Chapter 17
Mireya
The moment Lauren Creed greets me, I realize I'm wearing Diana's blue shirt, and it's too late to do anything about it.
In my head, that matters. I slept four hours, and I'm showing up to my girlfriend's ex-wife's office looking exactly the way I look, which I'd rather not think about.
The conference room isn't big. A round table with six chairs. A pitcher of water. Three cups. Diana sits next to me. She came in her club tracksuit because we're heading straight to training from here.
“Mireya. I'll be brief because you need to be at training by eleven and it's nine ten.
What we're signing today is the formal declaration of the relationship to the league and the players' union, along with the plan of measures the club is proposing to apply.
It's standard procedure; it just normally happens before the relationship starts, not after.
That's why we're working against the clock. If the club and the league approve it, you both sign the final protocol on Monday. Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
“Three things,” Lauren says. “One: Ethan signs your semi-annual reports. Diana doesn't touch those. Two: there will be a shorter quarterly review as well. Three: someone outside the club validates both. From the players' union if possible. Good so far?”
“Yes,” Diana and I answer almost at the same time.
“Questions?”
“What happens if Ethan signs off that I'm not performing well and I think I am?”
“You appeal to the external reviewer. If they rule in your favor, the club accepts it. If not, you have to accept it,” Lauren explains, shrugging and opening her hands.
“And if Diana and I break up?”
Diana looks at me with surprise, but it's something I have to ask. Lauren nods like she was already expecting it.
“The protocol stays in place until your contract with the club ends. A separation between you two wouldn't change that. It makes sense. I know Diana would never do that, but the protocol also has to cover the opposite risk.”
“That she'd hurt me professionally for ending things with her?”
“Exactly,” the attorney confirms.
“Just one question. Why are you defending us? I mean… this has to be a little awkward for you. I know you've been divorced five years and everything, but I'm dating your ex-wife and—”
“Because I've known this woman for a long time, Mireya,” she says, cutting me off and pointing at Diana.
“And I have never seen her love anyone the way she loves you.
She's happy right now. And because we have two daughters together who adore her. If any of this goes wrong, those girls are going to suffer. So my job today is to protect all four of you. Not just the two of you.”
I nod. We sign. And when we're walking out the door, Lauren suddenly catches my elbow.
“Mireya. Take care of her, please,” she whispers.
**
We pull into the club facility at ten fifty. The parking lot is fuller than usual, with a handful of press vehicles that have no business being there.
Iris intercepts us at the entrance, shouting at the reporters to back up and let us through.
“The whole team is waiting in the locker room,” she announces.
“Who called them in?” Diana asks. “They should be outside warming up.”
“Coach, training can wait, at least until we all talk first. Everyone showed up and sat down by their locker.
We're waiting for you. Actually, it's better if you don't come in yet.
Don't take it the wrong way, but this is something we need to sort out as a team first. You can come in as coach after, if you'd like, but the players talk first,” she adds, looking at Diana, who raises both hands in surrender.
The first thing I notice when I walk in is the silence.
A full locker room with nobody making a sound is the most unnatural thing in any sports club, at any level.
Twenty-two women looking at me and not a single noise.
Tina's gum sitting still between her teeth.
Lucía's cleats half-tied. Carter's elbow on her knee, eyes on the floor.
Castillo holding her gloves without putting them on.
I go to my locker and sit down, dropping my bag at my feet.
Iris moves to the center of the room, and when Iris Vance moves to the center of a locker room, people look and listen.
“Okay, so,” she says, running her hand over her ponytail. “Before we start, one thing. Nobody asked me to say any of this. Not the Coach, not Drummond, not my very pretty face in the mirror. I'm doing this because I want to, got it?”
Several players laugh quietly or roll their eyes.
“Last year, when all that stuff came out about Paula not actually being my girlfriend but my bodyguard and the press started following me around, the first day I didn't want to leave my apartment.
I didn't even want to get out of bed. I thought my whole world was caving in.
I pictured the headlines, I pictured what social media was going to look like.
It was a complete mess. And the next day Zoe told me, 'Iris, get dressed and let's go train, because the world doesn't end over a couple of stupid photos.
' So I came to training, and in this exact locker room, you all made my life a whole lot easier than any other morning in my career.”
