Chapter 9 Carla
Carla
Luca
I can’t make training tonight. Make sure you still get a workout in.
Carla
Bossy much?
Luca
Only when I have to be.
Carla
I’ll go for a run.
Luca
Good.
Be careful.
Carla
“Carla,” the boys’ tennis coach, a man named Enrique, pops his head into my office door. He glances at his watch. “Are you coming to the meeting? It starts in two minutes.”
I straighten behind my desk, my back going rigid. “What meeting?”
Enrique tilts his head, studying me. “The athletic department’s monthly meeting. Sergio said he’d tell you.”
Sergio Pérez is the boys’ fútbol coach and has been a pebble in my shoe since the moment I met him. He’s an insecure, entitled man who is at least a decade older than me. Since I signed with Santa Isabel, Sergio’s been trying to undermine me and my leadership every chance he gets.
“Of course,” I reply, grabbing a notebook. “It must have slipped his mind.”
Enrique rolls his lips together but doesn’t reply. He waits for me and we fall into step together, walking down the long corridor to the meeting room.
“Word of advice?” Enrique asks, his Spanish clipped and quiet.
I glance up at him.
“Beat him at his own game,” Enrique murmurs, dropping his chin so I can note the severity of his expression. Then, he steps into the meeting room and I’m left to grapple with the meaning behind his words.
What the hell is Sergio playing at?
Luckily, it doesn’t take long to figure it out.
The head of the athletic department, Juan Ramon, begins the meeting by highlighting the expectations of the fútbol program. He speaks in measured Spanish, interspersed with English, so the international coaches can understand him.
“Our fútbol program has been strong for several years. We’ve won regional and national titles and this season, there’s no doubt that we have the talent, the grit, and the coaching expertise to do it again.”
“I agree,” Sergio speaks up, leaning forward in his chair.
“The boys have worked hard to earn the recognition and accolades that they have achieved. Now, the girls’ team was excelling under Madeline’s guidance, but Carla is new.
She might have played abroad, but this is her first year coaching, am I correct?
” He turns toward me, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
My cheeks heat from the not-so-subtle dig. He’s putting me on the spot on purpose. “That’s correct,” I agree as pleasantly as possible. Before I can add anything else, he continues.
“With all due respect, Carla, coaching a team isn’t the same as playing. Do you really have the experience to lead them on your own?”
Enrique lifts an eyebrow in my direction.
My stomach twists and a wave of nausea, of nerves, rolls over me.
I’ve never had a hard time standing up for myself.
In fact, drawing boundaries is something I excel at.
But right now, I want to crawl under a rock.
“I understand your concerns,” I say slowly.
“But I’ve trained groups of girls for several years through summer camps as well as my advocacy for girls in sports in Chicago and other major American cities. ”
“I think the experience you’re adding to the program, and to the school, is wonderful,” the girls’ swimming coach shares, smiling warmly at me.
“Thank you.” I smile back.
Sergio clears his throat.
Juan interjects before he can. “We still have playoffs ahead of us. Why don’t we focus on that for now and then see if any additional support is required for the boys’ or the girls’ teams.”
Juan moves on to discuss a fundraiser the tennis program is hosting, but Sergio mutters under his breath, his eyes boring directly into mine.
“If she were really that good, Chicago wouldn’t have dropped her.”
My stomach pitches at the cruelty behind his words. He wants to humiliate me. In fact, I’d even argue he wants to embarrass me more than he wants the school, or the sports programs, to succeed.
“Watch your back, Carla.” Enrique whispers the warning.
I nod, knowing he’s right.
Whatever issue Sergio has with me, it’s personal.
The following evening, after a pickup game with El Tanque, Risitas, and the boys, I relax into a hot bath and sigh in relief.
It’s been a long week and I’m exhausted.
I’m having dinner with my family tonight and need a few hours to decompress before I face my papá and his questions about my training as well as my team’s chances of winning the regional championship.
The ringing of my phone forces me to open my eyes and reach to the side of the tub.
“DiBlanco,” I answer Luca’s call. “Miss me much?”
He grunts though the line, a poor attempt to conceal his chuckle. “You sound chipper.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I’m actually exhausted.”
“Same,” he admits, and I hear the fatigue in his voice.
I sit up straighter in the tub, bending my knees. “Is everything okay? You’ve bailed on me twice.”
“I know. Mi dispiace, Carla.” I’m sorry.
“What’s going on?”
“álvaro, an old and very good friend of mine, had an accident,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Is he okay?”
“He will be. If he learns to listen to me and take it easy.” Luca raises his voice at the end.
“?No soy inválido!” a male voice calls out. I’m not an invalid!
I stifle my chuckle. “Is álvaro living with you?”
“No, he won’t even consider it,” Luca grumbles. “He works at Santa Isabel. It’s how I heard about the open coaching position.”
I frown, trying to place the name. “álvaro…the maintenance man?”
“That’s him.”
How does Luca know him? And how are they so close? The fact that Luca is at his place, trying to help him, speaks volumes about their relationship and only heightens the intrigue surrounding Luca and his caretaking ways.
“Is he okay?” I ask again. “I heard he had an accident.”
Luca sighs. “Long story. I’m calling because I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
Luca’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t hear the question yet.”
“Ask me,” I command, fighting my smile.
“I need a physical therapist to work with álvaro. But I want someone good. I want the best. Cost isn’t an issue. My go-to guys are booked up and—”
“I have someone for you.”
“Seriously? Who?”
“He’s from Argentina but lives in Valencia. I’ll give him a ring but he’s pretty flexible.”
“What’s his name? Have you worked with him before?”
“His name is Luis Ortega and I used to date him.”
The line falls silent. I don’t even hear Luca breathing. After a few seconds, I pull the phone away from my ear to check that we haven’t been disconnected.
“Luca?” I question.
He clears his throat. “You dated him,” he says. Then, “Why’d you break up?”
I wrinkle my nose, wondering how I can say it without sounding absurd. “He wore socks with sandals.”
“What?”
“And his socks never matched,” I tack on, as if that somehow gives me a leg to stand on that isn’t ridiculous. “It doesn’t matter; we’re still friends. And I highly recommend him. He’s great at his job.”
“Still friends, huh? Are you friends with all your ex-boyfriends, Carla?”
“Mostly,” I answer honestly.
“Seriously?”
“Sure. They’re all good guys or I wouldn’t have dated them, you know? And they can’t help their quirks any more than I can help mine.”
“Right,” he breathes.
“I’ll give Ortega a call and pass him your number. Okay?”
“Vale,” Luca agrees. “Thanks.”
“No pasa nada.” I disconnect the call and ease back into my bath.
It hits me again how invested and involved Luca is in supporting the people he cares about.
álvaro’s heath and recovery, my career and future goals, his team’s go-to guy for advice.
I know my brother relies on him for honest feedback.
His sister has said multiple times that she’s indebted to him.
He’s a family man through and through and yet…
his family now is more of the chosen variety.
As someone who comes from a big, obnoxious, often meddlesome tribe, it strikes me how different Luca’s experience is. And still, he shows up, he gives his time, his love, and his support.
Knowing I can come through for him on this request makes me smile. For someone who does so much for others, I want to repay the favor.