Chapter 27
Carla
“What are you doing here?” Surprise colors his expression as he jogs toward me. “How long have you been waiting? Are you cold?”
He reaches me and I fall into his arms, cuddling into him. I press my forehead against the solid muscle of his chest and smile. It feels good to be in his arms, like breathing after being under water for too long.
He holds me close, one hand stroking my back. A shiver runs through me and I know my fever has spiked again. But I couldn’t not be here. And while Abuela disapproved, she understood. I grabbed a taxi to the stadium, found Luca’s car, and have been leaning against it for hours.
When I look up, I admit it to him. “I’ve been here since before your bus arrived.”
“Carla,” he scolds. Such a reprimanding tone.
I giggle.
His expression softens. He stares at me for a long beat, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I don’t deserve you, cucciola. Ti amo.” I love you.
I suck in a breath, the weight of the moment rushing over me. Luca loves me. He loves me. And yet, haven’t I known that, even felt the same way, for weeks now? His saying the words are a confirmation of what I already know to be true. I smile. “Yo también te quiero.” I love you, too.
He brushes his thumb along my cheek, the movement tender. But when he places his hand on my forehead, he winces. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m so happy you won.”
“I have to get you home and into bed.”
“With you,” I murmur, huddling close again.
Luca wraps me in his arms and rocks me from side to side. “Of course, with me. Always with me.”
“It was sweet of you to spend that much time signing autographs and kneeling down to talk to those kids.”
“They all want to be futbolistas when they grow up,” he chuckles and it reverberates through his chest. “I still remember saying the same dream at eight years old.”
I tilt my neck back again so I can read his expression. My body is simultaneously hot and cold and I know I’m sick, but Luca DiBlanco has never looked as gorgeous as he does in this moment.
Exhausted, with unruly curls and full lips, he grins and I see sunshine.
When he cups my cheek, I press my face into his hold. He brushes my cheekbone, the movement soothing. But when he dips down to kiss me, I turn my head. “You’ll get sick! I’m all…germy. And tomorrow is your parade.”
He laughs, for real, as if my response has been the entertainment of his evening. “I don’t care. We won the Cup. Por favor, dame un beso.” Please give me a kiss.
I turn back toward him, my eyes finding his. He’s happy, fulfilled, and here with me. How did I deserve a man like Luca? How can I be this lucky? Gripping the tops of his shoulders, I push up onto my toes and place the sweetest, most reverent kiss on Luca’s lips.
He smiles against my mouth and threads his fingers through my hair so he can cup the back of my head. Then, he tips my face gently and deepens our kiss.
I sigh, ceding control completely. Luca kisses me passionately, with all the excitement of the night and promise of tomorrow on his lips.
“This is better than winning the Copa del Rey,” he murmurs.
By the time we make it to Luca’s flat, I’m half delirious. My fever is high, my eyes hurt when I blink, and everything in my body feels heavy. Muffled.
Luca carries me from his car into his flat, leaving his fútbol bag in his car. He moves straight to his bedroom, placing me down on the side of his bed. “You need to sleep.”
“So do you,” I slur.
He removes my shawl, damp with sweat, and strips me naked, save for my underwear. Then, he guides my head through one of his big League Valencia T-shirts and snakes my arms through the arm openings. Helping me lie back, he props me up with pillows and draws the sheet up over my body.
“You can’t overheat,” he mutters, half to himself, as he leaves the room. He returns two minutes later with a glass of water and two paracetamol tablets. “Take these.”
I watch him through half-closed eyes but do as he says.
He guides my movements, offering support the entire time, and I realize how nice it is to be cared for when you feel like shit.
“I hated being sick in Chicago,” I say aloud.
“I always had to hole up alone in my apartment and…” I think back to my old life.
As much as I loved it, I love this even more.
And I never would have thought that possible.
“And?”
“It’s nice to be cared for.”
Luca’s eyes gleam with emotions I can’t place. “I’ll always take care of you, Carla.”
Satisfied that I’ve taken my meds, Luca strips down to his boxer briefs and slips into bed beside me. I curl into him and he brushes my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair. At some point, I reach for his hand and he laces our fingers together.
And that’s how we fall asleep, holding hands, inhaling each other’s exhales.
Outside, fireworks continue to explode, even though it’s now morning. Car horns blare. Groups of partygoers celebrate on the streets, walking home after a night of nonstop partying.
And I’m tucked into Luca’s bed, safe and happy and whole.
I pump myself up on meds and caffeine to make it through the next few days. It’s stupid, because I know I need rest, but there’s no way I’m missing my girls’ game on Monday.
