Chapter 26 #2
“You never said or did anything to let me know you saw me as more than a friend,” I explained, making sure we were eye to eye.
The German didn’t look exactly appeased by my observation. He licked his lips and leaned back against the couch, eyeing me with an expression that was part aggravation and part something else. “What would you have done if I’d said something?”
The hell? “Not believed you.” Why would I? We’d been so hot and cold; I never understood what the hell was going through his head.
He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s your reason.
What would I gain from telling you the first moment I realized you were meant to be mine?
Nothing. You’re supposed to protect what you love, Sal.
You taught me that. I didn’t wake up one day and know I didn’t want to live without your horrible temper.
I saw so much of me in you at first, but you aren’t like me at all.
You’re you, and I will go to my grave before I let anyone change any part of you.
I know that without a doubt in my mind. This”—he pointed between us—“this is what matters.
You are my gift, my second chance, and I will cherish you and your dream. I will protect both of you.
“I’ve been waiting, and I will keep on waiting until the time is right.
You are my equal, my partner, my teammate, my best friend.
I’ve done so many stupid things that you’ve made me regret—things I hope you will forgive me for and look beyond—but this, waiting a little longer for the love of my life, I can do.
“You are the most honest, warm, loving person I know. Your loyalty and friendship amazes me every day. I have never wanted anything more in my life than I want your love, and I don’t want to share that with anyone.
I haven’t done a single thing in my life to deserve you, schnecke, but I will never give up on you, and I won’t let you give up on me. ”
And wasn’t that the shit of it?
Someone could tell you they loved you every day, but still lie and cheat.
Or they could never say those three words but be there for you every day and be more than you ever wanted or dreamed.
He wasn’t warm or cuddly, quiet or particularly nice to others, but he was nice to me, and in my heart I knew he would stand by me every time I needed him.
When he left a little later, I lay in my bed and cried two tears. That was it, because it all seemed too good to be true and there were things I hadn’t told him that could change how he felt about me.
What would I do if he changed his mind?
THE PIPERS’ final game against the Ohio Blazers had finally arrived, and I had the jitters.
“You’re going to win. Stop worrying.”
I blew out a loud breath from my side of the car.
He’d offered to have his driver take us to the stadium that afternoon.
He didn’t have to leave early, the doors didn’t open for at least another hour, but Kulti did what Kulti wanted to do, and for some reason, he wanted to go at the same time I did.
You’re going to win.
I was so lucky someone cared about my career so much.
Most girls could only wish to be this lucky.
That was the problem though.
As the days counted down toward the big final game, I became more and more nervous.
Kulti hadn’t acted any differently. He hadn’t tried kissing me since that afternoon outside of my car.
When he’d come over to my place, we’d do what we always did, and in the middle of his visit, he’d ask me how practice went.
Twice we went outside and volleyed the ball back and forth, but that had been it.
Except for that one night when he said things to me I never could have dreamed up, he’d been the close-mouthed man I was used to spending time with.
Before he’d left, he’d promised to give me time and space to think and focus on what was the most important: the final game.
I still couldn’t help but ask myself what was going to happen after the game.
What if I didn’t get on another team? What if I was injured today? What if I blew my knee out in the offseason? Or the next season?
What would I do then?
The logical part of me knew I was freaking out about nothing. It wasn’t totally unusual. When I was anxious in situations like these, my mind made up a bunch of other crap to stress about too. Of course this thing between Kulti and me was at the top of my list.
It all weighed on my chest like a ticking time bomb. What if.
What if. What if.
He nudged my thigh playfully with the back of his balled-up hand. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worried. I’m just thinking about stuff.”
“Lies.”
I shot him a look and leaned against the seat, thinking and stressing.
He let out a deep sigh. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I bit my lips and took in that soft crease between his eyebrows, the color of his eyes, the way the lines that bracketed his mouth deepened in worry.
How could I go back to my life if this thing between us didn’t work out?
I’d been young and angry when I’d had a huge crush on the man I only knew on paper and television.
It hadn’t been real. But this was real. This Rey was real and kind when he wasn’t a major pain in the ass.