She pauses and sweeps her gaze across every player in the room, one by one.
“We all know that part of the press gets ugly when they smell blood. It's their job, I guess, and that particular guy has been doing exactly this for ten years. Nothing new. What actually matters is what we're going to do. In here. In this locker room.”
Iris turns to me and points.
“Guerrero. What got published is your private life and the Coach's. And none of us give a damn what the two of you do in bed. Okay? That is not our job. Our job is to play soccer and win the playoffs. And for that we need you at full strength and the Coach at full strength. Period.”
I nod slowly, not able to get a single word out.
“And if anyone has a problem with that,” Iris goes on, “say it now. In here. To her face. No hallway talk, no private messages.”
Zoe stands up.
She does it slower than Iris would, without the same energy, but her voice carries more weight in this team than anyone else's.
“Two years ago, in the middle of a custody hearing, my ex-husband used photos of Wesley taken out of context to argue that I wasn't a good mother. I was falling apart, but Iris came to my place every night with a container of food that someone from the team had cooked. You all went to bat for me on social media, and several of you even gave statements in the hearing. You made it possible for me to walk into that courtroom with my head up when all I wanted to do was hide under a blanket and cry until I had nothing left.”
She looks at the newer players, the ones who weren't there.
“This is who we are on this team. It's why we chose to play here. Why we renew contracts. Why we put up with a coach who's tough on us and with Drummond, who's even scarier than Hades. It's not just about winning titles or the paycheck. It's because we're a real family.”
“Exactly that,” Iris says, clapping once. “Anyone have something to say?”
Jade Herrera stands up, and that itself is unusual enough to make everyone pay attention, because we all know her more for long silences than for words.
“We've all played for other teams. In a lot of cases we had to swallow a lot of garbage just to keep playing.
Between all of us we've probably seen everything.
But on this team we protect our players, we stand up for our teammates, and for my part, Hades can sleep with any consenting adult she wants as long as it doesn't hurt the club.”
Lucía raises her hand without standing.
“I just think that if anyone asks, the answer should always be the same. We have nothing to comment on. And I'm fine repeating that as many times as it takes. I have no issue with Hades being in a relationship with Guerrero.”
One by one, every player nods, until we get to Nika Wallace, who is sitting at the back with her head down and her eyes on the floor.
“Same,” she says without looking up.
“Alright, we're done,” Iris announces. “Now finish getting changed and get on the field, because the title isn't going to win itself,” she adds, clapping several times.
The players start heading out, and when the room is nearly empty, Nika comes and stands next to me.
“You got a minute?” she asks quietly.
“Of course.”
“I requested a transfer,” she says.
I nod. It had been making the rounds in the locker room for a while.
“Where?”
“Chicago. My aunt lives there, and they were very interested. Drummond has it almost worked out. This week she's finalizing the paperwork in exchange for the rights to a Brazilian player.”
“Nika… is this because of me?”
“No, no, it has nothing to do with you two, or with Hades. It's just that I've spent two seasons not enjoying this anymore, and I need a new place. Honestly. You don't have to worry about it,” she tells me. “Oh, and my niece asked whether you liked the bracelet. I think you're her favorite player.”
“I wear it every day,” I admit, pulling back my sleeve to show her. “And tell her that if I score in the finals, I'll point to the bracelet on camera. Good luck at your new club.”
**
That evening I show up at Diana's with two beers and a container of her favorite Thai food.
We eat on the couch, both beers on the coffee table, the container between us.
“So everything went well in the locker room?” she asks after a silence that stretches a little too long.
“Everything went really well. The team is completely united, and they've got our backs,” I confirm. “Did you know Nika's leaving?”
“I'm the coach. Of course I knew Nika was leaving.”
“I like your ex.”
Diana smiles.
“She likes you. She sent me a message after you left.”
“What does it say?”
“It says, 'I like her. Now I get it.'”
“Tomorrow in the game—”
“What about tomorrow?”
“If you decide you need to sub me out at some point, or even start Nika instead of me, I understand, but please don't do it because of the favoritism stuff part of the press is running with.”
“You're playing tomorrow. I had that decided before those damn photos ever came out,” she tells me, pulling me in toward her with her arm around my shoulders.