Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Practices and life just went on for the next few days.
There’d been at least a couple of reporters by the field every morning.
It was usually the same ones for a couple of days before the rotation changed and other people showed up.
Gardner led practices with the assistance of the fitness coach and one of the other assistants while the infamous frankfurter did what he always did: a whole bunch of nothing.
Eventually, after a couple of days, I stopped giving a shit about the German—I had other things to worry about—and ignoring him became second nature, even when he was right there.
Like the day of the team photo.
Safely nestled in the front row with the rest of the under-five-foot-seven players, I had a midfielder on one side and a defender on the other, courtesy of the assistant photographer’s manhandling.
Had I forgotten that Sheena had said I should stand by Kulti?
Nope. Was I about to say anything to fix what was going on? No way, Jose.
The sun had taken its punishing nature to the next level, the humidity making me sweat in places most people never would, and all I wanted was the water under a canopy too far away to reach in a quick sprint.
Standing there defenselessly huddled together was about a hundred times worse than running around having practice before the heat got too bad. Way worse.
“Is this almost over?” the player to my right asked with a sigh. She was one of the new additions to the Pipers.
“I think so,” Genevieve, a girl in the row directly behind me, answered. This was only her second season playing in the WPL.
I glanced over my shoulder to see the assistant rearranging the women in the top row.
Harlow was standing off to the side, scowling at whatever the woman was saying, and it made me smile.
“They’re almost done with the big broads up there.
Then it should start, and it’ll be another twenty minutes tops. ”
There was a collective groan from the six people around. “Casillas!”
Oh hell. No. No.
“Casillas! You’re in the wrong place!” the photographer yelled from her spot right next to the Pipers’ public relations employee.
“See you later, guys,” I muttered.
It took everything in me to not hang my head and drag my feet toward Sheena, who had appeared out of nowhere.
I’d been keeping an eye out for her. Bah.
I understood that she was watching out for me, doing me a favor by helping me out of the predicament that the past had gotten me into simply by association.
But as I thought about those emails that went unread in my inbox, I decided it was probably worth it to just keep my mouth closed and do what I needed to.
Apparently, none of that mattered. I swallowed, put my big girl socks on, and took a deep breath as I walked like a normal sane human in the direction I was being pointed.
“Sal, squeeze in right there one row below Mr. Kulti, next to Miss Phyllis.” Miss Phyllis, the fitness coach who resurrected herself year after year to make sure the team was in shape.
It also happened that we were around the same height, so Sheena’s thinking made sense.
If you didn’t take into consideration that the human Berlin Wall was at least six inches taller than the player standing next to him.
I threw my shoulders back and pretended like I didn’t notice the way he ignored everything and everyone around him even when I stood less than a foot away.
But I took it like a champ, not letting him get to me. Much.
Unfortunately, just because I knew better than to try and engage him, didn’t mean everyone else was on the same page. I’d barely been standing there two minutes when I overheard the player standing somewhere behind me ask, “Could you tell me what time it is?”
Anyone who knew even a little bit about Kulti was well aware of the fact that he had a watch endorsement. He always wore one.
We’d all been instructed to leave our cell phones in our bags, so I wasn’t surprised that no one had a watch on. I’d played with one a long time ago but didn’t want to risk breaking the face.
“No one knows what time it is?” the player asked again. Nothing.
Not a single response from the man who was paid to wear a watch.
Jeez. I finally turned around and said, “I don’t have a watch on me, Vivian. Sorry.” Because I hated when I asked something and no one responded. It was rude and awkward.
But what was more rude and awkward was being able to give an appropriate answer and not do so. From the look on the player’s face, she knew he could have answered.
And he’d chosen not to. Classy.
I kept my face forward after that and smiled at the camera when the time came.
THINGS DIDN’T GET any better when the videographers showed up two days later to film practice. Sheena kept waving me over in the general direction of where the coaches were standing. “Go on,” she whispered to me when I got close enough. “Just a few shots.”
It was just a few shots with a man who had said three sentences to me in a month.
Bah.
