Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  Kulti was going to sit out the last two games, and he wanted to buy out my contract for me.

  He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, I repeated to myself, trying my best not to lose it right then and there.

  “Cordero, do we have a deal?”

  Neither one of us was looking at the weasel, so we both missed his scoff and the incredulous look on his face. As much as this old idiot was essential to what was happening that moment, it didn’t feel like it. This was me and Kulti, and Cordero was just background noise to get to where we were heading. “You want to buy out her contract?” Cordero’s laugh had an edge to it. “You’re more than welcome to.”

  If I wouldn’t have been in such a daze over what Kulti had implied, I might have been offended at how easily this ass-wipe sold me off.

  “Not together,” Cordero mocked under his breath.

  The thing I would realize later was that I could have argued with him and defended myself. I could have told him nothing ever happened between Kulti and I. At least before we went into his office, he’d never been anything but platonic toward me. Fatherly, brotherly, friendly, Kulti had been all of those things throughout the course of our friendship. But what was the point in trying to convince someone who would believe whatever he wanted to believe otherwise?

  Most importantly by that point, I couldn’t have cared any less what one mean little asshole thought about me.

  Because Kulti had made one thing known in the minutes that transpired right before he offered to buy me out from the Pipers.

  It was the most amazing, most unexpected, most surreal thing ever.

  He lo—

  I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t even think that he might have real feelings for me.

  Holy shit.

  Obviously, he was out of his mind and completely misguided. Yeah, he was insane. That was it.

  I stared at him in the minutes that followed, only faintly listening to whatever was going back and forth between the two old farts in the room. What the hell was he doing? What was he thinking?

  “I’ll have legal contact you later, Ms. Casillas,” Cordero’s voice snapped me out of my trance.

  I tried to think back about what he’d been saying before I zoned out, and I was pretty sure he was going to have the legal department call me to sign the contract that would free me from the Pipers.

  I didn’t even have a team waiting for me with open arms yet.

  Oh jeez. I’d figure it out. It would all work out.

  “I’ll be waiting for their call,” I said absently, getting to my feet when the German did.

  “I’m ecstatic you’ve decided to join us again next year,” Cordero called out as we exited his office.

  Kulti said nothing. It sent off warning signs in my head that I pushed away until we were in a place where I could ask him what in the hell he was thinking agreeing to sign another contract. Silence was our companion on the way out of the building. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t tell me how much he cared about me. He didn’t even explicitly say he liked me.

  But I guess he’d done enough already. Right?

  We made it all the way to my car and got inside before I broke.

  Turning carefully in the seat to face him, the side of my right thigh up against the back support, I gathered my words and sorted them as he watched me the entire time. When I was ready, I gave myself a pep talk and met his eyes. “Look, you’re my best friend, and I am so thankful to have you in my life, but you don’t…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t.

  “I don’t what?” he asked in a cool tone, those clear eyes locked.

  “You know what.”

  He blinked. “No. Tell me.”

  Yeah, not happening. I couldn’t even put the word in the same sentence with his name. “I know you care about me, but you don’t have to do all this. I can figure something else out. It’s too much.”

  The German crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unforgiving. “It isn’t too much, not for you.”

  There we went again. Sweet Jesus. “Rey, please. Don’t say stuff like that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it gives people the wrong impression.”

  Those jewel-like eyes narrowed into slits. “What impression is that?”

  “You know what impression it makes.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.” Dear God, if this friendship continued, I’d probably have premature hair loss in no time.

  “It isn’t an impression. I could care less what anyone else thinks when it’s the truth.”

  Oh hell. “Rey, stop it. Just… stop.”

  “No.” The expression on his face was determined. “You are the most honest, good thing I’ve ever had. I won’t deny it to anyone.”

  Dear God. Panic flooded my belly. “I’m your friend.” I sounded timid, borderline panicked.

  His forehead was as smooth as ever. Kulti looked more calm and collected than I’d ever seen him. There was no trace of anger or frustration on him. He was somber and serious and terrifying. “No. You mean so much more to me, and you know it.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it, and suddenly I couldn’t be in the tiny car with him any longer. I needed out. Out. Right then. That instant. I needed to get out. Fresh air, I needed fresh air.

  So I did just that. I got the hell out of the car and slammed the door closed behind me. I crouched down on the ground with my head in my hands. I was on the verge of having either a panic attack or a shit attack; I couldn’t decide which. My heart was hammering a mile a freaking second and I was just squatting, trying to convince myself not to die from a sudden heart attack at the age of twenty-seven.

  This was like the best dream and the worst nightmare all wrapped into one beautiful package.

  I hunched over more and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

  The sound of the passenger door opening and closing warned me that my temporary peace was about to come to an end. Seconds later I felt the one and only man—the cause of why I losing my mind—drop down in front of me. His knees hit mine as his hands came to rest on my shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

  “Why are you telling me this now all of a sudden?” I croaked.

  His hands stroked down the line of my upper arms to stop at my elbows. “I won’t be the reason your career is blemished,” he explained.

  The reason my career was blemished?

