The Aftermath of the Storm
Clara
There are moments in life when you’re unable to tell where fear ends and love begins.
And that, without a doubt, is the most dangerous part of this game.
Because while fear tries to protect you from what’s beyond your control, love…
love makes you reckless. It pushes you to run with your eyes closed toward what you know all too well could destroy you.
And I, who have always been the queen of caution, find myself in over my head in that very situation because of Alicia.
I realize it the very moment I see her double over on the training field, gritting her teeth and making a superhuman effort to stay steady on her cleats, even as sharp pain is already shooting through her leg like lightning.
I realize it when I feel the air stop flowing into my lungs, when the clamor of the training session fades away around me, and my own body reacts before my mind does, telling professional ethics to go to hell.
I know that being cold and professional with her is over; I’ve crossed every ethical line. Seeing her tear herself apart on the field hurts me to the core, and I can’t bear the thought that she’s taking out on her own body all the anger and frustration that I myself caused yesterday with my doubts.
We arrived at the locker room a couple of minutes ago.
Alicia is standing tall out of sheer pride, though the stiffness in her movements and the way she drags her left foot are obvious even to anyone who doesn’t have the faintest clue about sports injuries.
I know every side effect and every disastrous consequence of straining an inflamed joint like hers inside and out, and that’s precisely why panic is eating away at me.
“Please sit down,” I ask, gesturing with my hand.
She slumps down onto the wooden bench, leans her back against the lockers, and lets out a dry, sharp, almost mocking laugh that I don’t find the least bit funny.
“How romantic, Dr. Valle—I’m going to melt right here with emotion.”
“Alicia,” I repeat, my tone coming out much harsher and sharper than usual, echoing off the four walls.
She notices it immediately. Her dark, defiant eyes lock onto mine for an eternal second, and through her gaze, I can see in crystal-clear detail everything that shattered into a thousand pieces during our last conversation: the monumental anger, the disappointment, the pent-up desire, the love that burns between us, and that absurd need to touch each other.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs, looking down at her feet. “You don’t need to make such a scene or worry so much about me.”
“Don’t give me that.” That’s the first thing I want to shout, but I swallow my pride, bite my tongue, and simply crouch down in front of her, planting one knee on the locker room floor.
I hold her left leg with extreme gentleness just below the knee to assess the extent of the damage.
The intense heat from the swelling seeps through the fabric of her sock and burns my fingertips.
It’s bad—really, really bad. I take a deep breath through my nose to maintain my professional composure and keep my hand from shaking in front of her.
“It’s over,” I declare, looking at her kneecap. “No more training today, tomorrow, or for the remaining weeks leading up to the start of the season.”
“That’s not for you to decide, Clara,” she replies through clenched teeth, her jaw so tense that the muscle in her cheek twitches.
I look up slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until I lock eyes with her firmly.
“Oh, I certainly do decide that. That’s why I’m the head physical therapist at this club.
And above all, I decide it because you’re completely incapable of making a single smart decision on your own.
Or are you going to keep pretending in front of the coach that you can run and shoot on goal with a knee that looks like a beach ball? ”
I watch her face tighten. Anger and arrogance have always been her favorite defense mechanisms for hiding anything that truly hurts her soul.
“Oh, really? So now you’re suddenly worried about my health and my career again?” she asks in a tone brimming with reproach that cuts right through me. “You’re so timely, really. The savior-doctor role suits you so well.”
The words pierce my heart like a dagger. After telling her yesterday that it was best to just let it go, seeing her break down and suffer like this is tearing down, one by one, all the damn barriers I’d tried to build around myself to protect myself from the scandal.
“Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is, please…” I whisper, losing my professional tone and revealing my vulnerability.
She lets out another bitter laugh that makes my stomach clench and my insides churn.
“You’re a tad late to be asking that, Clara. We’ve been making everything so damn difficult for days now.”
I have to make an enormous effort to hold back the wild urge to pounce on her lips right there, to pull her into my arms, devour her mouth, and confess that I’ve been a total idiot.
