Crossfire
Clara
The café at the Ravenhill FC sports complex is practically empty at this time of the afternoon.
Outside, the sky is beginning to turn a thick, leaden gray that threatens an imminent storm.
Inside, the huge windows of the lounge reflect the fluorescent lights, creating a strangely intimate and silent atmosphere—something almost miraculous in a place designed exclusively for the constant bustle of an entire soccer team.
I’m slouched at one of the tables in the back, taking refuge with a steaming cup of coffee in my hands and a dossier wide open in front of me.
I’ve been pretending to review the performance reports for ten minutes.
In reality, I haven’t read a single line.
My eyes scan the same paragraphs and anatomical data over and over again without processing a single thing, because all my attention—and my sanity—is far removed from these papers.
I’m thinking about Alicia. Again. As usual.
For years, I got used to living within a fairly orderly and controlled structure.
But all that went out the window the very day Alicia arrived at the sports complex and shook my hand.
Since then, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t denied to myself what I feel, that I haven’t fought against my body’s urges.
Luckily, I’ve come to terms with it now.
Although that doesn’t erase the trace of fear, the frustration, or that dizzying sensation that stirs inside me whenever our eyes meet.
I lift the cup and take a small sip of the coffee, which, unfortunately for me, has already gone lukewarm.
I gaze absently outside through the window.
The memory of what happened last night still clings to my skin in a way that’s irritating, brazen, and terribly sweet all at once.
The pool, the steam from the hot water, her hands roaming over me with that urgency and wild need that only she manages to convey just by touching me.
Her ragged breathing against my neck, quickening more and more as the intensity of our orgasms grew…
The worst part is that I don’t remember exactly when the idea of inviting her to sleep with me first crossed my mind.
But that was, without a doubt, what opened my eyes.
Waking up tangled with her under the sheets, feeling the weight of her arm possessively wrapped around my waist, and hearing her slow, deep, rhythmic breathing against my shoulder…
made me realize that I’ve fallen into something again that I swore I’d never allow myself to experience, something that…
makes me hopelessly happy. Despite how complicated it all is, of course.
“You’ve got quite the long face today, Doctor,” says a very familiar voice, yanking me abruptly and without warning out of my thoughts.
I look up, my heart skipping a beat, and see Alba approaching my table with a tray in her hand.
The team captain has her hair pulled back into a high ponytail that’s still dripping wet from a recent shower, and her training tracksuit, partially open at the neck, reveals the tanned skin of her collarbone.
Her expression—completely relaxed—stands in stark contrast to the tension settling in the pit of my stomach.
I know full well that Alba has already been talking to Alicia this morning, and I’m perfectly aware that now it’s my turn.
“I’m working, Alba,” I reply with as much neutrality as I can muster as I close the file with a deliberate gesture, trying not to let my fingers tremble.
She lets out a soft, nasal laugh and sits down right across from me, exuding that overwhelming confidence captains seem to have. She rests her forearms on the table and holds her coffee cup with astonishing calm, watching me with narrowed eyes over the rim.
“Yeah, right. It must be truly interesting and demanding work,” she remarks with gentle irony and a slight smirk. “Especially since you’ve been staring at the exact same page for half an hour.”
I hold her gaze for barely a second before looking away toward the large window. I’m unsettled by the feeling of being watched, evaluated, and almost dissected in my own workplace. Alba is smart. Too smart. And people like that always end up picking up on details others would overlook.
“What exactly do you need?” I finally ask, resting my elbows on the table and trying to steer the conversation back to strictly sports-related topics.
She tilts her head slightly, taking a small sip, as if gauging the impact of her next words.
“Nothing, really, Clara. I just wanted to talk to you for a little while, alone. You’ve been pretty busy these past few days, and I didn’t want to interrupt your work.”
I don’t like the mysterious tone she’s using one bit, and my fingers tighten just a little more around my cup as I make a supreme effort to keep a calm expression on my face.
“I’m listening.”
She exhales slowly and sets her cup down on the table with a soft clink.
“Alicia seems to be doing much better. Physically, I mean. The latest stress tests have been quite positive. It’s clear that your care is doing her good.”
“That’s what I’m paid for, and that’s what I do,” I say with cool composure. “I haven’t put in all those hours of therapy and strengthening exercises on that joint just to fall short of optimal results.”
“I know, I know, you’ll have her as good as new,” she admits, raising her hands.
“Although, to be honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with her pushing herself so hard during the sessions.
She always wants to reach the same physical level as the others, and it’s obvious her body can’t keep up. At least not yet.”
“That’s no secret to me, Alba. I’m her physical therapist. She’s been doing whatever she wants ever since she joined the club.”
Alba nods slowly, drumming her fingers on the table, as if she were carefully organizing her thoughts before dropping the bombshell.
“I guess working side by side with someone like her can’t be easy. That girl has a whole storm raging inside her,” she says, pointing to her head.
That damn phrase cuts both ways, and we both know it perfectly well. I feel a slow, cold, uncomfortable tension run down my spine.
“It’s my job,” I reply with impeccable firmness, crossing my arms. “I have an obligation to work with all of you and get your bodies back in shape, whether I’m thrilled by your personalities or the way you are or not.”
“Sure, of course,” she repeats with a gentleness that drives me up the wall, leaning forward slightly over the table. “But it’s one thing to work professionally with someone… and quite another to get too personally involved.”
And there’s the blow. Right to the jugular.
My muscles tense, going on high alert, though I force myself—out of pride—to maintain my composure and keep up the nothing’s going on here expression.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re trying to imply, Alba.”
Alba holds my gaze with a calmness that I find truly disconcerting.
“I’m not implying anything that isn’t obvious to anyone who spends more than five minutes around the two of you, Clara.
I’m just telling you, as captain, that rumors spread fast, and when those rumors directly involve a staff member and a player with Alicia’s media profile…
things get complicated for the whole club. ”
The distant noise from the kitchen briefly fills the silence hanging between us.
I feel my heart pounding with tremendous force against my ribs, as if it wants to burst out of my chest, and I know my situation isn’t easy—that I could lose my job—but what worries me is Alicia’s career and the amount of crap the press might end up saying about her.
If this blows up and reaches the board’s ears, the public judgment and punishment won’t fall on me.
It will fall squarely on her. On the troublemaker.
On the problematic star with a history. On the woman the media has already invented far too many horror stories about.
They can fire me like any other member of this club, but her… all the spotlights are on her.
“I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’ve been hearing out there,” I say at last, clearing my throat so my voice sounds much colder, more distant, and sharper, “but I assure you that my relationship with Alicia is strictly and rigorously professional.”
Alba raises one eyebrow ever so slightly, revealing a skepticism that would disarm anyone.
“Professional to the point where you look at each other as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist?
” she asks me gently. “Look, Clara, I’m not an idiot.
I’ve seen perfectly well how you look at her and how she looks at you every time you walk through the door.
Besides, what happened last night at the pool… ”
I feel a treacherous heat rush up my neck at breakneck speed, turning me as red as a tomato.
“Alba, that’s enough.”
“I couldn’t care less who you sleep with,” she interrupts, raising a hand to stop my protest. “Seriously, for all I care, the two of you could get married tomorrow. But I am concerned—very concerned—about the stability of the team. The team needs focus and absolute peace of mind, Clara. And Alicia… well, all of us know that Alicia doesn’t exactly have the best track record in the world when it comes to behavior.
She’s caused trouble at every club she’s played for before coming to England.
If this goes wrong and turns into a scandal, she’ll be the one to pay the highest price and end up on the bench.
And I refuse to let us become the focus of media attention because of a scandal involving women instead of our goals. ”