Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  Besides, I hadn’t meant that I thought Arnold was German, but if it annoyed him, it was all the same.

  Stretching up to his full height, he hit my knee with his and made his way out of the small reception area in the direction of the restroom. I pulled my phone out of the black leather purse my parents had bought me for Christmas and started typing a message to Marc. I let him know I made it to my appointment, and I’d be going in for an x-ray pretty soon. I hadn’t screwed him over too bad today by taking the day off, there wasn’t anything terrible on the schedule, but still. I felt bad, even if he was the one who told me I better not tag along until I knew for sure I wouldn’t be doing more damage to myself by working.

  “Do you mind turning the volume up?”

  I glanced up from my phone to see the man who had been behind me checking in with his wife, looking expectantly from his seat across the room. He was referring to the television. “Sure,” I said, taking the remote from Kulti’s empty seat and absently raising the volume on the television.

  It took me a second to realize what the topic on television was for today.

  “…it isn’t the first time money’s bought one of these guys out of trouble. How many times do their handlers hide things that they don’t want the public to find out about? There are employees for every big sport you can think of, who follow these superstar athletes around, dragging them back to their hotels after an entire night spent at a strip club or partying. Some fans don’t want to hear about their favorite athletes doing normal, human things. Honestly, I’m not surprised if there is a DUI on Kulti’s record that no one can find solid proof of it. The guy is a German national hero, even if half the country hates his guts. After the two seasons he spent with the Men’s American League, he’s practically an American hero—“

  I changed the channel, my heart beating up in my throat.

  Jesus Christ. They were discussing him having a DUI on freaking Sports Room? Didn’t they have anything better to talk about?

  “Excuse me. You mind putting it back?” the man across the room asked.

  I was suddenly unbelievably thankful that I’d told Kulti he needed to put on one of my hats before we left my apartment. Feeling like a little bit of a dick, I shook my head. “In a minute. I’m sorry.”

  The stranger couldn’t believe I said no, and honestly I was surprised I’d said it too. But when it came down to it, I would rather this stranger think I was rude than Kulti walk over and see that crap playing. He hadn’t been acting weird so I didn’t think he knew he was being talked about on cable television, but what did I know?

  “Are you the TV police or something?” the stranger asked with a frown.

  I tried to reason with myself that he was just being a dick because I started it. “No,” I said calmly, looking him right in the eye because being shy when you’re being rude just makes things worse. “I’ll put it back on in a sec.”

  Hopefully if I waited a minute, the anchors would be talking about something else.

  The guy just stared at me. Sometimes you didn’t need to actually say the word ‘bitch’ to get the message across. This guy had obviously mastered that talent.

  I sensed Kulti before he actually made it back. He purposely walked right in front of me, the side of his leg bumping into my knees, before taking his spot on the chair next to mine. It took him all of a second to catch onto the ugly vibes the other man was sending.

  The German leaned forward, one elbow on his knee and half his body facing me, but his head was cocked at the stranger. Fortunately my hat was pulled down low on his forehead. “I’m sure there’s something else you can look at, friend.”

  “I’d be looking at the TV, friend, if your lady hadn’t turned it off,” the man explained.

  Kulti didn’t ask me why I turned it off or why I didn’t turn it back on. He stayed in the same position he was in, his free hand resting on his other knee. “Instead of worrying about the television, maybe you should be worrying about your cholesterol, no?”

  Oh God.

  “Miss Casillas, will you follow me?” A voice spoke from the door.

  I stood up and lightly punched Kulti in the shoulder as he stared across the room at the other man. He stood up after me, not giving the man another thought. Lowering my voice so only he could hear, I whispered, “You might want to call your publicist. They were talking about Kulti on Sports Room, and it wasn’t about him playing soccer.” I tipped my chin down. “Do you know what I mean?”

  His eyes moved from one of mine to the other before he nodded his understanding.

  I’m not sure why I did it, but I reached over and gave his wrist a squeeze. “You didn’t steal anything or kill anyone. Whatever anyone else who doesn’t know you thinks, isn’t a big deal.”

  “Miss Casillas?” the medical personnel called my name once more.

  “I’m coming.” Making my eyes go wide at the German, I took a step back. “Let me go get this over with.”

  The last thing I did before heading to the back for my appointment was drop the remote on the seat next to the man’s wife. The x-ray went by quickly, mostly because I was thinking about the situation with Kulti. He hadn’t confirmed or denied anything. So what did that mean?

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a room with my doctor as he showed me a great set of films. “Nothing is broken. See? Not even a hairline fracture,” he confirmed.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” I smiled at the doctor I’d been going to since I moved to Houston. His medical assistant stood in the corner of the room.

  “You should look into doing some milk commercials. You’ve got some strong bones on you, Sal,” he joked around, scribbling something into my file. “I recommend you take a week off to be on the safe side—“

  I choked.

