Conflict of Interest #2
“I’m glad to hear that.” He jumps up from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket and bringing the meeting to a close.
“Sometimes, Clara, knowing exactly when to put the brakes on something is also part of a woman’s intelligence and professional strategy.
And I know full well that you’re a mature person who knows exactly where you stand, what uniform you wear, and the crucial work you do for this organization. ”
“Without a doubt.”
“Well, that’s all I have to say. I hope you have a good day.”
“You too.”
I walk out of that damn conference room with a knot in my stomach caused by sheer panic.
Because the past has a twisted and unbearable way of repeating itself in my life when I least expect it, and because, for the first time since Alicia burst into my life like a whirlwind, I’m having doubts.
But I don’t doubt how I feel about her when she’s near me—that much is crystal clear to me; what I seriously doubt is whether loving her this intensely is compatible with keeping my job, or whether it’s going to end up destroying both our lives and careers.
I stride through the club’s hallways, trying to compose my features.
I pause for a second by a large window in the hallway, pressing my forehead against the glass and gazing at the impeccable grass of the main field, bathed in the midday light.
Her clear laughter from the night before in my kitchen comes to mind, the sweet way her fingertips traced invisible lines across my back on the couch while we talked about trivial nonsense.
How on earth can something so damn real and beautiful become so fragile and shatter into pieces in a matter of a couple of hours because of a rule?
I come face-to-face with Alicia an hour later, right in the physical therapy room.
She’s sitting on her usual treatment table, her injured leg bent, tapping away on her phone with that expression of utter indifference she always has.
As soon as she hears me come in and turn the doorknob, she looks up from her phone and instantly picks up on the emotional wreckage and funeral-like expression I’m carrying inside.
“Well…” she says slowly, setting her phone down on the side table with deliberate slowness. “That look on your face doesn’t bode well. What’s going on?”
I close the door behind me with the utmost care, bolt it so no one can interrupt us, and walk over to her with my arms crossed.
“I haven’t exactly had the best start to my day, to tell you the truth,” I reply in a whisper, standing in front of the treatment table. “I just came out of a pretty tense meeting with the club’s sporting director.”
She frowns immediately, loses her relaxed posture, and sits up a little straighter on the table, fixing her gaze on me.
“With Mercer? What the hell happened?”
I take another step closer, enveloped in an uncomfortable silence. I don’t have the faintest idea how to bring up the subject, and for me, that’s already an unmistakable sign that things are really bad.
“There are rumors going around the club, Alicia.”
She lets out a brief, dry, and rather bitter chuckle that sends a chill down my spine.
“Big surprise. There’s always gossip and bullshit rumors swirling around me on every team, Clara.
Which one of all the lies is making the rounds in the Ravenhill hallways this time?
Because I assure you, I’ve got quite an extensive collection in my history.
” Her tone shifts in an instant. There’s no trace left of her usual irony; now I sense only a deep weariness, that of someone who’s sick of fighting ghosts.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cold air, and sit right on the edge of the treatment table, very close to her legs, but making a conscious effort not to touch her.
“They brought up that thing about your former coach in Spain, Alicia.”
The expression on her face hardens instantly, turning into a stone mask.
“Sure, of course, that topic. I don’t even know why the hell I’m asking,” she mutters angrily.
She jumps off the treatment table, landing on her good foot, and crosses her arms abruptly, erecting a reinforced concrete wall between us in an instant.
“And what are they saying now? That I slept with him in his office to get preferential treatment, to have him clean up my image in the press and put me in the starting lineup for every league game?”
“They haven’t given me any juicy details about the matter, Alicia; they’ve just told me that…”
“Let me guess—I know it by heart!” she cuts me off, visibly upset, her eyes bloodshot with rage. “That the troublesome and capricious Alicia Puertas once again used her dirty tricks to seduce some poor, innocent member of the coaching staff who was unable to resist her charms. Is that what it was?”
I take a decisive step toward her, breaking my own rule, trying to bridge that physical and emotional distance that suddenly feels like an uncrossable chasm between us.
“Alicia, slow down a little, please. The only thing I really want to understand is why…”
“Just say it already, Clara!” she insists with a choked cry, her gaze accusing me. “They told you to stay as far away from me as possible if you don’t want to end up out on the street, didn’t they? Isn’t that right?”
I’m completely speechless, petrified. Not a single word comes out of my throat because answering would make the threat real.
“Perfect.” She holds my gaze with that defiant look she gets when she feels deeply hurt.
“Look, Clara, I didn’t have a consensual relationship with my former coach, if that’s what’s worrying you so much,” she tells me with a seriousness and intensity I’ve never seen on her face in all the time we’ve been together.
“What actually happened was that that man decided, entirely on his own, that he had the right to sexually assault me in his office. And when I stood my ground, put a stop to it, and set very clear boundaries, the narrative changed. Because in soccer, the story always turns against us. Because it was a thousand times easier and cheaper for the board to say that I was arrogant, problematic, and confrontational than to admit that their star coach had crossed a criminal line he should never have even come close to.”
I feel a wave of pure rage and tremendous disgust burning in my gut as I listen to her.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen how, in elite professional soccer, the institutional image of a man in power carries a thousand times more weight than the words and dignity of a female player.
It’s always the easy way out: point the finger at the player, label her the black sheep, and make her the sole culprit for their own failures or their shitty behavior.
“And of course…” Alicia continues, her voice beginning to tremble from the rush of adrenaline and the sense of helplessness, “since I already had that reputation for being stubborn and a woman who’s hard to tame, their whole story fit like a glove for the journalists.
Case closed, and Alicia’s off to the transfer market. ”
She lowers her gaze to the floor for a second, clenching her fists tightly, and when she lifts her head again to stare at me, I see the most absolute pain and vulnerability bleeding from the depths of her eyes.
“So no, Clara. I don’t go around causing chaos or sleeping with coaches wherever I sign. It’s everyone else who decides to pin the blame on me and use me as the perfect excuse to justify their bad ideas or their shitty behavior.”