27. Gabriel
gabriel
. . .
For all intents and purposes, the barbeque yesterday was a success. Julio never came back out after his beef with Adriana, and being the insufferable fucker he is, he refused to talk about what happened. I’m going to remember that the next time he pushes and pries his way into my shit. But despite his disappearing act, the rest of the guys seemed to enjoy themselves. Everyone ate and drank and had a good time. Asher and Adam stayed for most of the day, and as much as it pains me to admit this, they’re pretty decent guys. The kind who, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t mind watching a game or sharing a meal with.
I don’t know how much of a relationship I’m willing to have with either of them but we agreed to meet up and train together once a week. They have to put time in the gym for hockey just like I do for soccer so it’s an easy enough way to get to know them. I’ll drag one of my roommates with me in the beginning at least.
“Yo,” Julio calls out, his voice booming through the crowded locker room. “Everyone ready?”
The guys all cheer, fists pumping into the air. Lockers are slammed closed and everyone makes whatever last minute adjustments they need to before we head out onto the field while Coach comes forward to begin his, we’ve got this, speech.
“He’s better today.” Felix nudges me with his elbow, keeping his voice low so as not to draw any attention. “You think his head’s in the game?”
I give a slight shake of my head. “No.” And that’s a problem. “You saw him last night. He spent all evening moping around after everyone left, constantly checking his phone like he couldn’t decide whether or not to message her.”
“He needs to get his head in the game,” Felix mutters.
Even now when we’re about to step out onto the field, Julio is discreetly glancing at his phone screen for what I know is at least the hundredth time today.
“Does he think she’s going to call him?” Felix asks.
“Hope he’s not holding his breath.”
Adriana is stubborn. Fiercely independent. And I can count on one hand the number of times that girl has ever tucked tail or apologized.
I’ve got Julio’s back. No matter what. He’s family. But shit between him and Adriana is complicated, and from where I’m standing, he’s the one who was being a dick all afternoon yesterday. The two of them need to just sit down and hash out their shit. Especially since Adriana and Cecilia are friends now. She’s going to be around more. There’s no avoiding that. And for all our sakes, they need to find a way to get along.
Julio doesn’t like that she’s got a new man in her life and I get it. If I were in his shoes, I probably wouldn’t be happy about their situation either. But if he doesn’t want Adriana seeing somebody else, then he needs to put his cards on the table and finally admit to how he feels about her.
Until he grows a pair and does that, she’s going to continue living her life.
You can’t blame her for it.
“—so get out there and show the Devils what PacNorth Wolves are made of!” Coach finishes his speech and everyone shouts out a variation of “Hell yeah,” and “we’ve got this,” slamming their fists against the doors of their lockers and rallying together as a team.
“Come on,” I tell Felix, falling into step beside Atticus and Deacon. “We’ve got a game to win.”
The whistle blows, and eleven of us take the field, our cleats pounding against the turf.
The crowd roars, cheering for us as we get into position. My heart races, adrenaline thrumming through my veins. This is what we’ve been training for. All those practices, the endless fucking drills, it’s all for this.
I’m locked in, every muscle coiled and ready. But when I glance over at Julio, I can already tell—he isn’t focused. He’s staring off toward the sideline, his shoulders tense, and I know exactly what’s caught his eye.
Adriana.
She’s sitting in the second row, my girl on her left and you know who on her right. Fuck. I don’t give a shit who she dates but we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules when it comes to our games. I can’t have my boy’s head messed up like this.
I clench my jaw, focusing back on the game. I need him switched on. To focus on what really matters right now. We all do. Julio’s our captain, our anchor. But right now? He’s fucking distracted, and it’s going to turn him into a liability during the game.
Deacon slides up next to me, bumping my shoulder with his. “You seeing this?”
“Yeah. I’m seeing it.”
Julio hasn’t barked orders at anyone. Hasn’t fired us up with his usual cocky-ass swagger. It’s like he’s somewhere else entirely. And on a day like today, with the league’s top team staring us down, that’s a problem we can’t afford.
“Think he’ll snap out of it?” Deacon asks, eyes locked on the ball as Atticus lobs it upfield.
I shake my head, tracking the play. “Doubt it. Not today.”
The ball moves fast, and I take off, sprinting past the defenders. For a second, everything else fades—the noise, the tension, my frustration with Julio—it’s just me and the pitch, my legs pumping, adrenaline surging.
I weave around a defender, spot the gap, and make the run. Deacon sends it to me with a quick pass, and I drive the ball up the field. I have two defenders on me so I kick it up to one of our forwards—Rion Pru. He swings his leg back and fires off the shot.
The ball sails just wide of the goal, missing the net by inches.
“Fuck!” I slam my hand against my thigh, frustrated with the miss, but not letting it slow us down.
“Shit. I’m—” Rion stammers.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “We’ve got time. This is only the start of the game.”
“Shake it off!” Deacon shouts, already moving back into position.
I throw him a nod and we all hustle to reset, but it’s hard not to notice Julio dragging behind. His pace is slower, his eyes still drawn somewhere else. And when the opposing team makes a break, I watch in disbelief as he lets their midfielder slip right by him without any kind of a challenge.
“Julio! What the fuck, man?” I snap, charging toward the guy with the ball, trying to clean up his mess. I manage to shoulder the guy off balance, stealing the ball back. I shoot a glare at Julio as I pass him. He doesn’t even look at me.
“What the hell was that?” Deacon mutters as he pulls alongside me, his long legs easily keeping pace. “It’s like he zoned out.”