Traveling to Alicante by bus, I’m practically shimmering with rage over Sergio’s bullshit. Not only did he not file two of my players’ paperwork like he said he would, like the athletic director asked him to, but he also tried to steal my bus!
Luckily, I had the documentation to prove that I reserved it and had called the driver early this morning to double-check all the details. With the girls settled in for the ride, I pop in my AirPods and listen to some music to get my head on right.
Right now, my commitment is to my team and I need to show up for them. I’ll deal with Sergio later, when I’m not so angry or sick.
When we arrive in Alicante, I hurry the team into the visitors’ locker room.
“Why is Coach Sergio always giving us a hard time?” Anna asks.
I bite my tongue. Obviously, the girls sense it—and they don’t even know about the paperwork debacle.
“Because he thinks the boys’ team is better and deserves more attention. He’s pissed that we’re getting just as much, if not more, respect this season,” Carmen explains.
“He’s so chauvinistic,” Julieta complains, pulling shin guards out of her bag.
“Yeah, and those are the lessons he’s teaching the boys,” Maria tacks on, gesturing toward Anna. “Peter told Anna she was too distracting when she wears tank tops and shorts during practice. He asked her to wear pants. It’s May in southern Spain and we’re playing fútbol.”
I glance between the girls before my gaze settles on Anna. “What happened?”
Anna sighs. “I broke up with him.”
I fight a smile. “Girls, there are always going to be people, men specifically, who think you’re not good enough, not worthy enough.
They will try any means necessary to tear you down because it prickles their pride to admit that you can do something just as good, maybe even better, than them.
Don’t let them dictate how you feel about, or show up, for yourselves.
There are also wonderful men who will champion you, support you, and cheer for you at every step, even when you fail.
Those are the men, and women, you want to surround yourselves with.
The ones who light you up even brighter and never try to dim your shine. ”
“Like Luca DiBlanco?” Julieta asks innocently, but her eyes blaze with mischief and mirth.
I laugh. “Yes, like Luca DiBlanco.”
The girls giggle.
“You know he’s here, Coach? I saw him when we were walking in.” Carmen points to outside the locker room.
I breathe in deeply. I told him not to come, since he basically hasn’t slept since Valencia won the Cup. Yesterday was a full day and an all-nighter of parades, ceremonies, and parties. But, “See? He showed up for me, for us, even though he’s been going nonstop for days.”
“That Cup win was something else,” Maria says.
“Your dad’s here too,” Anna whispers.
Carmen’s head snaps up. “And Alejandro?”
Anna nods.
The girls look at each other, their mouths falling open.
“Oh my God!” Julieta shrieks. “We’re playing fútbol in front of Alejandro and Rubén García.” She holds out an arm. “Pinch me.” Carmen does and Julieta cries out, slapping Carmen’s hand away. “Not so hard.”
Carmen shrugs and laces up her cleats.
“Find the people who show up for you,” I remind the girls. “Now, let’s talk about today’s game.”
The girls huddle around as I remind them of our goals for today.
“We got this, chicas. We wouldn’t have made it this far if we didn’t earn it.
We deserve to be here. When we go out there, keep your heads held high.
We show the other team respect, always. On the field, don’t hold anything back.
Let’s get effective about our attacking.
Move the ball around, be aware of who is where on the field at all times.
That’s how we’re going to create scoring opportunities today.
If you have a shot, take it. Don’t second-guess yourself, go all in.
And talk. I want to hear you while you’re playing—who wants the ball?
Who’s defending which player? Encourage each other, keep the morale up, and have some fun.
You girls worked too hard to get here today to not enjoy it. So, savor it, yeah?”
They nod, their expressions serious.
“Alright, hands in,” Julieta says as we stack our palms on top of each other. “Isabel on three.”
“One, Two, Three…Isabel!” we shout in unison.
Then, we take the field as a team and I roll my lips together to keep my emotions checked.
Because the innocence of this moment, the beauty of it, slams into me hard.
It reminds me of my entire career of storming fields—with the girls who made me a soccer player by my side, all of us determined to uplift each other.
The girls begin their warm-up and I grip my clipboard. When I glance at the bleachers, I grin at my family—Mamá, Papá, Abuelita, Ale, and Marlowe—and blow my man a kiss. Luca smiles back and I realize that no matter what happens today, I’ve already won.
I’ve reinvented myself in Valencia, Spain. I’m not the same girl who left Chicago in tears five months ago. I’m better, stronger, and a hell of a lot happier.