Chapter 31
Carla
“You did it!” I scream, my arms raised in the air, as my girls swarm me. I fall over with them in a heap, right on the field, as we celebrate the regional win.
“You did it!” Julieta hollers.
I hug them close as we stagger to our feet. Our arms are tossed around each other, our huddle tight knit. I take in their faces, committing their expressions to memory.
So carefree. So exuberant.
When I look at the girls on my team, I see myself.
I can pluck a personality trait from each and comprise a younger version of me.
In them, there is endless potential. I can’t wait to see the women they grow into and the fact that I was fortunate enough to be part of their journeys fills me with immense gratitude.
Time slows as I savor the moment, truly embrace this win and the hard work it took to achieve this milestone—as a team, as a coach, and as a group of women.
“Thanks for everything, Coach,” Anna says, giving me a tight squeeze.
“This season was the best. I’ll never forget what you taught us,” Carmen adds.
The heartfelt good wishes from the girls sends me over the edge and I cry.
“Ohhh! She’s crying!” Maria outs me.
The girls laugh and hug me again.
“It’s okay. I’m good. Go get that trophy.” I point toward the official who is ready to begin the presentation of the trophy.
And the girls take off. I watch them, beaming, as they accept their trophy and do a victory lap around the field. In the stands, my father cuts a loud whistle.
I turn and grin at him. Rubén García is one of the greatest futbolistas of his generation.
He is known for being an uncompromising hard-ass.
But the past few years have softened him.
It started when he truly embraced my sister Valentina’s American husband Avery into our family.
And then, he welcomed Marlowe with open arms, realizing that Alejandro was a stronger player and a better man with a committed woman by his side. Now, he’s about to become an abuelo.
And that has turned him into a bit of a mush who shows up to the high school fútbol matches his daughter coaches just to show his support.
The girls’ smiles widen when they hear Papá’s whistle. And Julieta and Anna nearly swoon when Alejandro starts up a chant. It’s an incredible moment. The only thing missing is Luca.
Regret unspools in the cavity of my chest and I rub at the space above my breastbone as if that will help alleviate it. It won’t. It’s been plaguing me for more than a week and it’s my own damn fault.
I was too overwhelmed, too fucking scared, to accept the gift in front of me so I sabotaged it. And, in doing so, I hurt the man who means the world to me. The one I couldn’t not be in love with, even when I’m trying.
Turning away from my family, I focus on my team and their massive accomplishment. Tomorrow morning, I drive to Alicante and begin my next chapter. There’s no room for pity or regret.
There’s no time to question could-have-beens.
I made my decision and now I have to suffer the consequences of my actions. Even if they gut me from the inside out.
“Call him,” Marlowe advises as she hugs me goodbye. “Go to Alicante with a clear head, Carla.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, hugging her back without squishing her growing belly. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
Alejandro kisses my cheeks in farewell as he and Marlowe leave my apartment. I have to finish packing and shower and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be on the road early.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stare at my cell phone. The blank screen, devoid of any messages, irritates me. I wish Luca had reached out ahead of today’s game, but I knew he wouldn’t. His pride won’t allow it just like mine is keeping me from calling him now.
But, when we won today, he was the first person I wanted to tell. I desperately wanted to video call him, see his beautiful smile, and scream out the news.
Sucking in a breath, I tap Luca’s name and wait for the call to connect.
Except…it doesn’t. It doesn’t even ring.
Frowning, I try again. A busy signal.
Did he turn off his phone?
Did his battery run out?
I place my cell phone on my bed and aimlessly pace around my apartment before convincing myself to shower. I take an everything shower, even applying a hair mask. But when I step out, there’s no return call from Luca.
I try him again. Busy signal.
Worry crashes over me and I begin to panic.
Did something happen? Is Bianca okay? álvaro?
I shake my head. “You’re being ridiculous. Paranoid.”
I blow-dry my hair. Apply moisturizer.
And then, I can’t take the not knowing any longer. Feeling like something is off, I dial álvaro.
“?Hola?” he answers.
Good. I breathe a sigh of relief. “álvaro, hola. Soy Carla. Te llama porque—” álvaro, hi. It’s Carla. I’m just calling because—
“Carla? Gracias a Dios te llamas. Ha habido un accidente,” he breathes. Carla? Thank God you called. There’s been an accident.
I grip my phone tighter, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Sounds carry through my apartment and when I look up, Alejandro is standing in the doorframe of my bedroom, the emergency keys I gave him to my place before I leave town tomorrow dangling from his finger.
I stare at him, not sure if I’m hallucinating or if he’s really there. I try to pull in a breath but the oxygen stutters and my vision blurs.
“Mierda,” Ale swears, reaching me right before I go down.
He takes the phone from my hand and converses with álvaro in rapid Castellano before ending the call.
“Carlita,” he murmurs. “We have to go to the hospital.”
I nod. Yes, there’s been an accident.
I bow my head and fold my hands in my lap, trying to make sense of what álvaro said before Ale took my phone.
A motorcycle lost control.
Luca was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
No update yet.
“Carla,” my brother sighs. “Can you get dressed?” he asks gently, moving around my room and grabbing random articles of my clothing. He pushes the bundle into my hands.
“Sí. Of course.” My voice sounds hoarse.
“Get dressed and we’ll go to the hospital together,” Ale says, moving toward my bedroom door. “He’s going to be okay, Carla. He has to be.”
He has to be.
Oh, God, please, please let Luca be okay.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. There’s no time to cry. Not right now; not when Luca needs me.
Numbly, I dress in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. When I exit my bedroom, my brother has my sandals and purse in his hand. “Grab your phone,” he reminds me. “Vamos.”
I do as he says, following Ale out of my flat, and wait for him to lock up. We drive to the hospital in silence, but my mind whirls with thoughts and memories.
The image of Luca in a tailored suit, sexy and suave, and holding me up as I fell apart in an office at the venue in Chicago.
I remember how his presence ate up the space in the room.
Luca’s promise to help me and the way he followed through, encouraging me to apply for the job at Santa Isabel.
Luca’s commitment to the people he cares about. The way he built me up over the past few months and helped me find my confidence again.
Luca training me on the soccer field, pushing me to be the best version of myself.
His whirling me around on a dance floor, his eyes bright, his grin dazzling.
The sound of his voice when he tells me he loves me.
The way my heart races and a happiness I’ve never known rolls through me when he enters a room.
The connection that flares to life every single time my eyes meet his.
My Luca. What the hell was I thinking pushing him away?
Turning to look out the window, I admit that getting to this point in my career, in my life, has been hard-earned. Moving countries, learning a new language, trying to prove to everyone that I am more than my family name.
But it was Luca DiBlanco who helped me believe in myself when I was at my lowest. It was Luca who made my move back to Spain feel like a homecoming. Like a win instead of a failure.
And now, I don’t want to sacrifice our hard-won victory. Our love. I don’t want to envision my future without him in it. I can’t.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of tears and hold Luca’s image in my mind. I love him. With everything I am, I love him.
Sucking in a breath, I send a frantic text message. Then, I bow my head and pray.