Chapter 28
Luca
I feel shitty that my main reason for posting on social media is to undercut Sergio. I know my post will make the rounds and certainly be picked up by local media and big sports bloggers, highlighting Carla and the girls’ team’s success over the boys’ team.
It’s petty but I’m sick of Sergio’s bullshit. I hate that he continues to undermine Carla and her efforts. And, even worse, is completely smug about it.
Carla is already a better coach and player than he’ll ever be and it bothers me that she keeps trying to prove herself to him.
As if reading my mind, and the stakes at play, Alejandro reshares my post, thereby catapulting it to a level of visibility unheard of in high school sports.
As national media outlets run with the story, Santa Isabel is plastered across the news for their expanding female fútbol program.
The team teases me relentlessly on the way back from a game in Barcelona, but I keep my mouth shut and offer a grin in response. The smartest thing to do now is to step back and let the social media storm spike and simmer.
At least, that was my plan.
But the following week, I pass by álvaro’s physical therapy session to pick him up and give him a ride home. He recently resumed his work at Santa Isabel, with reduced hours, and I want to catch up with my old friend after the craziness of my schedule these past few weeks.
When I push through the revolving doors on my way into the building, I note álvaro’s wheelchair tucked to the side of the lobby. He’s clearly waiting for me…and he’s not alone.
I squint, trying to size up the man crowding my friend. As I clear the doors and the voice floats over to me, I recognize Sergio.
Immediately, I’m on high alert.
Why the hell is Sergio here? And why does he have álvaro cornered?
Keeping my nonchalance, I stride over to the men, who are clustered beside a potted plant.
“You’ve been around long enough to know where the real talent lies, old man.
Was it you who gave Carla the heads-up about her players’ paperwork?
It had to have been you…” Sergio bites out in rapid Castellano, leaning closer to álvaro.
“One call from me…” He points to his chest to emphasize his importance.
“And the school will find someone younger, more capable, to sweep the hallways. Do you want to lose the only thing you have left? Or do you want to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong? ”
álvaro doesn’t flinch. He’s stared down fuckers bigger and badder than Sergio.
But I see red. My hands clench and unclench as waves of hot fury roll through me. Who the fuck does he think he is threatening my friend? Sergio messing with álvaro is the last straw. I’ve been trying, for weeks, to keep my shit in check and let Carla handle this as she sees fit.
But I can’t stand back and let this slide. And I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines where Carla is concerned and letting this fucker mess with her head. I’m just…done.
Rushing toward them, I shove Sergio away from my friend. He staggers back a few steps before rolling his eyes. “This doesn’t concern you—”
I have him pinned up against the wall with my forearm cutting into his windpipe in seconds.
Fury rolls through me—for all the shit Carla’s put up with, for the spillover it’s had on her team, and for the horrible words álvaro just endured.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl. “álvaro, Carla, they’re my family.
” I jab at my chest, half mocking him and half making my own point.
“And my family will always concern me. You think you can threaten him? One more word and it will be you that’s out of a job, Sergio. ”
His face reddens and his lips flap. I slightly release the pressure against his throat. But my mouth keeps going.
“Not only because you’re a shitty coach and your team hasn’t won a title in two seasons but because you’re a terrible fucking role model for adolescent boys.
I don’t know what game you think you’re playing but you’re not going to win.
If you speak to álvaro again or do anything to undermine Carla and the program she’s running, you’ll answer to me.
And trust me, you don’t want to fucking go there. ”
I step back and Sergio sucks in a breath. His eyes are wide, blown with momentary panic, and his mouth falls open, gaping at me in shock.
I shake my head at him and turn away, gripping the handles of álvaro’s wheelchair and pushing him out of the physical therapy building.
“That’s going to blow up in your face,” álvaro warns, his voice calm. Almost bored.
I snort. “Fuck him.”
But my stomach twists and my hands grow clammy as the repercussions of my exchange with Sergio slam into me.
Deep down, I know álvaro’s right. And I brace myself for the fallout.
It’s a spectacular fall from grace. And even though I’m not sorry for my actions, or for the words I spit at Sergio, I am sorry that it affects every aspect of my fucking life.
Within the week, as Carla’s team prepares for their final match and League Valencia gears up for our last big push of the season, I’m tagged in thousands of social media posts rehashing my interaction with Sergio, weighing in on the reasons behind it, and either celebrating me for standing up for my girlfriend or tearing me down for solving problems with my hands.
Since no one glancing at the short video clip that someone must have recorded and posted knows the nature of Sergio’s and my heated exchange, rumors run the gamut.
Some claim that Sergio fucked Carla and I’m reacting in a jealous rage.
Others are certain that I’m trying to control the success of Carla’s team by undercutting Sergio’s.
And some insist that Sergio must have sexually assaulted Carla or one of the girls and I lost it, stepping in to protect them.
“You’re going to be sued for slander or libel,” Carlos warns me the day Coach Javi calls me into his office.
Andrés shakes his head. “There’s a greater chance of Sergio pressing charges for physical assault.”
I blow it off, but deep down, I’m concerned.
Carla hasn’t spoken to me in three days, not since the video went viral.
