truck to a stop.

  I got ready to open the door but waited, facing him. “I will, but it’s not a big deal for me to call a cab. I know you need to get to the next job.”

  The man who used to give me wet willies when I was little simply nodded, and it tore my insides up. I didn’t know what to say to him. Nothing could possibly come out of my mouth that would make him feel any better. So I saved my words and instead, reached over to pat his knee. “I love you, dude. Thanks for the ride.”

  He puffed out a breath and tapped the top of my hand. “Anytime, Salamander. Good luck.”

  Short words were a guilt trip from him. Bah. I nodded and reminded myself for the twentieth time that I was doing the best thing for me by trying to find another team. Plus who said anyone would actually go through with everything and sign me? I’d spoken to three teams on the phone, and all the conversations had seemed pretty positive.

  Except the whole ‘What made you decide to leave the WPL?’ question.

  Any publicist would have wanted to murder me when I told the general managers the truth. Maybe lying would have been the smarter idea, but I couldn’t do it though. I told them. “I’ve given the WPL the last four years. I don’t want to play where I’m criticized for things that don’t matter on the field. All I want is to play. I want to win a cup.”

  They’d either take me or they’d leave me, but at least I’d go somewhere on my own merits.

  Surprisingly, none of them had questioned my friendship with Kulti.

  I hoped things worked out. I really hoped things worked out, but with the Pipers heading into the semi-finals in three days, I knew I had to play better than my best.

  The only thing holding me back was medical clearance from the team physician and trainer.

  The doctor had done just that, that afternoon. I was healthy, fine. There wasn’t a single reason why they shouldn’t let me practice or play.

  This was the reason why, three days later, I didn’t understand what the hell happened.

  * * *

  I was aware something was wrong when I realized that Gardner was avoiding eye contact during our semi-final pre-game practice, but I didn’t know for sure until he started going over the strategy he wanted to take against the Arrows.

  “We’re going to make a few changes to the starting line-up for this game—“

  Cue the screeching tire sounds in my head.

  I fucking knew it. I knew down to the marrow of my bones what was about to come out of his mouth. My gaze shot over to the German, who was busy looking over Gardner’s shoulder, a furrow creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

  He rattled off the names of the players starting: Jenny, Harlow, Grace, another and another and another. They were all names that didn’t belong to me. Disbelief made my face go hot when the only ‘change’ to the roster was my missing name, replaced by the same girl who was always competing with me when we did sprints.

  “There’s no reason we can’t win this,” Gardner said in a confident voice while I stood there, humiliated and nearly ready to commit murder.

  I tried to tell myself while he stood there babbling encouraging words that I shouldn’t take it personally. It wasn’t like he hated me and didn’t want me to play. I cared what Gardner thought about me, I really did. He’d always been more than simply a coach, he’d been my friend.

  Jesus Christ, I needed to scream.

  Someone else could have rationalized that he wasn’t starting me because I hadn’t practiced in two weeks, and I’d sat out the last two games, with the Pipers winning just fine. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I knew this decision had been made by someone else.

  It was fine. It was totally fine, I reminded myself. Just because I wasn’t starting didn’t mean I wouldn’t get to play.

  Yeah, I couldn’t believe that either, no matter how hard I tried. It was the freaking semi-finals, and I wasn’t going to play.

  Big Girl Socks on.

  This wasn’t the end of the world. This wasn’t the end of the world.

  I let out a shuddering breath as Gardner wrapped up his speech. From over his shoulder Kulti was staring at me. His face blank except for how prominent his jaw suddenly became. I knew what he was trying to convey with that look alone.

  He was telling me not to be him.

  He was telling me to keep it together.

  I needed to cool it.

  Breathe. Deep breath. Big Girl Socks on.

  Wait, wait, wait.

  It was Harlow who came up to me first as the team broke up to leave. She put a hand on my shoulder and tipped her head down. “Sally, this is horse shit,”
she said in that same volume she would have used if she were talking about the weather.

  “It’s fine, Har,” I told her, even though it wasn’t. It really fucking wasn’t fine. The veins at my temples were throbbing, for crap’s sake. I didn’t even think I was capable of being so angry.