But common sense holds me back: we’re in the middle of the locker room, and at any damn moment Hugo, Lucía, or any of the girls could walk in through the very same door we came in through.
So I do the only thing my mind still knows how to do well: control myself and put on my icy facade.
Outside, on the field, Ravenhill FC’s practice is in full swing; the muffled sound of balls hitting cleats and the coaching staff’s whistles filter through the metal partitions to us.
Inside the locker room, it’s just the two of us, the smell of Reflex, and all the pent-up rage that threatens to make me snap.
“I’m really tired of having to repeat the same thing to you over and over, Alicia.”
“And I’m sick and tired of you talking to me and looking at me like I’m some fucking time bomb about to explode in your hands!” she retorts, turning abruptly toward me and fixing me with a glare that’s practically shooting sparks.
“Because you are, damn it!” I snap back, finally losing my cool and unable to hold back any longer.
“You’re destroying yourself out there on the field out of sheer pride, and you expect the rest of us to just sit on the sidelines and watch the show in silence.
Well, you’re in for a surprise with me.”
“I don’t need you to come save my life, Clara. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, start acting like someone who wants to still have a soccer career a year from now, for God’s sake!
” I blurt out, raising my voice more than I should and waving my hands in the air, completely beside myself.
“Or would you rather end up watching the games from the stands before you even turn thirty because you’re too damn stubborn? ”
The tension in the room becomes so thick you could almost cut it with a scalpel. Alicia jumps to her feet, ignoring the pain in her leg, and stands just a few centimeters away from me, blatantly invading my personal space.
“And since when do you care about my career and my professional future?” she asks, staring me straight in the eyes. The question has too many hidden meanings, too many subtexts, and we both know it all too well.
I clench my teeth so hard that I feel the tension in my temples.
“From the very moment you started to matter to me far more than logic would dictate.”
Silence falls suddenly, brutal and crushing, between the two of us. Her breathing changes instantly, becoming faster, more labored. Mine mirrors hers before I can stop it. But the anger and pride are still there, burning in the middle of the locker room like a pyre.
“Well, that’s a pretty weird way to show it,” she murmurs with her lips parted.
“First you’re scared shitless and tell me we should maybe put our relationship on hold for the club’s sake, and five minutes later you show up on the field looking like you want to kill anyone who so much as touches a hair on my head.
Can you just tell me what the hell you want from me, Clara? ”
“I can’t stand seeing you get hurt because of me, Alicia,” I finally confess, my voice coming out hoarse, thick, and heavy with emotion. “I swear, I can’t stand it.”
“And you think I can stand being cut out of your life overnight as if what we had was some damn mistake?” Her voice—always so firm and cool—cracks slightly as she utters the last word, letting me see the pain I’ve caused her.
That “what we had” pierces straight through my chest. I try to form a coherent response, but I’m left speechless because the naked truth is unbearable: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with our relationship, and precisely because it’s the most real thing I’ve felt in years, I’m so terrified of losing control.
Alicia lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head with a hint of pity.
“You know what the worst part of all this is, Clara? That you’re still clinging to the absurd delusion that you can control what happens here with your medical protocols.
” She takes another step closer, closing the little distance that remains between us.
Now there’s barely a couple of millimeters of air between her chest and mine.
“But wake up: you can’t control a damn thing anymore. ”
The distinctive scent of her skin mixed with the sweat from her workout hits my senses full force, clouding my judgment.
She’s right. I can’t feign indifference when I see her suffering on the grass.
I can’t act as if kissing her in my living room hadn’t changed something irreversible and definitive inside me.
I can’t keep hiding like a coward behind my fear while my own body reacts to her closeness even in the middle of a monumental argument.
Alicia lowers her gaze directly to my mouth, lingering on my lips with a voracious hunger. Then she fixes her eyes on mine again, and that small gesture—that provocation—is more than enough to make me lose my damn balance and send my sanity packing.
“You’re absolutely impossible, Alicia Puertas,” I whisper, my face almost touching hers.