  Oh. Oh. I’d been the one to say it from the very beginning: it didn’t matter what anyone else thought as long as we both knew we hadn’t done anything. I could go to my grave knowing I hadn’t done any fraternizing with my coach. Oh my God.

  “I wanted to wait until the season was over. I didn’t want to rush you. A few months are nothing compared to the rest of my life, schnecke.” Kulti nodded, his eyebrows hitching up a quarter of an inch as recognition hit me. “You have no idea what the day of your concussion did to me.”

  His face tipped down as his expression turned grave. “I thought your neck was broken. It was the most frightening thing I have ever experienced. Franz called and asked how my schnecke was doing.

  “My schnecke. My little snail, do you know that’s what it means? It’s a term of affection in my country. My love. My snail. I don’t want to waste more time. I have nothing to hide and neither do you.”

  I tilted my head back, my throat completely exposed as I sighed in desperation. “Please don’t say stuff like that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “No, it’s not. We’re friends. You said I was your best friend, remember? You can love me but not be in—“ I couldn’t say it. I shut my mouth and gave him an exasperated look.

  “I can and I am. When you love something you do whatever you need to do to protect it, isn’t that right?” He tilted his face down, making sure our eyes were meeting.

  All I could manage to do was stare and hyperventilate.

  He nodded, his big hands kneading my arms. “You’re suppo
sed to say, ‘Oh yes.’”

  I could feel my lower lip trembling as his thumbs rubbed the tender part in the crook of my elbow. “You’re delusional.”

  “I’m not.” Kulti tipped his head down, eye to eye like he’d been with me when I’d woken up from my concussion. “Understand, I would wait for you however long you needed me to, but I hope you don’t ask me to wait any longer than the end of this season.”

  Panic made my throat tighten. This was all too much. “I have a choice in this. I don’t know—”

  “You know, Sal. It’s why we fight and make-up. Why we’ll always fight and make-up. You were the one that said to me that you fight with the people you love the most, remember? You and I fight all the time, see?”

  Those big hands left my thighs and before I could wonder where they were going, they landed on my cheeks. In a split second, he tilted my face just slightly down and we were eye to eye, his breath on my face. Those amazing hazel eyes were closer than they’d ever been.

  Then he kissed me. Unexpectedly, out of the blue, sudden as a heart attack.

  The dream of a teenage Sal and the dream of twenty-seven-year-old Sal, became one.

  Reiner Kulti, my German, my pumpernickel, pressed his lips to mine. The same lips I’d kissed a minimum of fifty times on the posters that had once been on my wall. His mouth was warm and chaste, pressing, pecking, one, two, three, four times. He kissed one corner of my mouth, then the other.

  Holy mother of God, I was a sucker for those corner kisses.

  I opened my mouth just a little and kissed him back. Our kisses were a little more open-mouth than closed. Five, six, seven, eight times he let me press my lips to his. He let me be the one to kiss him back. Nine, ten, eleven times, right under his lips, on a chin that hadn’t gotten the memo it had been shaved that morning.

  His breath rattled in his chest as he pulled back, eyes closed, mouth firm and tight.

  My heart ran and ran and ran. Without thinking about it, I put my hand on his chest and felt. I felt the furious pounding beneath all that muscle and bone, just like mine. Excited, racing, sprinting, trying to win like always.

  I loved this man.

  Sure, it made me an idiot and loving him didn’t necessarily mean anything, especially when I wasn’t positive that Kulti wasn’t on drugs but…

  Well hell. Life was about taking chances. Going for what you wanted so that you didn’t get old and have pages of regrets. Sometimes you won and sometimes you lost, as much as I hated it.

  His thumbs dug into the soft place between my jaw and ears, placing one more sweet simple kiss on my cheek that I felt under my skin. “Two more games.”

  Two more games.

  The words had me jerking back. What was I doing? What the hell was I doing in the freaking Pipers parking lot?

  Luckily, he decided to take a step back right then. His lips were pink, his eyes glassy. His nostrils flared as he watched me closely. “Let’s go, yes? Every day this gets more difficult.”

  I nodded, trying to shake off the stupor that had taken over. Get it together.

  We got into the car and I scrubbed my hands over my face before starting it.

  Focus. What I needed to do was focus.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Where’s Coach Kulti?” I overheard one of the girls ask in the locker room that evening as we got ready to head to the field for the start of the semi-final game.

  “No clue,” someone else answered.

  I kept my head down and continued stretching. Besides Gardner, I was the only one who probably had any idea that Kulti was sitting in the stands incognito. He had made the wise decision to ditch the beanie he wore all the time, and instead went for a white Corona cap I’d taken from my dad’s truck years ago.

  With a plain T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, I felt pretty confident no one would have any idea who he was. When we’d gotten to the stadium, he hadn’t seemed worried about sitting alone, surrounded by people who would more than likely cause a riot if they knew who he was.

  We’d taken his car and driver to the stadium at his insistence. He was supposed to be picking up a ticket that someone had gotten for him at the main gate. Right before I began walking toward the player’s entrance he’d asked, “Will your parents be here?”

