Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Are we going to win or are we going to win?” Grace, the Pipers’ captain, belted out at the top of her lungs.
The in our circle was tangible—more than tangible. It went straight into my bones, into the very center of me. In each of us there was anticipation, joy, eagerness, and even a little violence that made up the wattage coming out of our group.
On the evening of our first game of the regular season, there was blood in the air.
Months of practice and years of experience had led each member of the Pipers to this point. We wanted to win and needed to win. The first game was always so instrumental to how each team would treat the rest of the season.
I loved this. It was the endless possibilities, the opportunities, and the ability to start all over again, regardless of how our last season went.
It was my favorite. Knowing that my parents were there, as well as Marc, Simon, and a few other friends who had been along the long path with me, only pumped me up that much more.
This wasn’t just about me; this was about all of them.
My parents who had worked so hard to put me through youth leagues, teams, clubs, camp after camp, youth national teams, college, the WPL.
Marc and Simon had been with me since I was a little kid tagging along with Eric, who they loved to bully and teach horrible habits to—like elbowing and tripping.
They’d played with me almost as much as Eric had.
I was hungry for a win, for all them.
This moment in time was for all my teammates. It was love. It was perfect.
From the sound of everyone belting out a “We’re gonna win!” I wasn’t the only one who felt so deeply about it.
Our arms linked over and around each other, every single female who had made it to this moment, yelled “PIPERS” at the top of their lungs.
We were off.
“It was a close game—”
That was an understatement. We barely managed to squeak by with a win.
“—but we did it, ladies. Don’t take this for granted.”
Standing together, sweaty and worn out, I bumped arms with Genevieve, a younger player standing next to me, who’d scored the winning goal in the last five minutes of the game. She shot me a huge, excited smile that I returned wholeheartedly.
A heavy, damp arm wrapped around my neck, in what would have been considered a chokehold, if it had been anyone other than Harlow. It was just the way she hugged me. Her mouth pressed up against my temple as she spoke low and excited. “We fucking did it, Sally.”
I wrapped my own arm around the middle of her back and squeezed tight, nodding up at her with a grin on my face. “Of course we did,” I whispered back, excitement still thrumming through my veins.
Gardner continued his spiel about setting a standard for the rest of the season and bringing up a few things we needed to work on. Finally after a few minutes, he held up his hand for all of us to try and reach for, and he said, “I’m going out tonight. Who’s coming?”
I wasn’t. My family was in town, and I usually celebrated with them and the rest of the gang.
I’d just finished burning hundreds and hundreds of calories playing the entire game; I could fit in a reasonable Mexican meal with a gallon of water all to myself.
Jenny was coming with us, like she usually did on season openers.
A few staff members cheered and claimed that they’d go out with him.
I finished changing in the locker room and met up with Jenny outside, so that we could go find my family. Gardner and his small group were ahead of us, making their way out to the parking lot too. I couldn’t help but notice that Kulti wasn’t with them.
As we crossed the double doors, I spotted a black Audi idling by the curb.
Then I spotted the crowd of people wearing various versions of Reiner Kulti uniforms close by it.
I watched as long as I could, curious to see whether the German would make his way out or not.
By the time I got in my car and pulled out of the spot, nothing had changed.
I’d spotted Gardner’s truck zipping out of the lot ahead of me.
But still, the black Audi hadn’t moved and neither had the people hovering by it.
A FEW DAYS later I heard, “Twenty-three!” and wanted to bang my head on an imaginary door.
How many times had my number been yelled in the last hour and a half? My best guess was somewhere between a dozen and twenty. Anything more than two was too many.
I wanted to punch him in the dick. Any guilt I felt for how he hadn’t played in two years, or how the poor guy wasn’t able to walk to his car after a game without being surrounded by people, didn’t matter at all at that point. Not even a little bit.
Patience, Sal. Patience.
I walked quickly over to where he was and tipped my head back, ignoring the fact that three weeks ago, I hadn’t been able to talk to him in a complete sentence. “Yes?”
“Don’t you have some drills to do?”
“No.” I hiked my thumb back. Twenty seconds had possibly passed since I’d finished them and when he’d called my number. “I’m waiting so I can start stretching.”
