Chapter 22 #6
When I thought about Kulti cashing in favors to get players to come to my camp and buying kids’ shoes and how he’d given me a freaking hug, it only made things worse.
I cried like a baby, a big silent baby that didn’t want anyone to hear her.
“Schnecke, did you—” Kulti’s voice abruptly cut off.
In hindsight, I would realize that I didn’t hear him come in because he didn’t knock.
He just barged right in, sticking his big fat head in the room like there wasn’t a chance that I was on the toilet doing something he wouldn’t want to see.
I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t muffle the next sob or bother to try and hide it.
I missed the horrified look on Kulti’s face before he came inside and shut the door behind him. I didn’t see him drop to his knees or put his hands on my own, lowering his head so that his forehead pressed to mine.
“Schnecke,” he said in the softest, most affectionate tone I’d ever heard. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I managed to blabber out. I was shaking, and my upper body was convulsing with soundless cries.
“Stop with your lies and tell me why you’re crying,” he ordered, even as he scooted forward and stroked a big hand down my spine.
“I’m not crying.”
“You are the worst liar I have ever met.” He moved to rub my shoulder. “Why are you upset?”
Every time he asked, I somehow managed to cry harder, my body shaking more; there were actual noises coming out of me. “It’s stupid.”
“More than likely, but tell me anyway,” he said in a gentle voice.
I couldn’t catch my breath. “They’re… going… to… trade… me,” I bawled to my freaking humiliation.
The hand on my shoulder didn’t let up its comforting circles. “Who told you?”
“Franz,” I said, but it really sounded like more Franzzzzagh.
Something quick and vicious-sounding in German shot out of his mouth: a spit, a curse on top of a curse.
“He’s not lying, is he?” I asked his shirt collar.
Kulti sighed into the top of my head. “No. He wouldn’t say something unless he was sure,” he confirmed.
My heart and my head were both well aware that the signs had been there.
“Gardner warned me, but I didn’t listen,” I told him. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the end of the world, and this is embarrassing, but I can’t stop crying.”
The big German I’d been in love with since I was a kid put his arms all around me. And he shushed me. Literally, he said, “Shush.” Then he held me a little closer and said into my ear, “You’re better than this. Stop crying.”
“I can’t,” I whined for probably the first time in at least ten years.
“You can and you will,” he said tenderly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now—”
Of course he couldn’t. He’d never been traded against his will, and if he had, it had to have been for a better position and more money. For me, it was like getting dumped. Violated. Thrown away.
“—but you’re better than this. In two years, you’ll be thanking them for being so stupid.”
His pep talk wasn’t helping. “I gave them the best years of my life,” I might have wailed, but hoped I didn’t.
“You have not. You haven’t even reached the peak of your career.”
I was inconsolable. Reiner Kulti was telling me I still had better years ahead of me, and it wasn’t making me feel better.
“Taco. Stop. Stop this instant,” he demanded in a grave voice.
I couldn’t. All I could keep thinking was that Houston was where I wanted to be.
It was the place I had made my home. If they had asked me first if I wanted to go somewhere else, it would be one thing, but these under-the-table deals were for the players you tried to get rid of so that they wouldn’t blow a gasket.
There was snot running down my nose, and it made the German huff in exasperation and tighten his hold around me, his arms like a shield against the world. “I know this is my fault, and I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured in that thick accent I wanted to wrap myself in.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, muffled against him before changing my mind.
“I don’t regret it at all. This is their fault for being so damn dumb.
I’ve always done whatever they wanted me to do.
I’m a team player. I don’t completely suck.
I get to practice early and stay late, and this is how they repay me?
By trying to send me to fucking New York?
Where I’ll probably never get to play again? ”
I sat up, not caring in the least that I had to look like a giant mess, and sniffled at my friend.
I was feeling the weight of a hundred galaxies on my shoulders, feeling my dreams on the cusp of slipping away.
I knew I was being overdramatic, but it was all too much.
“What am I going to do?” I asked him, like he had all the answers.
