Kulti(141)

“Your tio sent me the picture,” he said, which explained everything. Dad wasn’t a fan of my mom’s brother.

Bah. “Franz came to our game yesterday and asked to do some one-on-one coaching with me,” I offered him up. “We played for three hours. I thought I was going to die.”

“Only you two?” he asked in a soft voice that was probably still the same volume a normal person spoke in.

“Yeah.”

“He asked you to play with him?”

“Yes. He said my footwork was fantastic. Can you believe that?”

Dad chuffed. “Yes.”

I grinned into the phone. “Well I couldn’t believe it. He asked if I was free tomorrow to play again.”

“You better have said yes,” he grumbled, still trying to hold on to his aggravation.

“Of course I said yes. I’m not that dumb...”

Dad made a noise. “Eh.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dad?”

“Que?”

“He asked me why I haven’t considered playing in a different league.” His words from earlier were wreaking havoc on my brain. “He said I was wasting my time here since I don’t play on the national team.”

The thing about parents, especially ones that loved their kids what some people might consider ‘too much’—if that was even possible—was that sometimes they were selfish. Other times, you could hear the pain it caused them to put their kid’s well-being ahead of their own wishes. So I wasn’t positive how my dad would react to what I was saying. But I knew deep in my heart that my dad had always done what was best for me even if it cost him time, money and even heartache. Sure he’d been all about my brother going to Europe, but Eric wasn’t me.

While I might not be his baby, I was his Sal. We were each other’s best friends and confidants. Dad and I were a gang of two.

I kept going, and I told him about Cordero, Gardner and the Pipers that were talking about me because of my friendship with the German. By the time I pulled into the driveway of my garage apartment, Dad knew just about everything. I wasn’t totally surprised that I felt relieved to get it off my chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

There was no hesitation on his end. “Hijos de su madre,” he growled. “You would never…” Dad let out an exasperated snarl of frustration. “You would never do that.”

I sighed. “What should I do? I haven’t done anything wrong, and a part of me doesn’t want to leave…”

“Mija,” my daughter, “Do what’s best for you. Always.”



* * *



“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

My arm was shaking as I finally let it collapse. Push-ups, freaking push-ups.

One-armed push-ups were the damned devil. I groaned and rolled onto my back, flopping my arms out at my sides to loosen them up, but it wasn’t helping much. I’d spent the last three afternoons in a row playing with Franz Koch, and the guy wore me out. Add that to two days of work and practice. It would tire anyone out.

“Thirty seconds, ladies!” Phyllis, the psychopath fitness coach, yelled.

Oh God.

“Fifteen seconds!”

I rolled back onto my belly and planted both hands down flat on the ground, feeling the short crunch of turf under my palms.

“Five seconds! Get into plank position if you aren’t already in it!”

She was insane.

“Up! Into a wide stance! Down! I better see your chests touching the floor!” she hollered, walking through the multiple bodies lowering themselves, myself included. My arms burned as I went down, biceps and shoulders being lit on fire. “Casillas! Do I see your arms shaking? Because I know I don’t see your arms shaking!”

I gritted my teeth together and dropped even lower to the ground, arms trembling and everything, but I’d be damned if I stopped.

Especially when Phyllis started bellowing, “Roberts! Glover! You better get those scrawny arms under you and get yourselves up. This isn’t high school P.E.! Get up!”

High school P.E.?

The two minutes straight of push-ups had me gasping for breath by the time we were finished. I pulled my knees under me and finally got to my feet with a tired huff.

“You had more in you,” someone chipped in as they walked by.

I glanced up to find that it was the German making such a lovely observation.

He was too far away for me to return a comment, so I kept it to myself and got to my feet. The fact he hadn’t spoken more than five words to me since the day of the kid’s camp had grated on my nerves, big time. I hadn’t done anything to piss him off besides try to play around, and he’d shut down. If he was pissed about that, then he needed to get the heck over it. We spent most days together, and all of a sudden, nothing?