Those lazy eyes did that lizard blink. Keeping his gaze on mine for what seemed like a minute straight, he finally lowered his voice and asked, “Do you want to play today?”
Uhh...
I felt like I had stadium spotlights and a dozen cameras on me.
I had to fight the urge to look around and make sure I wasn’t getting pranked.
My quad gave a pulse of nervous anticipation.
“I can’t?” I said it like it was a question, taking in the confused look in his eyes.
“You almost killed me the other day. Maybe this weekend?”
He only missed a single beat. “Fine.” Was that disappointment in his eyes?
Oh hell. I thought it was.
I watched his face while I suggested, “I have some friends that play recreational softball. They’re all pretty good and sometimes I play with them. They’re having a game tonight. We could go.”
He blinked at me.
“My contract says I can’t play any type of regulation soccer on a team, but it doesn’t say anything about any other sport,” I explained.
He seemed to mull the thought over for a minute, and I was pretty convinced that he was going to tell me to screw off, but out of the blue he nodded. “Fine. Text me the address and the time.”
Was this for real? “I don’t have your phone number,” I kind of croaked out.
“Give me yours.” He had his phone out of his pocket a split second later, and I rattled off my number. Another long moment later, he nodded. “Now you have it.”
It didn’t hit me until much later what exactly he said and what it implied.
I had Reiner Kulti’s phone number, for one. And I was going to text him, two.
But three seemed to be the one that really snuck into my chest cavity; he had asked me if I wanted to play with him.
He had asked me to play. With him.
Instead, he was going to play softball with me and a few of my friends. Huh.
SEVEN P.M. AT HERSHEY PARK. I’ll wait for you by the bathrooms near the parking lot.
I checked my phone one more time to make sure the message really had gone through. Then I checked it again to make sure I hadn’t missed a text in response. I hadn’t.
With my bat, glove, and bottle of water in one hand and armpit, I fidgeted with my headband with the other.
I’d accidentally grabbed a thick one from my glove box, which fit over my ears, and those made me feel a little claustrophobic.
I messed with it some more as I looked around the nearly full parking lot.
It was only five minutes before seven, and Kulti still hadn’t shown up.
It then hit me again with the same strength it had the first time, Kulti was coming to play softball, only after he’d asked if I wanted to play soccer with him. Why hadn’t he asked anyone else to play with him?
Well, I was probably the most aggressive forward on the team, so we had that in common.
Harlow didn’t count because… she was a defender, right?
I was the fastest. Without really tooting my own horn, it was a fact.
So really, who else would he play against?
My style was the closest to his, and he’d enjoyed beating me the first time.
So there. No big deal.
I was an obvious choice.
Plus, maybe he had asked someone else? I doubted it, but you never knew.
Possibly another minute ticked by, and I looked around the lot again, anxiously. I was nervous. Why was I nervous?
For Kulti’s sake I’d already decided not to tell anyone who he was.
I wasn’t positive how they would all react, especially Marc and Simon, or even if they’d let him play, and I didn’t want him feeling under a microscope from the start.
I was going to tell them he was my friend who had recently moved to Houston.
That wasn’t really a stretch, I figured.
The headlights of a car illuminated my body for a split second before the car pulling into the lot turned and then finally took a spot one row down. It was the same nondescript, plain black sedan that wouldn’t have called my attention, even with the Audi emblem on it.
Of course he’d be in an Audi.
I smirked to myself as a long body folded out of the vehicle’s back passenger door, slamming it shut before heading to the back and grabbing a bag from the recently opened trunk.
His tall, lean body seemed even more imposing without his team T-shirt or polo.
The graceful lines of muscle that lined his shoulders and arms for the first time since he quit playing soccer full-time were delineated perfectly in the shadow of the setting sun.
What I really caught a good eyeful of though was the wide headband he had on that looked similar to mine, matting down his short hair and making him look like a different person.
Not like himself at all, unless you really knew who you were looking at.
The length of his hair on top of his larger frame and facial hair was an excellent disguise.
Poop. Poop, poop, this is your coach, stupid, poop.