19. Alejandro
Alejandro
I’m trying to focus, really, I am. The ball’s at my feet, the field is vast and open, and there’s nothing I need to think about except the game.
But I can’t.
Every time I look up, it’s like I’m seeing something else.
Beatriz’s face, her eyes filled with hurt, or worse—empty.
The way she walked out of my house two days ago, that tear that slipped out, just that tension hanging between us.
The thought of her sitting at home, waiting for her father’s approval, while I sit here, failing to play the game I love, is enough to make my chest tight.
Every time I go to make a pass, it feels off.
I can’t get my head in the game. I don’t know if it’s the heat or the weight of it all, but it’s there, gnawing at me.
The ball bounces off my foot and drifts too far to the right. The guy I was passing it to swears under his breath, but I don’t even look at him. It’s just another mistake in a series of them.
I can’t get anything right.
I know this is important—today’s scrimmage, the team’s chemistry, the win, the momentum—but all I can think about is her.
The way she looked at me, eyes clouded with doubt, asking for space. I get it. I do. But I want to shout and scream that I can’t stand this space between us. I want to shake her and make her understand how much I love her, how much I want her in my life, no matter what.
The whistle blows, and we’re moving into the second half. I’m not even sure where we are on the field. My feet are moving on autopilot, but my mind? It’s all Beatriz.
Another missed pass. A few slow steps behind on a counterattack.
The frustration builds, and I can feel the heat of it in my chest. When Diego passes me the ball this time, I make the effort to drive it forward, but my body doesn’t follow.
I slip, my foot catching the turf awkwardly, and the ball rolls out of bounds.
“You good, bro?” Carlos calls from the sideline, his voice light, but I hear the concern underneath.
“Yeah,” I mutter, the words tasting wrong in my mouth. They aren’t true. “Just a little off today.”
I see Niko roll his eyes, but he comes up to me, slapping me on the back. “Come on, man. You’re playing like shit. Get your head in the game.”
I nod, but even his words can’t shake the fog in my head. The last thing I want is for them to see this—see me like this. They don’t know what’s going on with me, don’t understand that it’s more than just a bad game. This is me, trying to hold it together, not just for the team, but for myself.
I see Gael out of the corner of my eye, his expression unreadable as he watches me from a distance. He’s one of the few people who can see through my bullshit. He knows when I’m struggling. He’s been there before.
The game ends with no clear winner, and the guys start heading toward the locker room, their energy a little lighter now that it’s over. I’m dragging behind, though, feeling every step like it’s a mile. My legs feel like dead weight, and I can’t shake this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.
In the locker room, the usual post-game banter fills the air. Diego’s cracking jokes, Carlos is making fun of Niko’s new haircut, and the noise is loud, familiar, but it all feels muffled to me.
“Yo, Ale, come on, man, lighten up,” Diego says, throwing an arm around me as I sit down. “We still got a solid game in. Not your best, but not terrible either. You’re just off today.”
I nod, not really hearing him. I appreciate the effort, but the words just slide off me. I want to shake myself out of this fog. I want to go back to the guy who had his shit together, who was focused on the game. But I don’t know how to get there when my mind keeps spinning with the same thoughts.
The door to the locker room opens and in walks Gael, cutting through the noise. He looks straight at me, his eyes soft but serious. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He just knows.
“Get your shit together,” Gael says, voice low but firm. He’s not here to hold my hand, but he’s not going to let me fall apart either.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I mutter, leaning against the locker, trying to avoid eye contact. He’s been through enough with Camila to know when things aren’t right.
Gael stands there for a second, letting the silence hang before he continues.
“Look, I get it. Relationships are hard, man. Camila and I had our own struggles. You don’t just breeze through things because you want to.
But I’m telling you, you have to stick it out.
Whatever’s going on with Beatriz, it’s not gonna get better if you back off. You gotta fight for her.”
I exhale slowly, letting his words sink in. “I don’t know if I can, man. It’s more than just… her. It’s her father. It’s me. I’m messing this up. And I don't know how to fix this… if I can fix this.”