I couldn’t get rid of the apprehensive knot taking a poop in my stomach. This wasn’t a “what if” I wanted to deal with. So screw it. Maybe the best thing to do would be for me to get this worry over with before the game.
“What’s going to happen when I can’t play anymore?” I asked him, shoving my hands between my thighs so he couldn’t see them shaking.
I heard him shift in his seat. The leather creaked and then continued creaking as he settled in. “What are you babbling about?”
“What are you going to do when I can’t play anymore? My knee might only have a few more years left in it. What will happen then?” I asked, eyes going to the roof of the car because there was no way I could handle his face in that moment.
“That’s what’s stressing you out?” His voice was low and too calm.
“Yeah. Mostly. On top of everything else.”
“Sal, look at me.” I let my head drop to the side so I could look at him as he spoke. In a plain white T-shirt with a check mark on it, fitted faded jeans, and his favorite pair of black and green shoes, he was almost surreal. It just made what I was asking worse.
I was sitting in the back seat of a car with Reiner “The King” Kulti on the way to the WPL final game, asking him if he was still going to love me once I couldn’t play anymore. Good God. Was I really bringing this crap up now? I changed my mind. I didn’t want to know yet.
I didn’t want to ever know where our limits stood.
“Sal.”
The car slowed to a stop. Behind Kulti’s head, the window showed the outline of the entrance I was supposed to be walking through.
“I’m stressed. I’m sorry. We’ll talk later, all right?”
He looked at me for what felt like a long time but was more than likely just a few seconds before finally giving me a grave nod, excusing me from the hole I’d dug for myself.
I couldn’t breathe, and I needed to focus. My hands were still shaking, and I was more nervous than I’d been since I was a teenager playing in my first U-17 game. Life would still go on regardless of what happened, I reminded myself. Swallowing hard, I smiled at the German. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it,” he responded, his face still ultra-serious.
Get it together, Sal. Focus, focus, focus. “Find me after the game?” I asked.
“Yes.” He said a word in German I thought meant “always,” but I didn’t want to really think about it.
I flashed him a smile and got out of the car. Just as I was about to slam it closed, Kulti piped up, “Focus!”
THERE WERE some games that I’d sit back and recall like I was a fan in the stands watching the action.
The first half went slow and no one scored. There was nothing memorable about it.
In the second half, a light was burning under both teams’ asses. Defense and offense, both teams were on it. The game took a turn for the vicious by the time the fourth yellow card was thrown up; one was Harlow’s and one was mine. We hustled, we sweated. We ran, and we fought against the Blazers.
And in the last fifteen minutes of the second half, a team scored.
It wasn’t us.
We couldn’t manage to get a solid hold on the ball at any point afterward.
And we lost. It was that simple. We freaking lost.
It was like having your dog eat your homework. Losing reminded me of when you were typing something in a document and then your computer restarted on its own. Or baking a cake and it didn’t rise.
Using the word “crushing” might have been a little extreme, but it was the truth. For me, at least. I was crushed.
Watching the other team yelling and cheering, hugging each other….
Honestly, I wanted to punch each of them in the face and follow that up with a good cry. You don’t always win, and that’s the truth with everything ever, but…
We lost.
I PRESSED my closed fists to the bones above my eyebrows after time had ended.
I looked up into the stands; the disappointment was apparent on so many people’s faces.
I had to look away; watching our fans was chewing up my stomach.
Pipers were scattered around the field, looking just as dazed as I felt.
No one could believe what had just happened. I definitely couldn’t.
I swallowed and realized that this was the last time I’d be on this field.
I choked up.
I’d lost. We’d lost.
My family was in the audience. Marc and Simon were in the crowd someplace. My German was too.
Pressure squeezed my lungs as I made my feet move.
They took me away from the opposing players celebrating, oblivious to the inner hell I was going through.
The loss was bitter in my mouth and definitely in my soul.
I shook a few hands, gave a couple of the girls on the Ohio team a hug and congratulated them on their win.
But, Jesus, it was hard.