Kulti palmed my knees again. That handsome face that had aged gracefully was solemn, but he looked me dead in the eye as he spoke. “You’re going to keep playing. I promise you, Sal. I would never put your career at risk.”
I sniffled and made a watery noise in my throat, my shoulders shaking and warning of another round of tears.
The German shook his head. “No. No more. I won’t let you down; now stop crying. It makes me nauseous.”
That was almost funny. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, and he scowled, reaching back to pull a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll before handing them to me. “Control yourself,” he ordered.
I almost laughed. I sniffled and wiped my face with the tissue he gave me. “You can’t tell me to ‘control myself.’ It doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re supposed to do what I say,” he said, snatching the tissue away from me and dabbing at my cheeks a little more forcefully than necessary with a frown.
That made me crack a small, pitiful smile. “Who said that?”
He met my eyes. “I did.”
I pressed my lips together. “That’s convenient.”
Kulti reached back and grabbed more toilet paper. “You’re a mess,” he said, continuing his cleanup process. “I didn’t take you to be a crybaby.”
“I’m not.” I tried to snatch the tissue away from him, but he held his hand out of reach. I stretched, and he easily pulled his hand further out of my grasp. “I can wipe my own face off.”
He smacked my hand away. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he grumbled, returning to dabbing at me.
“You know, the world doesn’t revolve around what you do or don’t want to do,” I said as he rubbed a little too hard under my nose, making me wince.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m not used to this.”
“You’ve never had to clean off a girl’s face before?”
He pulled back to observe his work. “Never.”
I let out a deep sigh, eased by his admission. “In that case, thank you for the honor.”
Kulti didn’t say anything; instead he put a hand on each cheek and tipped my head back.
I had never been more aware of not having makeup on or looking like hell than I did right then.
The man, who had dated supermodels, actresses, and probably a whole bunch of women with perfect bodies, didn’t comment on my freckles, the bags under my eyes, or the scars I had.
He finally dropped his hands and gave my thighs a pat with a long, deep exhale. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said.
An exasperated breath later, he’d taken hold of my hands and pulled me up to my feet. “No. You’re fine.”
“Rey, seriously, give me a minute.” I buckled my knees so he couldn’t drag me along.
With one yank, he pulled me forward. “So that you can cry more? No. Come. I have the coffee you like.”
I sniffled, and he gave me a dirty look in return. Why did I even bother? “You’re a bossy bitch, you know that?” I asked him even as I let him lead me out of the darkened bathroom.
“You’re a pain in my ass, do you know that?” he shot back.
I snorted as we went down the stairs one after the other. “I used those exact same words to describe you to Franz, buddy.”
The German turned to peek at me over his shoulder. “Another thing we have in common.”
“Ha. You wish.”
A snicker came out of his mouth, but he didn’t argue anymore. We found Franz in the kitchen sitting on a stool, looking at his phone. He glanced up and immediately frowned.
“I’m fine,” I said before he said anything. “I really am; I’m just being a baby.” Even saying it as an excuse did nothing to lessen the bolt of disappointment that shot straight through my heart. They are going to trade me.
But in the back of my head, Kulti’s voice reminded me that it was only if I let them.
Fuck me.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Franz interjected quickly. “Please forgive me.”
“No, no way. There’s nothing to forgive. Thank you for telling me. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I guess I don’t handle getting the shaft well.” They both looked at me over my word choice. “I don’t like to lose, and I feel like I’m losing,” I explained.
They both finally nodded in understanding.
Kulti bumped my shoulder, talking to Franz over me. “Make a list of the women’s teams you know of.”
“Wait. I don’t even know what I’m going to do,” I said, suddenly panicking again at the thought of going somewhere even farther away than New York.
Jesus Christ.
Europe? Was I really thinking about it? I was kicking up a fit about New York, but considering going to freaking Europe?
“You want to stay here with these people?” Kulti asked, just shy of sounding incredulous. “Not everyone deserves your loyalty.”
He was right, of course, in a selfish way. “I still have a year left in my contract.”
“Too much can happen in a year, Sal. You could tear your ACL again, break a leg going down the stairs… anything.”