51. MATEO
fifty-one
I’m ejected from the game.
Coach is busy breaking up all the smaller fights that formed around me, so Luisa jumped in and escorted me down the tunnel and to the locker room.
We’re quiet as we bypass all the stadium cameras, keeping our heads down as we make it past the checkpoint where no media is allowed.
And that’s where she goes off.
“What in the actual fuck were you thinking back there, Martinez? You think tanking your career on one good hit during a career-defining game was worth it?”
“Three hits. And yes.” I start to unbutton my jersey and notice my swollen, bloody knuckles.
She sighs loudly. “Trust me, if I could get that asshole in a room for five minutes, I would have caused some serious damage myself. But on the field? In a world where instant replay exists?”
“You didn’t see her face. He said something to her.” I turn angrily and point in the direction of the field. “And if you think I would reel in any sense of control when I saw it happen right in front of my eyes, then I’m sorry to learn that you think so poorly of me as a man.”
She takes a step back, hands on her stomach, eyes wide. She starts to nod as she looks off to the side. “Wash up, get dressed, and get the fuck out of here before the mob gets you. I’ve already got your driver in the car and two police escorts waiting to get you home safely.” She starts to walk out when she suddenly stops and says over her shoulder. “Coach had a message for you, by the way.” She laughs humorlessly. “Said, ‘first tell him to fuck off for screwing us this early in the game. Then second, tell him that if it had been me, I would have done worse.’”
She turns to leave, muttering Spanish curses under her breath.