Gael shrugs, the edge of a smile playing at his lips.
“Like you’ve ever given up on anything in your life.
You see the goal, you just have to work your way through the field, and take your shot.
Life isn’t much different from soccer, Ale.
Stop overthinking. Camila and I have been through our own shit.
We fought through it because we both wanted it.
And that’s all that matters. If you want her, if you want Beatriz, you fight for her.
Even if she needs space. Even if you’re not sure where you stand, you don’t just let her walk away. ”
I stare at him, trying to process the advice. It’s simple, really. Fight for her. But it’s the hardest thing to do when the person you love is so far away. When she’s asked for this space.
“I know, man. It’s just… I don’t know. She asked for space and I’m trying to be respectful, give her a week at least. But she hasn’t even texted or called. What if I lose her again?”
Gael claps me on the shoulder, hard enough to jolt me out of my thoughts.
“You’re not the same guy you were back then.
You’re not some damn gardener’s son anymore, man.
You’ve got this. You’ve made something of yourself.
Don’t let her family, or whatever bullshit your head’s throwing at you, get in the way. ”
I look at Gael, a soft exhale leaving my lungs. His words hit hard, deeper than I expected. “Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks, man.”
He pats me on the back and heads to the showers, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I sit there for a moment longer, letting his advice sink in. He’s right. I’ve worked too hard to get Beatriz to stay back in my life. I’m not going to let her go just because of some shitty misunderstanding with her father. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not losing her again.
But as much as I tell myself that, I still don’t know how to make it right.
How to get her to understand that I’ve never wanted to hurt her.
That I’ve never wanted to leave her. And yet, here I am, unsure how to fix the mess I’ve made.
I want to go to her, to talk to her, to make her understand.
But I can’t. She needs space. She needs time.
I gather my things slowly, dragging my feet to the car. It’s hard to focus on the drive home, the road blurring past me as I’m lost in my thoughts. I pull into my driveway, everything swirling so heavy it feels like I’m sinking.
And then, almost by instinct, I reach for my phone.
I don’t even know why I bother—she hasn’t texted me back.
But my fingers hover over her name, aching to hear from her.
A part of me says to wait. The other part says, one more day.
But I can’t stand the silence. I can’t stand the emptiness between us.
I look at the time. It’s getting late, but it’s still early enough for me to make a decision.
Without thinking, I pull out of the driveway and drive toward her place. But something shifts in my gut. I pass Andrea's house, and it hits me—the words her father said. The misunderstanding. I have to know if she knows what her father thought about us.
Without a second thought, I pull over and park, stepping out of the car. This conversation is long overdue.
I knock, and the seconds between each sound of my knuckles against the wood seem to stretch longer than they should. Andrea doesn’t take long to answer. She opens the door, her expression a mix of disbelief and irritation.
“Didn’t expect you to show up here, Alejandro,” she says, her voice guarded, hard. “What’s going on?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know where to begin. But I have to, and there’s no time like now.
“I need to talk to you about your father,” I say, my voice quiet, but the words are loaded.
She narrows her eyes on me, and I can tell she’s contemplating. Eventually she decides, stepping aside to let me in. “What about my father?”
I don’t waste any time. “Did you know?” I blurt out. “Did you know your father thinks I cheated on Beatriz with you?”
Her brows furrow, confusion overtaking her expression. “What?” she asks, voice a little too sharp. She clearly doesn’t understand.
I’m already pacing. The words are tumbling out, frantic now. “Your father—he thinks I cheated on Beatriz when we were together in high school. He thinks we hooked up back then. I’m asking you, Andrea. Did you know?”
Her eyes widen, her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. And then, like a slap, the rage hits her face.
Her voice cracks with disbelief as she laughs bitterly.
“No. I didn’t know, Alejandro.” She shakes her head like she can’t quite comprehend what she’s hearing.
“I mean, I can’t believe he would think so lowly of me.
That I’d hook up with my sister’s boyfriend. Que… que cabrón!”
Andrea isn't one to call her father names but in this instance, I think she gets a pass even if she is calling him an asshole.