  “Fuck that, it’s not fine,” she argued. “I’m gonna go say something to them—“

  Patience, patience, patience. “No, don’t do that. Don’t bother, really.” I reached down to grab my bag and stood, attempting to calm myself. Looking back at her face, I swallowed and couldn’t help but smile at my buddy. She’d been there for me for so long. I put my arms around her and gave her a bear hug. “I want to tell you before everyone finds out, I heard they’re trying to trade me.”

  She jerked back, her brown eyes wide in shock. “No fuckin’ way.”

  “Yeah way. You see how they’re treating me. I’m going to try and get out before it’s too late,” I explained, trying my best to not sound sad about it. “It’s our secret. I have to tell Jenny—“

  “Tell me what?”

  No one else was around as she came up to stand in our triangle. Harlow was the one that answered. “The team is going to trade her.”

  Jenny’s mouth dropped open. “What? Who told you that?”

  I shrugged because it didn’t matter.

  Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. “What team?”

  “New York.”

  Neither one of them said anything.

  It was Harlow that asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “Go to Europe, I hope,” I explained. “Maybe. If someone wants me.”

  My poor Jenny’s eyes filled up with tears. “You’re really leaving us?”

  Oh God. “I’m leaving this, not you guys. You know Cordero’s never liked me. I’m not really surprised he finally decided to get rid of me, but I can’t believe he’d try to pawn me off to New York of all places.”

  “They’d never let you play.” Jenny shook her head.

  A hand cupped my elbow before trailing a path all the way to the small of my back. The heat of a man’s body seared my side. “You’ll be fine,” a male voice stated.

  It took a second for my brain to register what was happening. Kulti was touching me in public, at practice no less, in front of my friends and whoever else was left in the locker room.

  When his hand slid up my spine and settled on the shoulder furthest away from him, the tension drained from my lungs and shoulders. This was the end. He was my friend, nothing else. I had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.

  Fuck it. I put my hand on top of his. “Hopefully someone will take me.”

  “They will,” he stated with complete confidence.

  I’m glad one of us was certain.

  His gaze settled on me, like he didn’t even realize there were other people there. “I need to talk to you.”

  I wanted to ask about what, but figured I should wait.

  “See you later?” I asked Jenny and Harlow who were watching us closely.

  “Yeah,” they both agreed.

  He didn’t bother waiting until we got to my car. Kulti stopped me in the middle of the parking lot, an exceptionally serious look on his face. “They aren’t going to put you in the game.”

  “I know.”

  “If we don’t do anything and the team moves on to next round, they aren’t going to let you play the final either.”

  Grief and anger were so similar it was difficult to distinguish which one was crushing my lungs. “I know.”

  Kulti took a step forward. He’d let his beard grow in the last couple of days, and it framed his face perfectly, really making his eyes pop. “Do you trust me?”

  Did I trust him? My head jerked back a little and my eyebrows went up. I better be able to. “Yes.”

  His nostrils flared as his chin tipped down. He resembled the man I’d admired on the field for so long. “Let’s talk to Cordero.”

  I had just told him I trusted him, but I still wanted to ask what the hell we were going to talk to that ass-wipe about. Trust, right? He wasn’t going to screw me over. Kulti knew what was at stake.

  I wanted to throw up, but instead I nodded.

  * * *

  “I’ll meet you there,” Kulti said before disappearing into the first restroom we came upon.

  All right. I had no clue what the hell we were going to do, but I continued toward Cordero’s office. His secretary was at her desk. She looked what you’d imagine an older secretary to look like, neat, white hair trimmed short, a button-up sweater layered over a shell-collared shirt. It was almost easy to believe she was nice.

  She wasn’t; at the very least she’d never been nice to me.

  “Hi, Mrs. Brokawski. I wanted to see about talking to Mr. Cordero, please.” Kill them with kindness, right?

  The rude old bat looked away from her computer, summing me up and finding me lacking. “You need to schedule an appointment.”

