So when my number went up on the board in red, and another girl’s number went up in green, I wasn’t totally surprised they were taking me out. I couldn’t get angry about it either. Embarrassed and resigned, yes. I’d only gotten substituted a handful of times, and it had always been for a good reason: unavoidable cramps and torn muscles. There was also that one time I got too aggressive after a player elbowed me in the kidney and hadn’t gotten caught, but Gardner took me out before I did something I might regret. But this time there was no valid excuse for how sloppy I was playing, or how absent-minded I was today.
It was pathetic. I knew better. I did better. I could handle more than this without blinking an eye, and I failed spectacularly.
I slowly jogged off the field, avoiding everyone and anyone’s eyes, as I stared straight forward. Just as I was heading to the bench, the only route available was a sliver between Kulti and Gardner, a hand grabbed my wrist. Gardner wasn’t the grabbing type, so I knew before even looking over my shoulder who it was.
Those crazy-colored eyes stared down at me from their position eight inches above mine. A furrow creased the space in the middle of his auburn eyebrows. “What the hell is going on with you?” he snapped.
I took a sharp inhale and met his gaze directly with a single shrug. “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t going to make any excuses. There weren’t any.
That must have pissed him off because his nostrils flared. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“There’s nothing else to say. I’m playing like shit, and you’re taking me out. I get it.”
Honest to God, if Kulti was the type of person that smacked himself in the forehead, he had the expression on his face that said he’d be doing it right then. “Get out of my face right now; I’ll deal with you later.”
Even though I was sort of expecting his response to be similar, I still recoiled. But even as I did I bit my words back, swallowed my pride, accepted my fault and marched over to the bench. Elbows to my knees, I sat forward and watched the rest of the game, mentally kicking myself in the ass for being such an idiot.
An hour later, our team had barely squeaked by with a 1-0 win in thanks to a ball that hit the tip of Grace’s foot just perfectly. We headed to the locker rooms and listened to the coaching staff drone on about what we did wrong, and what we really did wrong. Kulti didn’t even bother looking at me when he decided to speak, but it was obvious to me that he was referring to all my screw-ups. Normally that would have put me on edge, but I had already accepted reality. As a wrap, Gardner gave his bit of motivational advice for the next week, and we were released to get out of the locker room.
Showering, getting dressed and heading toward the bus for a ten-hour drive back to
Houston, I managed to avoid talking to anyone. I was too angry with myself for slacking off to be good company, and everyone gave me space. Sternum burning with embarrassment for playing like such an asshole, I managed to make it halfway to the bus before I caught Kulti standing off to the side as he spoke to… a woman. Was that a woman? I squinted.
“Casillas!”
I hesitated. Did I want to listen to him rip me apart in front of a stranger that might have been a woman or a slim man wearing skinny jeans? No. Definitely not. But it’d be obvious if I ignored him and kept on walking toward the bus.
“Casillas!”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I guess I’d been warned. ‘I’ll deal with you later’ wasn’t exactly a vague threat. If I were a really religious person, I would have done the sign of the cross as I walked over to where the German was standing. Yeah, it was definitely a woman next to him, so I put on my Big Girl Socks during the short trip.
It took me until I was about five feet away to recognize the person he was talking to. An ex. Blah. She was an ex-girlfriend that I was certain was an actress or had been one at some point.
In the blink of an eye I was pissed off, and every step I took closer made me more and more angry. He wanted to do this now, in front of an old girlfriend?
“Are you sure you don’t want to meet up tonight?” the attractive redhead asked, ignoring my approach.
Kulti wasn’t even looking at her; instead he was staring at my face. My-aggravated-as-shit face. His one-word answer sounded as brutal as usual. “No.” So at least he was an asshole with everyone. There was that.
The woman bent a long leg and moved her head over to get into his field of vision. “Positive?”
It was too dark to tell whether his eyes glanced over in her direction or not. “Yes,” he confirmed
“Kulti—“ A hand went to rest on his shoulder, and I didn’t miss the way he shrugged her off.