Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  And wasn’t that the shit of it?

  Someone could tell you that they loved you every day, but still lie and cheat. Or they could never say those three words, but be there for you every day and be more than you ever wanted or dreamed. He wasn’t warm or cuddly, quiet or particularly nice to others, but he was nice to me, and in my heart I knew he would stand by me every time I needed him.

  When he left a little later, I lay in my bed and cried two tears. That was it; because it all seemed too good to be true and there were things I hadn’t told him that could change how he felt about me.

  What would I do if he changed his mind?

  * * *

  The Pipers final game against the Ohio Blazers had finally arrived, and I had the jitters.

  “You’re going to win, stop worrying.”

  I blew out a loud breath from my side of the car. He’d offered to have his driver take us to the stadium that afternoon. He didn’t have to leave early, the doors didn’t open for at least another hour; but Kulti did what Kulti wanted to do and for some reason, he wanted to go at the same time I did.

  You’re going to win.

  I was so lucky someone cared about my career so much. Most girls could only wish to be this lucky.

  That was the problem though.

  As the days counted down toward the big final game, I became more and more nervous. Kulti hadn’t acted any differently. He hadn’t tried kissing me since that afternoon outside of my car. When he’d come over to my place, we’d do what we always did and in the middle of his visit, he’d ask me how practice went. Twice we went outside and volleyed the ball back and forth, but that had been it. Except for that one night when he said things to me I never could have dreamed up, he’d been the close-mouthed man I was used to spending time with. Before he’d left, he’d promised to give me time and space to think and focus on what was the most important: the final game.

  I still couldn’t help but ask myself what was going to happen after the game.

  What if I didn’t get on another team? What if I was injured today? What if I blew my knee out in the off-season? Or the next season?

  What would I do then?

  The logical part of me knew that I was freaking out about nothing. It wasn’t totally unusual. When I was anxious in situations like these, my mind made up a bunch of other crap to stress about too. Of course this thing between Kulti and I was at the top of my list.

  It all weighed on my chest like a ticking time bomb.

  What if.

  What if.

  What if.

  He nudged my thigh playfully with the back of his balled up hand. “Stop worrying.”

  “I’m not worried, I’m just thinking about stuff.”

  “Lies.”

  I shot him a look and leaned against the seat, thinking and stressing.

  He let out a deep sigh. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I bit my lips and took in that soft crease between his eyebrows, the color of his eyes, the way the lines that bracketed his mouth deepened in worry. How could I go back to my life if this thing between us didn’t work out? I’d been young and angry when I’d had a huge crush on the man I only knew on paper and television. It hadn’t been real. But this was real. This Rey was real and kind when he wasn’t a major pain in the ass.

  I couldn’t get rid of the apprehensive knot taking a poop in my stomach. This wasn’t a ‘what if’ I wanted to deal with. So screw it. Maybe the best thing to do would be for me to get this worry over with before the game.

  “What’s going to happen when I can’t play anymore?” I asked him, shoving my hands between my thighs so he couldn’t see them shaking.

  I heard him shift in his seat. The leather creaked and then continued creaking as he settled in. “What are you babbling about?”

  “What are you going to do when I can’t play anymore? My knee might only have a few more years left in it. What will happen then?” I asked, eyes going to the roof of the car because there was no way I could handle his face in that moment.

  “That’s what’s stressing you out?” His voice was low and too calm.

  “Yeah. Mostly. On top of everything else.”

  “Sal, look at me.” I let my head drop to the side so I could look at him as he spoke. In a plain white T-shirt with a check mark on it, fitted faded jeans and his favorite pair of black and green shoes, he was almost surreal. It just made what I was asking worse.

  I was sitting in the backseat of a car with Reiner ‘The King’ Kulti on the way to the WPL final game, asking him if he was still going to love me once I couldn’t play anymore. Good God. Was I really bringing this crap up now? I changed my mind. I didn’t want to know yet.

  I didn’t want to ever know where our limits stood.

  “Sal.”

  The car slowed to a stop. Behind Kulti’s head, the window showed the outline of the entrance I was supposed to be walking through.

  “I’m stressed, I’m sorry. We’ll talk later, all right?”

  He looked at me for what felt like a long time but was more than likely just a few seconds before finally giving me a grave nod, excusing me from the hole I’d dug for myself.

  I couldn’t breathe, and I needed to focus. My hands were still shaking, and I was more nervous than I’d been since I was a teenager playing in my first U-17 game. Life would still go on regardless of what happened, I reminded myself. Swallowing hard, I smiled at the German. “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need it,” he responded, his face still ultra-serious.

  Get it together, Sal. Focus, focus, focus. “Find me after the game?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He said a word in German I thought meant ‘always’ but I didn’t want to really think about it.

  I flashed him a smile and got out of the car. Just as I was about to slam it closed, Kulti piped up, “Focus!”

  * * *

  There are some games that I’ll sit back and recall like I was a fan in the stands watching the action.

  The first half went slow and no one scored. There was nothing memorable about it.

