Kulti (24 page)

“That’s it?” he spat.

“There’s no excuse,” I told him, watching the woman look back and forth between us. “I know better, and I’m sorry.”

His lids got heavy. If I didn’t know him any better, I would have assumed he was sleepy. He wasn’t anywhere close. “You played like an imbecile.”

Seriously? Did he have to call me that in front of another person?

“Kulti?” The woman waved her hand around in his face.

The German turned his head and stared at her long enough that she scrunched up her face and stepped back.

“God, I forgot how much of an asshole you can be. I don’t even know why I bother,” she hissed at him.

The man who guarded his words like they were gold didn’t let me down. He didn’t say a word. Kulti looked at her for maybe five more seconds and then turned his attention back to me as if she hadn’t spoken.

What an asshole.

“Your team deserves your attention, and I deserve better from you. Do that shit again and I’ll have you coming in as a sub for Thirty-Eight,” he threatened, oblivious to the woman who shook her head as he spoke, before finally turning around to walk off.

That time, I flinched and winced. I probably sucked air in through my nose. Thirty-Eight was one of the younger forwards, Sandy, a rookie on the team who would be a force to be reckoned with in the near future.

“Learn to compartmentalize your life, do you understand me?” he asked in that somber crisp voice I had a feeling he had learned to wield perfectly in the last few weeks.

As much as I hated to admit it, my face went hot, and I knew I was blushing with humiliation. He would try to take starting a game away from me? For playing crappy during one single game? More embarrassment flooded my system, lined carefully with anger.

The idea that I thought we were friends floated right up and center.

But Pipers time wasn’t friend-time. It never had been. The man who called me Taco, and played soccer and softball with me, was a completely different person from the one standing before me in that moment.

Learn to compartmentalize your life, he’d said. Do what he did.

The only thing I could do was nod jerkily and accept the ultimatum he’d given me. I wasn’t going to remind him this was one bad game out of so many. I wasn’t going to promise anything or apologize. It hurt my pride, but I balled it up and tucked it neatly into my sternum. In a voice that I was extremely proud of for how solid it sounded, I said, “Okay. Fine. But maybe next time call me an imbecile when I’m not in front of your girlfriend, would that work for you? ”

When he closed his eyes and began grinding his teeth together, I wondered if I said the wrong thing. It wasn’t until he started scratching at his cheek and then erupted a second later, I figured the answer was:
yeah
. I had.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he burst out.

I took a step back and gave him a crazy look because seriously, what else did he want from me? “No.”

“I’m threatening to bench you, and you’re complaining about who overheard?”

I’d bet a dollar that my hair kind of blew back a little bit at his question, but I wasn’t going to puss out. No fear. “Yeah, I am. If I’m playing bad consistently, then I don’t deserve to start. That sucks, but I understand. I’m not going to argue with you over an obvious fact. What I do have a problem with, is you being rude to me in front of other people, and you were a dick to her. Jesus F. Christ. Manners, Germany, ever heard of them?”

Kulti didn’t hesitate to throw his hands up behind his head. The short brown strands crept through his fingers. “I want to shake you right now.”

“Why? I’m only telling you the truth.”

“Because—“ he snapped something in German I thought was the equivalent of ‘fuck’, “—you’re going to sit there and let me take this away from you? Just like that?” he growled.

“Yeah, I am. What do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to beg you? Get mad? Throw a fit and stomp off? I understand. I get it. I played one bad game; I’m not going to play two. That’s fine. It’s your tone and choice of where we’re having this conversation that I have a problem with.”

He might have started pulling on the shortest of short ends of his hair in what was a mix of annoyance and frustration. “Yes, goddamnit, get mad! If my coach had ever even hinted at taking me out of a game, I would have lost it. You’re the best player on the team—“

I’d swear on my life that my heart stopped beating. Had he just said what I think he said?