  “—but at least four days if you choose to be stubborn and get back.” He looked up with a smile.

  Yeah, that wasn’t much better.

  “I’ll get you a note if you need one, or else just have someone shoot me a call or an email if they want to speak to me,” the doctor said. “You don’t want to make it any worse. Your body needs the rest.”

  Four days off would really be five because I’d miss the game and have Sunday off by default.

  Handing my file to his assistant, the older man smiled. “My wife and I went to your season opener,” he noted. “You’ve got a real talent, kiddo. I haven’t seen anyone move like you since La Culebra. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

  I only barely caught my smile before it fell off my face. “Yes, I have. That’s very nice of you to say.” I cleared my throat and ignored the weirdness I felt at the mention of the Latin American star. “Thanks for going to the game, by the way. I can probably get you a set of comp tickets for another one if you’d like to go again.”

  “That’d be great. Any game would be fine.”

  I made a mental note to see who I could con some tickets out of.

  “So, ah, what’s it like working with Kulti?” The doctor’s cheeks were pink at the apples.

  I was suddenly thankful the German hadn’t followed me into the exam room. I could only imagine how much the doctor would flip out if he knew Reiner ‘The King’ Kulti had been sitting in his waiting room. “It’s… great. He’s tough, but he knows what he’s talking about.”

  The doctor got this dreamy look in his eyes. “I bet. I’ve always wanted to meet him. ”

  So. Not. Obvious.

  “I was pretty nervous around him at first.” That was the truth. “But he’s just like everyone else,” I said as I slid off the exam table as gently as possible, not exactly believing the words coming out of my mouth. Kulti wasn’t really like everyone else. Not totally. Edging toward the door, I told him, “I’ll email you the tickets once I get them.”

  If he was disappointed that I didn’t make an offer to introduce him to the German, he didn’t show it. The medical assistant passed me my file and instructed me on how to take care of my co-pay. Tha
nking the doctor and his assistant once more, I opened the door and found Kulti leaning on the wall next to it.

  “You scared me,” I said, glancing back to make sure the doctor was still in the room. I gestured toward the exit where the receptionist sat. “Come on.”

  I made my payment as quickly as possible, trying to get the heck out of there before the doctor saw my friend. My friend who didn’t say a single word as we took the elevator down to the lobby, and the same friend that stayed quiet as we got into the car his driver had brought us to the doctor in. His jaw was hard, his shoulders even harder, and I didn’t miss the way his hands were fisted as he stared out the window the entire ride back to my place.

  I swallowed and looked out the opposite window, not sure what to say to make the situation better. Honestly, I didn’t even want to ask what he’d found out. While I was pretty sure he considered me a friend, I didn’t fool myself into thinking that he was going to spill his troubles to me. Considering there were things I still would rather he not know either, I figured I wasn’t in a position to be a hypocrite and ask.

  When the car pulled into the driveway that led to my garage apartment, I hesitated. The German was still looking out the window; apparently he wasn’t getting out, I guessed. “Hey.”

  He didn’t turn to look at me completely, but his jaw flexed. He was like a little freaking kid that was pissed off. Avoiding eye contact and not speaking.

  All right. “You know your reputation is just what everyone else thinks of you, your character is what you really are.”

  I knew from the moment he licked his bottom lip that he wasn’t yearning for my support. But knowing I was about to get it wasn’t enough warning. “If I needed your inspirational bullshit, I would ask for it.”

  Well, all right.

  Bottling up my aggravation, I tried to put myself into his shoes. I would hate it if my personal life went public and everyone started talking about it. He was right to be frustrated, but I really was just trying to help. So, okay. Patience. Sure he had experience with being under a worldwide microscope, but that didn’t mean it would get easier to deal with over time, right?

  I sucked in a breath through my nose, my hand squeezing the door handle. “I’m only trying to tell you this isn’t the end of the world. You’ll get through this like you always have. At the end of the day, this isn’t a big deal, all right? ”

  Kulti kept his attention forward; his index finger went up to scratch at the side of his nose. I could feel the arrogance coming off of him. Good gracious. “How many endorsements do you have?” he asked in a cold voice.

  “What does it matter how many endorsements I have?” I replied evenly. I wasn’t going to let him make me feel insignificant just because I didn’t have the backing or the fan base he did.

  “You’re a kid with one endorsement who makes in one year what I used to make playing ten minutes of a single game. I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what’s important and what’s not important.”

  Indignation burned my throat. I straightened up my spine and shot him a really miserable look, which would have been a lot more effective if he was actually facing me. Because what a fucking douche-bag. I had this horrible urge to kick him right in the balls. “I’m okay with you being upset that your private life is getting joked about on national television, but I didn’t think you’d be a snob when all I’m trying to do is put this in perspective for you.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing,” he muttered.