  In the second half, a light was burning under both teams’ asses. Defense and offense, both teams were on it. The game took a turn for the vicious by the time the fourth yellow card was thrown up; one was Harlow’s and two were mine. We hustled, we sweat. We ran and we fought against the Blazers.

  And in the last fifteen minutes of the second half, a team scored.

  It wasn’t us.

  We couldn’t manage to get a solid hold on the ball at any point afterward.

  And we lost. It was that simple.

  We freaking lost.

  It was like having your dog eat your homework. Losing reminded me of when you’re typing something in a document and then your computer restarts on its own. Or baking a cake and it doesn’t rise.

  Using the word ‘crushing’ might have been a little extreme, but it was the truth. For me, at least. I was crushed.

  Watching the other team yelling and cheering, hugging each other…

  Honestly, I wanted to punch each of them in the face and follow that up with a good cry. You don’t always win and that’s the truth with everything ever, but…

  We lost.

  * * *

  I pressed my closed fists to the bones above my eyebrows after time had ended. I looked up into the stands; the disappointment was apparent on so many people’s faces. I had to look away, watching our fans was chewing up my stomach. Pipers were scattered around the field, looking just as dazed as I felt. No one could believe what had just happened. I definitely couldn’t.

  I swallowed and realized that this was the last time I’d be on this field.

  I choked up.

  I’d lost. We’d lost.

  My family was in the audience. Marc and Simon were in the crowd someplace. My German was too.

  Pressure squeezed my lungs as I made my feet move. They took me away from the opposing players celebrating, oblivious to the inner hell I was going through.
The loss was bitter in my mouth and definitely in my soul. I shook a few hands, gave a couple of the girls on the Ohio team a hug and congratulated them on their win.

  But Jesus, it was hard.

  Everyone deals with loss differently. Some people need consolation, some people get angry, and others want to be left the hell alone. I was the type that needed some space.

  If only I’d been faster, or gotten where I was needed instead of being busy taking my frustration out on a player that had tripped me…

  I spotted Harlow with her hands clasped behind her head, cursing under her breath. She was still in the same place she’d been when the clock had run out. Jenny was even further away, hugging another Piper who looked like she was crying.

  We’d lost.

  And that loss bubbled in my throat.

  “Sal!”

  I scratched my cheek and turned around to see one of the opposing players walking toward me. She was a younger girl who had been all over me during the game, quick and creative with her feet. I mustered a smile for her, slowing my retreat into all-out mourning.

  “Hey, would you mind trading jerseys with me?” she asked with a sweet grin.

  Yeah I was a sore loser, but I wasn’t a turd. “Sure, sure,” I said, pulling mine up over my head.

  “I hope this doesn’t make me sound like a total dork,” she said, taking her jersey off. “But I love you.”

  I had just finished taking the sweaty top off when she said it, and I couldn’t help but grin a little.

  The other player had her hands up over her head, the material around her wrists when she stopped moving. “That came out all wrong. You’re a big inspiration for me. I just wanted to let you know. I’ve been following your career since you were on the U-17 team.”

  This girl was younger than me, but she didn’t look like a teenager either. Hearing that I inspired her… well, it made me feel good. I wasn’t any less frustrated or disappointed that we’d lost, but I guess it made it a little bit more bearable.

  A little.

  “Thank you so much.” I handed her my Pipers jersey. “Hey, you’ve got great footwork, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  She flushed and handed over her red and black top. “Thanks.” Someone yelled something and she glanced back, holding up a hand in a ‘give me a minute’ sign. “I need to get going but really, great game. I’ll see you next season.”

  Next season. Blah. “Yeah, good game. Take care.”

  Melancholy hit me hard, really hard. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  I wasn’t going to cry, damn it. I never cried when we lost, at least not since I’d been a little kid.

  “Sal!” My dad’s voice cut through a hundred others.

  Two quick looks around, several more “to the right!” shouts from him and I spotted my family. Dad’s upper body was hanging over the barrier, hands planted to keep him from falling onto the field as he yelled while my mom and sister stood behind him. Ceci looked embarrassed.

  I sniffed and made my way over, scrounging up a smile that could only be meant for them. There were other people yelling out my name and I waved, but I walked as fast as I could toward my family, needing to get off the field before the presentation of the championship trophy began.

  Grabbing the first rungs of the barrier, I hoisted myself up to plant my feet on the concrete foundation and stood up, getting wrapped in a hug the instant I was standing. “You couldn’t have done any better,” Dad said in Spanish, straight into my ear.

  Don’t cry.

  “Thanks, Pa.”

  “You’re always my MVP,” he added as he pulled away, hands on my shoulders. His smile was sad for a moment before he squeezed my shoulders and made a face. “Have you been working out more? Your shoulders are bigger than mine.”

  That only made me want to cry even more, and the noise that came out of my mouth let him know how hard this moment was for me.

  My mom finally pushed my dad to the side with a huff. “You played so well,” she said in Spanish, kissing my cheek. Her eyes were watery, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through her head. She never said anything, but I knew big games like this were always hard on her. Things with my grandpa were an open wound that I wasn’t sure would ever heal.