“You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen, period, man or woman. What kills me is that you are a complete fucking pushover who’s hung up on worthless words in front of a person that doesn’t matter.” His cheeks were flushed. “Grow some balls, Casillas. Fight me for this. Fight anyone that tries to take this away from you,” he urged.

His words went through my brain like molasses, clinging and slow. Yet I still didn’t understand. Then again, maybe I did. This was the same man that owned the field each time he went on. Most of the time, each of his plays had begun with him and ended with him. He was a greedy asshole with the ball.

And we were arguing over two completely different things. Dear God.

I took a deep breath and gave him a steady look. “Of course I freaking care about getting benched, but I also care about who you call me an imbecile in front of. Do you think I want a complete stranger thinking I’m some kind of doormat that lets you talk to me like that? I might be when we’re on the field, but I’m sure as hell not going to let you treat me half as bad as you just treated her, buddy.”

Kulti looked like I was speaking a completely different language, so I took advantage of it.

“This is a team sport. If I’m not playing my best, isn’t it better for someone who is playing better to take my spot?” Not that I wouldn’t fight for it, tooth and nail. I was going to get my shit together and get back into the game, so that no one would take me out. On the other hand, I didn’t feel the need to promise him that. I’d show him. Yet everything that he was telling me went against my natural instinct. This was a team sport, there definitely wasn’t an ‘I’ in soccer.

Obviously my response went completely against his natural instinct, because his eyes bugged nearly out of their sockets.

I held out my arms and shrugged.

It wasn’t until he started shaking his head that he finally spoke again. “
You
have to watch out for you. Not for anyone else, do you understand me?”

I blinked. Apparently he was going to ignore me complaining about the girlfriend thing. Okay.

“No one else is going to watch out for your best interests but you. Just for agreeing with me that you played like you’ve never seen a soccer ball before, I should make sure you sit out the next game.”

What? I never agreed that I played
that
bad.

“But—“

“No buts. You play like shit and I’m going to give you hell for it, but you should never let anyone take this away from you.”

Amber’s actions seared through my belly, a painful reminder of what I’d already had taken away from me.

Then again I guess I had let her take it away from me. I didn’t fight when she’d said, “It’s her or me.” I’d felt so consumed with guilt for going on two dates with a man who was separated from my teammate, I’d willingly stepped aside and given up my position. I was a serial monogamist and possessive as hell. If I’d been her, who knows how I would have felt.

Maybe I could have fought for it. I could have told Amber she was being an idiot because it wasn’t like I had known that jackass was married, much less married to her. Even then, I hadn’t slept with him. I had kissed someone who I thought was single and seemed like a nice guy. That was absolutely it. The second man I’d kissed since breaking up with my college boyfriend had been a cheating, lying piece of donkey shit and been married to my teammate. I hadn’t just backed up the toilet; I’d made the septic tank flood the house.

Two stupid dates had taken away my lifelong aspiration.

I felt my eyes get watery with disappointment in the team and the coaches who hadn’t fought to keep me on. More than anything, I was disappointed with myself. I sniffled, then sniffled again, trying to control the water works creeping up in my eyes. It had been years since I cried over leaving the national team. One month was all I’d given myself to be upset over it. Since then I’d locked it up, accepted reality and moved on with the rest of my life. When something is broken into too many pieces, you can’t stare at them and try to glue them back together; sometimes you just have to sweep up the pieces and buy something else.

“Are you crying?”

Clearing my throat, I blinked hard twice, lowering my gaze to the small cleft in the German’s chin. “No.”

His fingers went up to push at my shoulder lightly. “Stop it.”

I lifted my chin and pushed his shoulder right back, sniffling while doing it. “You stop it. I’m not crying.”

“I have two eyes,” he replied, looking down at me with a troubled expression on his face.

Just as I was about to sniffle again, I stopped. Those green-brown eyes were way too close and too observant. The last person in the world I would want to show any signs of weakness in front of would be him. Instead, I let my nose get all watery and avoided wiping it as I stared right back at him. “Obviously, I do too, Berlin.”

