10. Alejandro #2
I call out positions in Spanish and English, my voice steady as I point Elias into the lane he keeps drifting out of. “Inside, hermano. Trust the line.”
“Claro, Capitán,” he calls back, tongue-in-cheek. Of course, captain.
We go again—fast break, high press, then a rotation on defense. I drop into the center-back role to anchor the play, tracking movement and intercepting a long pass with my chest before sending it cleanly to midfield.
The energy is electric. The kind of training session where everything just clicks. Every pass. Every step.
It should’ve been chaotic after a night like last night. But it’s not. I’m sharper than I’ve been in months. Something in me feels different—like I’ve crossed some invisible line and now I’m playing with nothing left to prove.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing approval. Not from the league, not from the media, not even from her father.
Beatriz gave me that.
And I wonder, just for a second, what she’d think watching me out here. Would she smile? Would she call out that loud, uninhibited laugh that used to make my knees go weak?
I let the thought fuel me as I steal the ball mid-pass and cut through the opposing line. One clean break, one last touch, and I send it sailing past the goalie.
It hits the net with a satisfying snap.
Whistle again.
Yeah. I still got it.
Coach’s whistle pierces the air, sharp and final. “That’s ninety—showers!” he yells, and just like that, practice is done and we’re heading off the field, sweat-soaked and laughing.
The locker room always smells like sweat, grass, and too much body spray. Niko’s the worst offender—he must think drowning himself in citrus musk makes him irresistible.
“Dios mío,” Gael mutters, towel around his neck as he fans the air. “You spraying cologne or setting off a chemical weapon?”
“Jealous?” Niko says, smug, spritzing again with a dramatic flourish. “This is what romance smells like.”
“Romance or restraining order?” Elias cuts in, peeling off his jersey. “Alejandro, tell him he’s going to die single.”
I smirk, shaking out my damp hair as I open my locker. “Leave him be. He’s trying. It’s… cute.”
Niko points a finger at me. “Ah! Says the man who’s been grinning like he just got laid—”
“Because he did,” Elias interrupts, and they both howl with laughter.
“Amor, huh?” Gael chimes in, eyes gleaming as he leans against the bench. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I shrug, unable to help the small smile tugging at my mouth. “What can I say? It was always hers.”
The room stills for a half-second. It’s not often I get sentimental, and they know better than to push too far when I do. But then Gael claps me on the shoulder with a grin.
“Okay, Shakespeare. You bringing her to a game or what?”
“Yeah,” Elias adds. “We gotta meet the woman who made you soft.”
I snort. “Soft? I just smoked all of you out there.”
Niko whistles. “Damn, he’s deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m considering.”
“Which is Alejandro-speak for no,” Gael says.
“I didn’t say no.”
“You didn’t say yes,” Elias sings.
I roll my eyes, grab my towel, and walk toward the showers. “I’ll think about it.”
“You better!” Gael calls. “She’s already a legend around here!”
“She’s got our Capitán in love,” Niko adds. “That takes serious power.”
Their voices fade behind the hiss of hot water. I let the spray hit the back of my neck, steam rising around me like fog. For all their teasing, they mean well. They just want to see me happy.
And I am. More than I’ve been in years.
The locker room clears slowly after practice, the air thick with sweat, jokes, and the slap of towels. I rinse off quickly, letting the hot water ease the tightness in my shoulders. Ninety minutes in the sun has a way of draining you, even when you’re flying high.
I pull on clean clothes—jeans and a fitted black shirt—tossing my towel into the bin as I pass. Gael’s still fixing his hair in the mirror like we’re about to hit a club. Hugo’s humming something under his breath, one cleat still in hand.
“Alright, I’m out,” I say, slinging my gym bag over one shoulder.
“Don’t forget to bring your mystery girl next time,” Hugo calls, grinning.
“She’s not a mystery to me,” I shoot back, but the smile creeps onto my face anyway.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gael adds, adjusting his necklace. “Just don’t get soft on us, Romeo.”
I flip them both off half-heartedly, and they laugh as I push out the door.
