Kulti(33)

We were, but I hated always being the one who knew what was going on and piping in.

Someone else agreed. “Yeah. Anyone want to go out for happy hour tomorrow?”

Go to happy hour the day before a game? I made a face to myself but kept my gaze forward and my mouth shut. But I still listened as two people agreed and another one said no.

Either way, it wasn’t like they invited me or asked for my opinion. Most people had given up on inviting me places after so many no-shows, and that was my fault. I was busy. Sometimes it seemed like I had to schedule bathroom visits into my day. So while they were all going out for happy hour, I was going to finally be starting a new project with Marc for a customer that we’d fondly called a “Southwest Oasis.” Fifteen years ago, I never would have thought I’d be excited about special-ordering rocks and cacti.

Was it glamorous or fun in a traditional way? No. But it was my life and I didn’t care.

“I can’t wait,” another girl admitted. “This week has s-u-c-k-e-d. I could use a couple margaritas.”

A couple? I winced.

“Girl, me too—“

“What you all need is some discipline, not drinks the day before a game.”

Honest to God, I stopped breathing at the sound of the foreign voice speaking. I didn’t need to turn around to know who had just spoken. You’d have to be an idiot not to know.

Of all the times, he’d chosen to speak up…

“But it’s just a preseason—“

I wasn’t sure who was dumb enough to even bother justifying that it was ‘just’ a preseason game. I partially understood that it technically didn’t count, but still. Who liked to lose? I sure as hell didn’t; I didn’t even like losing at air hockey.

Regardless.

That coming from him? What a damn hypocrite.

“No game is ‘just’ anything,” was the sharp, no-nonsense reply that came out of the sauerkraut’s mouth.

“Hey, why don’t we—“ Gardner quickly jumped in with some random topic to distract the newcomer.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn around and look at him for using such an ugly tone or for being a massive phony. Maybe if I hadn’t just dragged his drunk butt into a hotel room days before, I’d feel different.

But the damage had already been done.

Even I felt the burn of his words. No one else said anything. But the second I made eye contact with Jenny, she mouthed, ‘what the heck was that?’

I gave her bug eyes and mouthed back, ‘I have no idea.’



* * *



A few minutes later, Grace approached him. The conversation had to have lasted all of three minutes, if that, but in those three minutes I was positive that every member of the Pipers team watched. We watched Grace march up to him, say something in that way she’d talked to us all before when her captain pants were on, then we saw him respond in a short sentence. Two minutes later, one of the most collected, professional players I’d ever met had anger painted all over every feature of her body.

Grace was pissed. Grace. She was the type of person that always took the higher road. In the five years we’d played together, even back on the national team, she had never played dirty. Cool as a cucumber, determined and smart, Grace was the epitome of a pro.

She didn’t lose her shit.

And she just had. Over what, I had no idea, but a small part of me was dying to know.

Had she said something to Kulti about how he’d snapped at the girls? Knowing her and how seriously she took her role of captain, more than likely. Every other time I’d seen them together, they seemed like friends… well, friendly. Friendly-ish. Yeah.

The scene left me a little worried.

What had happened?



* * *



“Sal, is that sexy-ass brother of yours coming to our opener?”

I stuck my tongue out and over-exaggerated some retching, earning a laugh from a couple of girls who knew how much I hated that they imagined dirty things with my brother every time he dropped by. Desperate, slumming sluts. Finally, I grinned at the girl who asked and shook my head. “No, he’s not. My sexy-ass little sister is coming and so are my parents. They’re actually here today.”

“Aww, really?”

Joy and pleasure sparked through my chest. A lot of the players didn’t have family that lived close enough to occasionally come to games… or didn’t bother. My family, on the other hand, usually showed up to most home games, doing the three-hour drive and spending the day after to see me. I knew that I was lucky, and I was grateful they were so supportive.

Even if my sister, Cecilia, spent the entire game on her phone sending text messages and browsing Instagram. But, whatever. She was there even after she called me ugly names and made up horrible ideas in her head of what I thought about her. It wasn’t like my mom would have chosen this life for me either, but she showed up and cheered anyway, even if it cost her. But that was love, wasn’t it?