  Jesus Christ. “I know enough. You’re not the only person in the world that’s done something they’ve regretted. So what if you have your license suspended? Whoopty freaking do, Rey. But it’s done and over with, and all that matters is what you do with yourself from now on. Being a prick isn’t the way to go about it. But what do I know? I’m poor and I’m young, right?”

  Knowing there was nothing left to do or say, I opened the door and turned my whole body to exit the easiest way possible for my ribs. “Thanks for the ride and for coming with me,” I said right before hoisting myself out.

  Nothing. He didn’t say a word as I shut the door.

  Well.

  Chapter Eighteen

  To be fair, I had been warned.

  Jenny had sent me a text message letting me know that practice on Friday had been bombarded by reporters wanting the scoop on Reiner Kulti’s supposed DUI.

  I had just begun wondering why people would care when I reminded myself that I didn’t—I shouldn’t. Especially not after someone had been a massive asshole to me. For four days I stayed at home, and for three of those days I let myself fume over how he’d spoken to me.

  I made more money in a day than you do in a year for doing the exact same thing. Of course it pissed me off. The salary scale was a hard fact, as much as it sucked, but he didn’t need to be a pretentious dick about it.

  Then to top it off, although I hadn’t exactly expected an apology, I had definitely not gotten one. Not a text, not a phone call, nothing. So maybe I wouldn’t have been so bothered by the overabundance of media sectioned off from the soccer field if Kulti wouldn’t have been rude when I was only trying to be a good friend.

  “Sal! What do you have to say about your coach’s public record?” one yelled.

  “How do you feel about—“

  I waved them off and kept walking toward the field. “Sorry! I have to get to practice!” It was the truth; I wasn’t lying. I did have to get to practice. After four days off with my ribs still the slightest bit sore and my stomach still brushed over with scabs, I had to get back into the swing of things.

  My bout with an imaginary virus needed to be over.

  “You’re back!” Genevieve, one of my teammates, greeted me as I walked passed her. “Are you feeling any better?”

  As long as no one punched me in the rib, I would be. Unfortunately that wasn’t what I could say to her. “Way better. Good job on Friday, by the way.”

  She smiled at me and went back to putting on her cleats.

  Most of the other girls greeted me as I walked by them, saying that they were happy to see me back or that they’d missed me. It was an exaggeration more than likely but I’d give them the benefit of the doubt. I sure as hell had missed them—at least the field—and Jenny and Harlow for sure. Getting stuck indoors for four days had been torture.

  Arms came up from behind to wrap around my neck. “I’m so happy you’re back,” Jenny said into my ear, giving me a squeeze that had me freezing in place.

  “I missed you too,” I gripped her forearms before reaching back to smack her in the hip.

  She only hugged me harder before pulling away. Standing back, Jenny tipped her head over in the direction of the media, waggling her eyebrows at the same time. “Nuts, huh?”

  The fact I had been the one to tell Kulti about the coverage was nuts. The other fact, that Marc was the only one who had any idea that I spent time with the German, was nuts. I wasn’t the type to have secrets—and this one made me feel bad. I was lying to my friends and family, and it wasn’t like I could stop this deep into it.

  All I could do was nod, turning around to face her. “Yeah. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Me neither.” Jenny shrugged but quickly reached up to tap my elbow. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s been in a horrible mood since then.” She paused like she was really thinking about what came out of her mouth. “In a worse mood. I overheard him tell Grace she should look into retiring.”

  My eyes bugged out.

  Jenny just nodded.

  Jeez. I thought about it for possibly five more seconds and then shook off my Kulti-related thoughts. I had better things to do.

  “Come help me stretch. Everything is tight,” I told her.

  She reached up and squeezed my shoulder. It took everything inside of me not to buckle my knees in order to get further away from her. As casually as possible, I stepped out of her reach. Seriously, I wondered if her boyfriend let her get anyw
here near his privates.

  I was in the middle of wondering if she’d ever given a hand job when I spotted Gardner and Kulti walking toward the field together. Whether they were talking or not, I couldn’t tell, but my teeth responded to the sight of the German.

  If he’d apologized the next day or the one after that, I would have forgiven him with only giving him a minimal amount of shit. It wasn’t like he was the first person to make an asshole-ish comment to me in my life, and there was no way he’d be the last. My own mom had said some pretty rude things to me at one point or another, but I always forgave her. I wasn’t even going to get started with the stuff Ceci, my little sister, had said to me over the years, which only reminded me of my upcoming trip back to San Antonio for my dad’s birthday; I still needed to get him something.

  “I’ll grab you a mini-band,” Jenny said, tearing me out of my thoughts, thankfully.

  I needed to focus.

  * * *

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I fell back against the turf to try and catch my breath after running sprints. My back hurt, my lungs felt like they were wrapped in an iron band that was shrinking by the minute, and as much as I wanted to pull up my shirt to fan off, I couldn’t without showing everyone my belly.