  Like my dad would ever miss a semi-final game. Ha.

  Once I made it to the locker room, Gardner looked around at the girls. “Listen up, quick change to the starting roster: Sal, you’re in. Sandy, you’re sitting this one out,” he called out.

  I didn’t miss the ugly groan that made its way out of the other player’s mouth. I sure as hell kept my face even, a talent I’d picked up from the master, Kulti. The truth was, I hadn’t cooled down even a little bit.

  These assholes were going to bench me for freaking ‘political reasons’. Sure it sucked for Sandy who now wasn’t going to play, but that sure as hell wasn’t my problem. With the exception of the two times I’d been benched and the thing with my ribs and concussion, I’d played every single game from beginning to end. I had earned my spot. Plus, I wasn’t the only forward’s place Sandy could have taken. I had busted my ass to get what I had, on the field and off the field. On top of that, she was only twenty-two. There were a lot of things I’d let myself feel guilty for, but playing in a semi-final game instead of her wasn’t one of them.

  From across the locker room, I spotted Jenny looking in my direction, but I still didn’t change my facial expression. Gardner went over some details and plays he wanted us to keep in mind as we went up against the New York Arrows.

  One thought prevailed: I would rather do a dozen more press conferences and move to Brazil than be traded to New York.

  They could even be press conferences like the one I had done at the beginning of the season.

  Which finally made me wonder after all these months… Sheena had never said anything else about it or the video she’d planned on pulling together after the press conference from hell. What had happened with that? I’d worry about it later, for now my one and only subject of focus was the New York Arrows and their dumbass captain, Amber.

  I hadn’t even begun dreading seeing her with everything else going on. Even now that I finally remembered, I still didn’t give a crap. If anything, it gave me that much more motivation to wipe the turf with her whiny black heart.

  I could do this.

  I closed my eyes and relaxed. Everyone had their own way of mentally preparing for games. Me, I had a gift for zoning things out and clearing my head. I didn’t need music to get pumped up. I just visualized our game and calmed down.

  “It’s time, Sally,” Harlow tapped my elbow.

  I opened my eyes and grinned up at her, smacking what had to be one of the tightest butt-cheeks in the world, and walked alongside her all the way to the field.

  “You gotta tell me later how you got back in,” she whispered into my ear.

  I smacked her butt once more, but it was more because I was so amazed at how muscular it was than for any other reason. “Magic.”

  Magic would be the best way to describe how the game went.

  ‘Complete and total annihilation’ would work too.

  From the moment we stepped out on that field, I felt it in my veins and on my skin. I’d swear it was in the air. There were more people in the stands than there had ever been. Down the field was the New York team. We did some more last-minute stretching, Gardner called us for another quick pep talk, and we took the field.

  Within the first five minutes, Grace scored a goal.

  Three minutes later, with a wild header from one of the girls who hadn’t said a word to me in over a month, I threw myself in the air and scissor-kicked the crap out of the ball, feet well over my head. It was Harlow barreling toward me that told me the ball made it in the goal for a point. As soon as I was standing, she had her arms wrapped around my knees and she was holding me up, jumping up and down.

  I was still in her arms when I spotted them in the first r
ow. They were on their feet screaming, the white Corona cap had a seat center field with a familiar-looking man wearing a jersey with my number on it right next to him. Next to that jersey was another one of mine, smaller and in a different color. Kulti, my dad and mom.

  That second rush filled my chest. I wasn’t sure how he’d done it—I definitely had no idea how he managed to score those seats, and part of me didn’t want to know. But they were there together. Three of the people I loved most in the world, and they were acting like they’d won a billion dollars. Without a doubt in my mind, I knew Marc and Simon were also there somewhere cheering me on.

  In the second half, New York scored one goal right from the top.

  A Piper scored a goal after that, bringing the score 3-1. By some insane miracle, I snuck up the corner of the field and accepted a pass from Genevieve. I didn’t even understand how the ball made it to me, but I nailed a kick as hard as I could. My anger was fueled by the shove and “slut” taunt Amber had given me a minute before. We were kicking ass, so she could call me a slut however much she wanted.

  We finished the game with one more last-minute goal that had our fans out of their seats cheering like crazy. Sure the stadium wasn’t packed like the men’s games were, but it didn’t matter. The fans we had were beyond dedicated and that more than made up for it.

  The next hour went by in a blur of hugs and congratulations, and Gardner prattling about both the good and the bad in those ninety-five minutes. I showered and got out of there as quickly as I could, not in the mood for anyone but those three people in the audience.

  I walked outside following high-fives and butt pats to some of the players on my way out, there were camera crews and journalists prepared, lights bright, microphones ready.

  “Sal!”

  “Sal!”

  Big Girl Socks, on.

  “Hi,” I greeted them all with an anxious smile, taking a step back when four microphones were shoved in my face.

  “Congratulations on your win, can you tell us how the Pipers managed to do it?”

  I summed it up for them: teamwork, great defense and quick thinking.

  There were more and more questions. What I thought about this and that.