Bianca called me, furious, and cursed me out for a solid ten minutes for being so “goddamn reckless.” Only álvaro offers wise counsel, reminding me to keep my mouth shut and lawyer up.
Hanging my head, I walk into Javi’s office and close the door.
“Take a seat.” He gestures to the seat in front of his desk.
Sighing, I sit down and wait to be reprimanded.
Javi sighs. “I know you, DiBlanco. You wouldn’t have put your hands on that guy if there wasn’t a good reason.”
I nod in agreement. But don’t offer words—neither an excuse nor an explanation.
Javi continues, “Still, the optics are shit. It’s almost the end of May, DiBlanco, and the season is on the line. We can’t afford these off-pitch distractions. This video is all over the damn place. It’s a fucking circus. The communications department is getting slammed with calls.”
“I understand,” I say softly.
“You understand what?”
“I know there are things that you need to do to protect the team, Javi. I respect that. If you need to bench—”
“I can’t afford to bench you,” he cuts me off. “The team’s going to issue a statement. I want you to apologize—”
“No.”
He gapes at me. “No?”
I shake my head. “I’m not apologizing to that piece of shit.”
Javi sighs heavily and drops his face into his hands. “The ego—”
“It’s not my ego. It’s my self-worth,” I explain. “I’m not apologizing.”
“Will you at least apologize for losing your cool and—”
“Nope.”
Javi’s eyes pinch shut as he sucks in another breath. His nostrils flare and I know he’s two seconds from losing it on me. Not that I blame him.
“Luca,” Javi spits my name like a curse.
“I’ll give you everything I have on the pitch. And I’ll keep my head down off it. I won’t post anything on social media, I won’t engage. I’ll lay low. But I’m not apologizing for shit.”
“And if this guy, Sergio, presses charges?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“In the case or in the court of public opinion?” Javi asks and I detect the slightest bit of respect.
“Both.”
He nods and waves his hand away. “Lock your shit down. And show up on the pitch.”
“Swear it,” I agree, leaving his office.
The locker room has cleared out, but Alejandro and Andrés are waiting for me.
“How’d it go?” Andrés asks.
“The team is issuing a statement,” I explain.
“Naturally.” Ale nods.
“They want me to apologize,” I tack on.
My friends look at me for a beat before laughing.
“Yeah fucking right,” Andrés mutters. “You never apologize.”
“That’s because I only do shit when I know I’m right.” I shrug. “I’m not sorry for what I did or what I said. Sergio had it coming.”
“My sister is pissed at you.” Ale tilts his head.
“I know. She’s not talking to me. Won’t even reply to my texts.”
“An apology could help smooth things over…” Andrés trails off.
“I’ll never be sorry for sticking up for Carla,” I bite out, insulted.
“Bianca said you’d say that,” Andrés mutters.
I narrow my eyes. “You talked to my sister?”
Andrés nods, averting his gaze. “We keep in touch. She says you’re avoiding her.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming. “I’m not—I’m not avoiding her. I just don’t want to hear her opinion.”
Ale snickers. “Welcome to my life. I have two sisters.” He holds up two fingers.
“B means well,” Andrés adds, defending her.
“Everyone means well,” I agree. “But I’m not apologizing for shit, nor am I rehashing what went down between Sergio and me.
He pulled his bullshit, I said my piece, and it’s done.
If he wants to press charges, he’s well within his rights to file a complaint with the police.
And if that happens, I’ll deal with it then. ”
“You sound pretty blasé for a futbolista who is running a youth camp next month and just physically assaulted a coach on camera,” Andrés points out.
He’s right and I fucking hate it. Two parents already complained and one of them pulled their son from my program.
But, “Those who know me, know my values. I wouldn’t have done that shit if it wasn’t warranted. I’m not explaining it.”
Ale shrugs. “That’s one way of looking at it.” He stands and tosses an arm over my shoulders. “I’d ask if you want to get a beer, but I don’t think you can go out in public at the moment. You guys want to come over and play Xbox?”
“I’m in,” Carlos calls out, appearing from behind a row of lockers.
Ale snickers. “Didn’t know anyone was still here. But the more the merrier, mate.”
“I’ve gotta pick my daughter up in two hours from my mom’s house but I could do something mindless for an hour or so,” Carlos explains.
“Will Marlowe mind?” I inquire.
Ale shakes his head. “No, she’s spending her afternoons with Abuela this week to design the nursery.”
Carlos groans. “I remember those days.”
“Your daughter is two, tío. Those days weren’t that long ago,” Andrés calls him out.
Carlos shrugs. “When you have a baby, time is a funny thing. There’s that saying, the days are long but the years are short.” He looks at Alejandro. “That shit is true, brother. Take it to heart.”
Ale looks panicked for a moment but then Carlos nudges him forward. “Come on, you should do something mindless too.” He glances at me. “I guess we all should.”
Tipping my head in agreement, I follow my teammates out of the locker room.
As I slide behind the wheel of my car, I send Carla another text message.
Luca
Cucciola, please talk to me. I miss you.
As expected, she keeps me on read but doesn’t reply.
And as much as I do miss her, I won’t apologize for my actions. Because I know for a fact, from álvaro, that Sergio has backed off and my message has been received. Loud and clear. Just as I intended.