  “Gracias, mami.” I kissed her cheek in return.

  She patted my face and took a step back.

  My little sister on the other hand just stood there with her usual smart-ass smirk on her face, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Sorry you lost.”

  From her, I would take what I could get. “Thanks for coming, Ceci.” I gave her the best smile I could while I tried dealing with how I’d let everyone down.

  The noises on the field were getting louder, and I knew I needed to get off the field as soon as possible. “I should go before they start. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  They knew me well enough to know that I needed the night to decompress and get over this. One night. I’d give myself a night to be angry.

  Dad agreed and gave me another hug before I dropped back onto the field and hustled toward the exit leading to the locker rooms. A few of the Pipers were standing around the doorway. Some of them were crying, some comforting each other, but they were the girls that had been talking about me the last few weeks. Not in the mood to deal with my teammates’ crap, I kept walking passed them, ignoring their looks as much as they had ignored me lately.

  “What did I tell you? A fucking robot, man,” Genevieve’s voice carried through the concrete walls.

  We’d fucking lost and I didn’t have any feelings. Fantastic.

  Don’t cry.

  Security guards and other personnel dotted the hallway. I shook a few of their hands and let them give me pats on the back. I sniffled to myself, letting the disappointment flare through me again. I knew I’d be fine. This wasn’t the first big game I’d lost. Unfortunately, it was one that had taken months to work toward with so many obstacles along the way, and with Kulti so predominant in the process, it seemed so much more painful than usual.

  If only I’d done better. Been the player everyone expected me to be.

  “Schnecke.”

  I jerked to a stop and glanced up. Making his way toward me from the opposite end of the hall was the tall lean figure that I wasn’t sure I wanted to see yet. There were other players walking ahead of me, and he ignored them as they tried to speak to him. He didn’t even pay them a second glance, which was unbelievably rude, but it made me shake my head when I was fighting for my dignity. I couldn’t even wrestle up my Big Girl Socks.

  Kulti stopped the second he was about a foot away. His big body was solid and unmoving, and his face that perfect mask of careful control that didn’t give me a hint of what was going on in his big German head. It only made me feel more awkward, more uncertain, more frustrated that we hadn’t won.

  Setting his hands on his hips, pulling his shirt tight against his pectoral muscles, he blinked. “You have two options,” he explained, sizing me up. “Would you like to break something or would you like a hug?” he asked in a completely serious tone.

  I blinked at him and then licked my lips before pressing them together. We’d lost and here he was asking me if I needed to break something or if I needed a stinking hug. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I blinked more and more as my throat clogged up. “Both?”

  His facial expression still didn’t change. “I don’t have anything for you to break right now, but when we leave…”

  It was the ‘we’ that got me.

  The ‘we’ that convinced me to throw my arms around his waist and hug him so close later on I’d wonder how he managed to breathe. He didn’t even hesitate wrapping his arms around the tops of my shoulders, his head tipping down so that his mouth was right by my ear. “Don’t cry.”

  The tears just poured out. My frustration, my disappointment, my embarrassment all went right for it. Every insecurity was present. “I’m sorry,” I told him in a watery voice.

&nb
sp; “For what?”

  Oh my God, my nose was running faster than I was capable of keeping up with. My heartbreak right there on display. “For disappointing you,” I forced myself to say. My shoulders were shaking with suppressed hiccups.

  His head moved, his mouth edging closer toward my ear. Those big muscular arms tightened around me. “You could never disappointment me.” Did his voice sound strange or was I imagining it? “Not in this life, Sal.”

  Yeah, that didn’t help at all. Jesus Christ. My nose turned into a running faucet. “Is this real? Are you real? Am I going to wake up tomorrow and see that the season hasn’t even started and these last four months have been a dream?” I asked him.

  “It’s very real,” he said in that same strange voice.

  What a wonderful thing and a very sad thing at the same time.

  I could hear footsteps getting louder around us as they echoed in the hallway, but I couldn’t find it in me to give a single microscopic shit who was approaching and what they would think.

  “I really wanted to win.”

  His answer was to rub my back, his fingers sliding beneath the thick straps of my sports bra.

  “I hate losing,” I told him like he didn’t completely understand, pressing my face deeper between his pecs. “And they think I don’t care that we lost. Why would someone think I’m a robot?”

  Kulti just kept right on rubbing, his fingers cool and rough on my damp skin.

  I sniffed. “And now you’re stuck here, and I didn’t even win. I’m so sorry, Rey.”

  His fingers burrowed even deeper under my sports bra, the seams popping in protest of what he was doing as his palm lay flush against my skin. “You aren’t going anywhere without me.”

  Say what? I reared my head back enough to look at his face, indifferent to how much of a wreck I had to be. “But you told—“

  Kulti’s face was gentle. His eyes were brighter than ever. “I have so much to teach you, Taco,” he said with a flick of his eyebrow. “Unless you have something in writing, there would never be proof of an agreement to begin with.”