The hallway’s quieter now. I head toward the vending machines by the exit, my stomach already grumbling. Practice burns calories fast, and all I’ve had is coffee and a banana.
I reach into my pocket for a dollar, realizing my wallet’s in the back pocket of my bag. I set my phone down on top of the machine, dig out the money, and press the button for a lemon vitamin water. The bottle clunks down into the bin.
“Excuse me,” a voice says softly behind me.
I glance back and see Camila—Gael’s girlfriend. She gives me a large smile, and I step aside to let her pick her drink.
“About time,” she says playfully, because at this point she’s practically a sister.
“Oh whatever. Like Gael minds waiting for you.”
I grab the drink and walk down the hall, cracking the bottle open, my thoughts still on Beatriz. Maybe she’d say yes if I invited her. Maybe I’d get to kiss her in the tunnel after a win.
Then I hear it.
My ringtone, echoing from behind me, and I realize I forgot my phone as I pat my pants.
Shit.
I spin around and jog back, my pulse picking up. As I round the corner, I see Camila holding my phone and squinting at the screen.
She lifts it to her ear just as I reach her.
“Hola?” she says, brows furrowed.
I snatch it from her hand—not harsh, just urgent. “Camila, that’s mine.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t sure who might’ve left it.”
“You know me. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached,” I say quickly, taking it from her hand.
She laughs at that, because she does know me… maybe too well, just like her boyfriend. “Cuidado. You don’t want anyone stealing your phone,” she cautions.
“Got it.” I mock salute as I head back down the hall.
Determined to hurry out and see Bee, but when I glance at the screen my stomach drops.
Beatriz.
Fuck.
She called, and for all she knows some random woman answered.
I can practically feel the spiral she’s probably already in—her mind racing, imagining the worst. The way I would if the roles were reversed. She heard another woman’s voice say hola on my phone.
My heart sinks.
I hit redial.
It rings.
Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.
I try again. Nothing.
The silence on the other end feels louder than any scream. One more time—I call and leave a message this time, my voice low but urgent.
“Bee, it’s me. Whatever you think you heard—it’s not what you think. I swear. That was Gael’s girlfriend. I left my phone by the vending machine for two seconds. Please... just call me back. Tell me where you are.”
I hang up, already turning on my heel.
I need to find her. Now.
I don’t even think about where I’m going first—my body just moves, muscle memory and instinct leading the way.
The bookstore on Coral Way.
Empty.
The little beach cove near our old high school.
No sign of her car.
The coffee shop on 8th that always forgets her almond milk.
I shove through the door so fast the barista flinches. No Beatriz. Not even a trace.
Each minute feels heavier than the last, like the longer I go without seeing her, the more this slips out of my hands.
I try calling again. Straight to voicemail, so I text her instead.
Alejandro
Bee, please. Talk to me.
Still nothing.
I’m driving on autopilot now, windows down, hand tight on the wheel. My brain spins, but one thought keeps rising to the surface—her spot.
The one she goes to when she needs to be alone, when she needs to think. I only know about it because she let me see her there once. Told me not to make a big deal about it.
It’s barely a pull-off on the road above the water, just high enough to see the waves crash into the rocks below. No one really comes here unless they know about it.
My heart leaps into my throat as I round the bend—and her car’s there. Parked, facing the sea.
I slam mine into park before it’s even stopped rolling, practically tripping out of the driver’s seat.
She’s standing at the edge of the overlook, her back to me, wind tossing her hair around like it’s trying to tear her apart.
I slow down as I approach, trying not to spook her.
“Beatriz.”
She doesn’t turn.
I take a cautious step forward. “Please. Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to see you,” she says quietly, yet carrying a tone of finality.
I stop walking. “Bee, listen—”
“No,” she says, louder this time. Her shoulders stiffen, her head shaking. “I don’t want to hear anything. Just go.”
The wind howls around us like it’s trying to pull the words out of the air before I can speak again.
But I don’t leave.
I can’t.
Because I’ve lost her once—and this time, I’m not walking away without a fight.