“No shit.” My chest tightens with frustration.
The game continues, but it’s more of the same. Julio’s distracted, always a step behind, and every time I glance his way, he’s got his eyes on the stands—his attention trained on Adriana and Kenji. “Come on, man!” I shout. “Get your head in the game!”
Then it happens—Julio mistimes a challenge, his footwork sloppy. The other team’s striker doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping him with ease, leaving Julio behind like he’s not even there. It’s a straight path to Atticus and our goal net.
I sprint, trying to close the distance, but I’m too far back.
Atticus dives, but the ball skims past his gloves and sinks into the back of the net.
0-1. Just like that.
Julio stands there, staring at the ground, his hands on his hips. His face is twisted in disbelief. Like he doesn’t understand how Suncrest U managed a goal. Newsflash cabrón, you let it through.
“Goddammit, Julio!” I shout as we regroup. I don’t have time to babysit his feelings right now.
Felix jogs over, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Man, we can’t keep playing like this.”
“We won’t,” I growl, pacing, trying to shake off my own irritation. “If he doesn’t snap out of it, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Coach calls for a water break, and I use the opportunity to stalk over to Julio. He’s off to the side, rubbing the back of his brightly colored tattooed neck. I can see him trying to get back in the zone, but whatever it is he’s telling himself, it isn’t having the desired effect.
I step into his space, not caring if he’s in the mood to talk or not. “You need to get your head in the game, man. Right now. This isn’t just about you. We lose this one and we lose the NCAA committee pick.”
He finally looks at me, his face tight. “I know, alright? I fucking know.”
“Do you? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it. You’re letting her mess with your head, and it’s fucking us up out here.”
Julio’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. For a second, I think he might take a swing at me, but he doesn’t. He just exhales sharply, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. You’re our captain. On this field, that’s all that matters. Be that guy and help your team win the game. You can be your usual broody fucking self when you walk off this field, but until then, she doesn’t exist. Understand?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the ground like it’s got all the answers.
“Look, man,” I say, softening my tone a little. “You’ve got to deal with your shit, but not right now. Not when we’ve got a game to win.”
Julio’s gaze flicks back to the field, and something clicks in his eyes. I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s something.
He gives a curt nod. “Yeah. Alright.”
We head back out, and I can see him trying, putting in more effort, but it’s not the Julio we’re used to. The fire’s not there, not the way it should be. And we’re down because of it. Our team was already struggling. The barbeque was supposed to bring us all together. Help us get into sync.
Not tear our captain apart.
The rest of the game is a grind. We manage to score four goals during the first half but Suncrest U makes nine, and in the second, we just can’t close the fucking gap. When the final whistle blows, we finish with a score of 5-12.
Disappointment hits like a punch to the gut.
I shake hands with the other team, but my mind’s already checked out.
Back in the locker room, I glance at Julio. He’s sitting on the bench, staring down at his phone. More of this shit? He hasn’t said a word to any one of us since the game ended.
I grab a towel, wiping the sweat off my face. I want to say something, but what’s the point?
Jameia steps into the locker room with her hand over her eyes. “Everybody dressed?” she calls out.
A chorus of “Yes,” greets her.
She lowers her hand, a somber smile tugging at her lips as her dark brown eyes sweep across the room. She wore her box braids up today, twisting them into a complicated knot atop her head. She makes her way over to Julio, who’s slouched and shirtless on the bench like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
His body is a canvas of ink, giving our assistant coach her first look at his heavily decorated skin. Jameia’s eyes take each of his designs in, and I watch her gaze travel from the lotería cards that climb down and around his neck to the intricate Aztec necklace that stretches across his collarbone and the top of his chest.
The centerpiece is a stylized eagle head encircled in geometric patterns and Aztec glyphs, forming an almost armor-like shape across his chest. That piece took fifty-five hours to complete, and I was with him for every single one of them.
But J’s ink doesn’t stop there. He’s got a skull on top of one hand, flanked by dark red roses with a thick coil of thorn-tipped vines that twist a tangled path across his forearm. On his other hand is a catholic rosary—a piece I witnessed him get inked into his skin our senior year of high school. It’s that one that he’s staring at right now. Almost like he’s sending up a prayer to Mother Mary.
I don’t believe in all of that higher power and praying to the saints bullshit anymore. I stopped long before Carlos died. But if it gives him peace—I roll my shoulders—then who am I to judge?
Jameia stops in front of him, her expression reluctant. But everyone in this room knows why she’s here. May as well get it over with.
“Julio,” she says softly, "Coach wants to see you."
Julio’s jaw tightens, his fingers flexing against his knees as he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t argue. He just nods, disappointment settling in his features as he pushes off the bench and rises to his feet.
Jameia steps back, giving him space to move around her as he heads for Coach’s office. Without another word, she falls into step behind him.
“I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that conversation,” Felix says, sliding onto the bench beside me.
I grimace. “None of us would.” Julio failed to lead the team today. But with any luck, Coach won’t be too hard on him. He’ll get a dressing down for sure, but it doesn’t need to be some big thing.
Atticus and Deacon make their way over to us, Deacon’s eyes following Julio and Jameia’s retreating forms. “You guys ready to head out?” he asks.
I open my mouth to tell him to go ahead without me when Felix chimes in, “I’ve got it. You three get out of here. I’ll stick around and make sure everything’s good with J.”
My brows pull together, and I’m about to argue when Felix adds, “Your girl is waiting for you, and if I’m not mistaken, there were a couple of other familiar faces in the stands today. Go. I’ve got it.”