I picked up my pride, shook it off, and placed it around my shoulders before gradually easing my way toward the coaches who happened to be standing together.
I made a point to make conversation with Gardner, while Kulti stood nearby with those fantastic flexed biceps crossed over his chest and his attention elsewhere.
Every time I looked at him, he reminded me more and more of a soldier in some branch of the military with his crew cut and blank face.
Meanwhile, in my head, I flicked him off with both hands at the same time.
Maturity was definitely a personal strength of mine.
Not.
But I did what I had to do. Always. That’s what put a smile on my face and made me talk to people I was actually fond of while the videographers walked around. It had to be good enough.
I brushed off thinking about the German ignoring life itself and paid attention to the girls standing around me; Gardner began speaking to someone else.
“I’m ready to get this over with. Anyone know what we’re doing tomorrow?” I overheard Genevieve ask.
Another girl responded, “I think we’re meeting at the offices tomorrow to pick up the rest of our uniforms, aren’t we?”
We were, but I hated always being the one who knew what was going on and piping in.
Someone else agreed. “Yeah. Anyone want to go out for happy hour tomorrow?”
Go to happy hour the day before a game? I made a face to myself but kept my gaze forward and my mouth shut. But I still listened as two people agreed and another one said no.
Either way, it wasn’t like they invited me or asked for my opinion.
Most people had given up on inviting me places after so many no-shows, and that was my fault.
I was busy. Sometimes it seemed like I had to schedule bathroom visits into my day.
So while they were all going out for happy hour, I was going to finally be starting a new project with Marc for a customer that we’d fondly called a “Southwest Oasis.” Fifteen years ago, I never would have thought I’d be excited about special ordering rocks and cacti.
Was it glamorous or fun in a traditional way? No. But it was my life, and I didn’t care.
“I can’t wait,” another girl admitted. “This week has s-u-c-k-e-d. I could use a couple margaritas.”
A couple? I winced.
“Girl, me too—”
“What you all need is some discipline, not drinks the day before a game.”
Honest to God, I stopped breathing at the sound of the foreign voice speaking. I didn’t need to turn around to know who had just spoken. You’d have to be an idiot not to know.
Of all the times, he’d chosen to speak up….
“But it’s just a preseason—”
I wasn’t sure who was dumb enough to even bother justifying that it was “just” a preseason game. I partially understood that it technically didn’t count, but still. Who liked to lose? I sure as hell didn’t; I didn’t even like losing at air hockey.
Regardless.
That coming from him? What a damn hypocrite.
“No game is ‘just’ anything” was the sharp, no-nonsense reply that came out of the sauerkraut’s mouth.
“Hey, why don’t we—” Gardner quickly jumped in with some random topic to distract the newcomer.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn around and look at him for using such an ugly tone or for being a massive phony. Maybe if I hadn’t just dragged his drunk butt into a hotel room days before, I’d feel different.
But the damage had already been done.
Even I felt the burn of his words. No one else said anything. But the second I made eye contact with Jenny, she mouthed, “What the heck was that?”
I gave her bug eyes and mouthed back, “I have no idea.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Grace approached him.
The conversation had to have lasted all of three minutes, if that, but in those three minutes, I was positive that every member of the Pipers team watched.
We watched Grace march up to him, say something in that way she’d talked to us all before when her captain pants were on, then we saw him respond in a short sentence.
Two minutes later, one of the most collected, professional players I’d ever met had anger painted all over every feature of her body.
Grace was pissed. Grace. She was the type of person that always took the higher road. In the five years we’d played together, even back on the national team, she had never played dirty. Cool as a cucumber, determined and smart, Grace was the epitome of a pro.
She didn’t lose her shit.
And she just had. Over what, I had no idea, but a small part of me was dying to know.
Had she said something to Kulti about how he’d snapped at the girls? Knowing her and how seriously she took her role of captain, more than likely. Every other time I’d seen them together, they seemed like friends… well, friendly. Friendly-ish. Yeah.
The scene left me a little worried. What had happened?
“SAL, is that sexy-ass brother of yours coming to our opener?”