  Someone was skipping the pleasantries. All right. “If I could just talk to him for five minutes? That’s it. It’s very important,” I stressed and lied to deaf ears, which had turned away to focus again on the computer screen.

  “I already explained, you need to schedule an appointment. He has an opening for Monday at eleven,” she stated.

  “There’s no way for me to speak to him today?”

  The lady rolled her eyes and wasn’t discreet about it. “No.”

  Obviously she wasn’t going to work with me. “Thank you anyway,” I said before turning around. I started walking in the direction I’d come from, intending to find the German to let him know he was going to have to be the one to get the rabid badger to let us in. Before I even left her visual range, Kulti was there walking forward, frowning.

  “She won’t let me in to see him,” I explained.

  He blinked once then grabbed my hand, palm to palm, and walked with me back to the secretary’s desk.

  Kulti didn’t bullshit around. “I need to speak to Cordero. Now.”

  Her slim wireless frames moved up to see who was speaking. Her entire face changed when she spotted the German. “Mr. Kulti, you should really schedule an appointment—“

  “No. I need to see him now,” he cut her off.

  The old bat’s eyes swung over to me, and I didn’t miss the wrinkle on her nose. Well, the multiple wrinkles on her nose. “Let me get him for you.”

  Exactly fifteen seconds later Mr. Cordero’s ancient guardian was standing at the doorframe, holding the door wide open and waving us forward. “He’ll see you now.”

  The general manager of the Pipers was sitting behind his desk as we walked in, Kulti ahead of me, still holding my hand. I knew what it would look like, and I didn’t find it in me to care. Not even a little. The German took the seat furthest away from the door. I took the other one, watching Cordero, who looked completely undisturbed.

  “How can I help you?” the man asked with a distasteful expression.

  “I’ll take the job if you let her play the next two games,” Kulti went right out and said it.

  My head swung around to gape at him. What?

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one surprised by his words. Cordero’s eyes widened. “You will?”

  “On two conditions. The first is that you let her start,” he stated evenly.

  The oldest man in the room seemed to think about it, almost stupefied. “That’s your compromise?”

  “One part of it.”

  He didn’t want to take the job. He’d told me so. What in the hell was he doing?

  “Rey,” I whispered.

  The German turned to give me another look; that look that reminded me I had promised to trust him.

  Damn it.

  “Yes or no?” he demanded from Cordero.

  “I…” he stuttered. “I can’t have you both on the field at the same time. There have been complaints from other players—“

  The King raised a hand, shooting me a meanin
gful long look I wouldn’t understand until after he finished speaking. “I’ll sit out both games,” he offered, watching me while he did it.

  For that brief moment, time stopped.

  Cordero had no idea what had just come out of Kulti’s mouth. He heard the words, but he didn’t understand the meaning behind them. I heard the words and understood, but … but…

  “No,” I told him.

  He didn’t once break eye contact with me, confirming that he wanted me to really get what he was implying, what he wanted me to understand. “Yes.”

  “Rey. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  The German gave me a hard look, his face both intense and serene at the same time. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

  Oh bloody freaking hell.

  “You will sit out to let her play?” Cordero asked surprised, obviously not as oblivious as I had thought.

  For Kulti to sit out a game…

  With no hesitation and still staring directly at me, the pumpernickel said to the Pipers’ general manager. “Yes. Do we have a deal?”

  The other man seemed to only think about his answer for a minute. “Okay. You’ve got a deal as long as your next demand isn’t preposterous.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at Kulti. My entire body was zeroed in on him, on his words, on his face and on that swell in my chest that wanted to squeeze my vocal pipes until they burst.

  “Good. The other thing I want is for you to take a look at Sal’s contract. I’m buying her out, and I need to know how much to write the check for,” the bratwurst explained. Before I could argue, he made sure I knew he was talking to me and not the general manager. “Don’t argue. You would do it for me.”

  “Just because I would—“

  “I would do anything for you.”

  Ahh shit.

  I flung up my common sense into the air and held my imaginary ovaries out in sacrifice. My heart was pit-pit-patting a beat it had never known before. I was going to have a heart attack at twenty-seven. Holy crap.