The ‘Berlin’ did it.

To give him credit, he settled for giving me a scowl instead of an ugly word for how much of a jackass I was for calling him that. “I’m not from Berlin.”

A fact I was well aware of. He didn’t know much I knew about him, and I wasn’t about to tell him. Something about that little secret made me relax.

When I looked right back at him with a clear expression and relaxed shoulders, as innocent as I could possibly make myself out to be, Kulti tilted his head back to look up at the dark sky. “Get on the bus, Sal.”

So we were back to ‘Sal.’

Knowing damn well when it was time to either retreat or answer some question I wouldn’t want to, I took two steps back. “Whatever you say, sir.”

G
ame
?

I flexed my foot inside my boot and typed back:
Sure.

Same time?
Kulti texted back.

Ja
.
I smiled at the screen before setting my phone on my lap.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” Marc asked from his spot behind the driver’s seat.

The smile eased itself off my face. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

I rolled my eyes as the phone vibrated from between my legs. Bringing it back out, I made sure Marc’s attention was back on the road.

Go make a quesadilla.

I started laughing hysterically.

“Goddamnit, Sal!” Marc shouted. “You want me to get into a wreck?”

Despite Marc yelling at me for bursting out so suddenly, it didn’t stop me from cracking up.

H
e was waiting
on the bench by the time I pulled my car into the park’s lot, headband on, bat leaning against his thigh and a glove on his lap.

I kept my face even, like he hadn’t sent me the most ridiculous text message earlier in the day. “Hi.”

“Sal,” Kulti said my name like he’d been using it forever, standing up with his things in hand. He had on the same variation of an outfit he usually did: white athletic shorts, a plain black T-shirt and black and green RK signature running shoes.

“Ready?” I asked, eyeing his muscular calves for a split second.

“
Ja
,” he answered.

I looked up at his face and snickered, but he wasn’t smiling at me, he was just watching like always. We walked toward the field together silently. The awkward conversation we’d had during the Pipers game a few days ago seemed forgotten. I understood what he meant and where he was coming from, so I didn’t take it personally.

Not surprisingly, we were split up into two different teams. Most of the players at the park were people we’d played with the last couple of times. One of them was the douche-bag that played whack-a-mole with my foot, who was standing off with a couple of other guys, all of them staring at me.

Weird.

An open palm smacked me in the shoulder. “Watch it.” Kulti leaned over to meet me eye to eye, his index finger pointing low in the direction of my shoe.

Definitely. I stared up into his murky green eyes and nodded. “I will. Good luck.”

Instead of saying anything, he walked past me, bumping the side of his upper arm against my shoulder, lightly… playfully.

“Come on, you punk. I wanna start the game before I turn forty,” Marc shouted, waving me onto the side of the field. Our team was batting first.

“That’s like next week.”

He shot me the middle finger.

We lined up to bat and only made it through four batters before we got three outs and had to switch positions. Six outs later, I managed to get three of six opposing players out, and my team was back playing defense. It was a fast-moving game with a lot of quick inning changes. It seemed like I was going to be able to go to practice the next day without a limp.

At least that’s what I thought until I realized how competitive and petty some guys could be.

Not even two batters in I had one of the opposing players clothesline me, as he ran to the base while I caught the ball to tag him out.

I landed on my ass and back pretty hard because I hadn’t been expecting it at all—because seriously, who the hell plays like that?? Last week should have been an anomaly. I took a deep breath to control how pissed off I instantly became and how out of breath I was from practically being tackled. Once I was calm, I shoved him off and gave the jerk a dirty look. It was one of the guys the idiot from last week had been standing with, also one of the three people I’d tagged out earlier.

I took another deep breath, fighting back a groan as I watched him get up to standing position from his hands and knees.
Patience Sal. Patience.

But it wasn’t working.

Rolling up to sit, I bit back the curse words that were molding to my gums.

Patience. Patience.