“My father worked quite a bit, and once I went away to the academy, it was too far from home. They went to as many games as they could, watched more on television,” he said around a mouthful of popcorn.
Well that was more than enough information to press for the day. What he didn’t say was that his parents didn’t go to a lot of his games when he was younger, but once he was older, they went whenever he paid. At least that’s what I assumed from the way he worded it. “It worked for all of us.”
I’m positive I didn’t imagine the bite in his words. Obviously, I needed to steer the topic into safer territory.
“One more question and I’ll quit being nosey.” He might have nodded, but I was too busy eating popcorn to be sure. There was no way I could ask him with a straight face. “Did you blow that game against Portugal before you retired or were you really sick?”
His response was exactly what I expected: he threw a pillow at my face.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next two weeks went by normally. Practices went well, Harlow and Jenny finally came back from their national team obligation, and the Pipers won the next two games in the season. I worked, exercised and Kulti came over nearly every night. We’d watch television, or get pissed off at each other playing Uno or poker, which he taught me to play. A couple of nights he showed up when I was about to start yoga. He’d help me move the couch and did it with me.
It was all fine, fun and easy.
I loved routines and knowing what to expect most of the time.
There were only two downsides, and they both revolved around females.
The girls on the Pipers gave me weird looks and said things when they thought I wasn’t listening. It took everything inside of me some days to ignore them, and other days I’d just smile at them and remind myself that I could go to sleep easily at night knowing that I hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. Some days were easier than others, but as long as we kept playing well as a team, I’d suck it up and keep my big mouth closed. Harlow on the other hand, didn’t have any problem telling the younger girls to mind their own businesses and focus on soccer and not spreading gossip. She did it without once asking me anything about what was happening with Kulti.
The emails had picked up again. It had started as only a message or two from the German’s female fans, but in no time picked up to three or four. By the time the picture my dad had taken of all us at dinner began being circulated, they were so frequent that I stopped reading emails from people I didn’t recognize. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I didn’t want to. The less attention I brought to myself and Kulti, the better, I figured.
* * *
“Holy shit.”
I turned around to see what the sixth grade teacher was ‘holy shitting’ over, and I froze.
Seriously, I froze.
“Holy shit,” I repeated the exact same words that had just come out of the other woman’s mouth.
It was the German walking across the middle school field, which would have been a ‘holy shit’ moment to begin with if I wasn’t already used to seeing him all the time. But there were the two men walking alongside him. One was another German who I’d seen play plenty of times growing up, and the other a Spaniard who I’d met before and happened to have a cologne commercial running on television.
They pooped. They all pooped. Every single one of them.
I took a deep breath and looked around the field at the four teachers who had volunteered to help out with the soccer camp that Saturday morning. Four small goals had been set up about half an hour ago in preparation for the twenty kids who had pre-registered.
Dear God, he’d brought these men and he hadn’t said a word about it the last time we’d seen each other. Then again, neither of us had brought up him helping since we had originally talked about it two weeks ago. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do anything.
Yet here he was with friends. Not just any friends, but them.
There was no way in hell I was being totally cool about this. No way Kulti couldn’t tell I was thrilled. From the way his mouth tightened when he stopped just a few feet away, ignoring the two teachers standing right by me, he knew everything.
I grabbed his forearm as soon as he was close enough and squeezed hard, hoping he could understand everything I was feeling, everything I wanted to say but couldn’t. At least nothing I was able to get out in that instant.
“Hello,” I managed to say in a voice that sounded just like my own and not like I was on the brink of shitting a small pony. “Thanks for coming.”
The German tipped his head down in acknowledgment.
Turning my attention to the other men, I thought to myself once more: poop, poop, poop. Fortunately, I got through it.