Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

  What was I going to do?

  My nose tickled in response.

  We arrived at his house and parked, but still I couldn’t get myself to say anything. I wanted to cry. I really wanted to cry, and I sure as hell didn’t want to do it anywhere near here.

  I kept my gaze down and followed the German up to his door where Franz was already waiting. We’d barely gone inside when I felt a choking cough in my throat. I knew I needed to get away from them. “Where’s your bathroom?” I asked him in a voice that sounded even weird to me.

  “Up the stairs, first door,” he answered, his voice distant enough to let me know he wasn’t standing that close.

  “I’ll be right back,” I lied, already hauling my butt up the stairs, desperate to get away.

  Two swipes at my leaky nose later with the back of my hand, and I was inside. I didn’t even bother turning on the light before I was plopping onto the porcelain rim of a tub I could appreciate when my life wasn’t falling apart.

  I was getting traded because I was friends with someone.

  My throat convulsed and I hiccupped. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t do it, Sal. Don’t you fucking do it.

  I managed to hold out thirty seconds before the next hiccup wrecked my upper body. It was followed by another and then another. By the fifth one, I hunched over and pressed my palms to my eye sockets. I didn’t cry hardly ever. When I was upset, I did other things to get my mind off of whatever was bothering me. There were very few things in life worth crying over, my mom had told me once.

  Sitting on that tub, I really tried to tell myself that getting traded wasn’t the end of the world. I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t take it personally. It was just business and it happened, sometimes, to other people.

  That only made me cry harder.

  I was an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot.

  When I thought about Kulti cashing in favors to get players to come to my camp and buying kids’ shoes and how he’d given me a freaking hug, it only made things worse.

  I cried like a baby, a big silent baby that didn’t want anyone to hear her.

  “Schnecke, did you—“ Kulti’s voice abruptly cut off.

  In hindsight I would realize that I didn’t hear him come in because he didn’t knock. He just barged right in, sticking his big fat head in the room like there wasn’t a chance that I was on the toilet doing something he wouldn’t want to see. I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t muffle the next sob or bother to try and hide it.

  I missed the horrified look on Kulti’s face before he came inside and shut the door

  behind him. I didn’t see him drop to his knees or put his hands on my own, lowering his head so that his forehead pressed to mine.

  “Schnecke,” he said in the softest, most affectionate tone I’d ever heard. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I managed to blabber out. I was shaking and my upper body was convulsing with soundless cries.

  “Stop with your lies and tell me why you’re crying,” he ordered even as he scooted forward and stroked a big hand down my spine.

  “I’m not crying.”

  “You are the worst liar I have ever met.” He moved to rub my shoulder. “Why are you upset?”

  Every time he asked, I somehow managed to cry harder, my body shaking more; there were actual noises coming out of me. “It’s stupid.”

  “More than likely, but tell me anyway,” he said in a gentle voice.

  I couldn’t catch my breath. “They’re… going… to… trade… me,” I bawled to my freaking humiliation.

  The hand on my shoulder didn’t let up its comforting circles. “Who told you?”

  “Franz,” I said, but it really sounded like more Franzzzz-agh.

  Something quick and vicious-sounding in German shot out of his mouth: a spit, a curse on top of a curse.

  “He’s not lying, is he?” I asked his shirt collar.

  Kulti sighed into the top of my head. “No. He wouldn’t say something unless he was sure,” he confirmed.

  My heart and my head were both well aware that the signs had been there.

  “Gardner warned me, but I didn’t listen,” I told him. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the end of the world and this is embarrassing, but I can’t stop crying.”

  The big German I’d been in love with since I was a kid, put his arms all around me. And he shushed me. Literally, he said, “Shush.” Then he held me a little closer and said into my ear, “You’re better than this. Stop crying.”

  “I can’t,” I whined for probably the first time in at least ten years.

  “You can and you will,” he said tenderly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now—“

  Of course he couldn’t. He’d never been traded against his will and if he had, it had to have been for a better position and more money. For me, it was like getting dumped. Violated. Thrown away.

  “—but you’re better than this. In two years you’ll be thanking them for being so stupid—“

  His pep talk wasn’t helping. “I gave them the best years of my life,” I might have wailed, but hoped I didn’t.

  “You have not. You haven’t even reached the peak of your career.”

  I was inconsolable. Reiner Kulti was telling me I still had better years ahead of me, and it wasn’t making me feel better.

  “Taco. Stop. Stop this instant,” he demanded in a grave voice.

  I couldn’t. All I could keep thinking was that Houston was where I wanted to be. It’s the place I had made my home. If they had asked me first if I wanted to go somewhere else, it would be one thing, but these under-the-table deals were for the players you tried to get rid of so that they wouldn’t blow a gasket.

  There was snot running down my nose and it made the German huff in exasperation and tighten his hold around me, his arms like a shield against the world. “I know this is my fault, and I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured in that thick accent I wanted to wrap myself in.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said muffled against him before changing my mind. “I don’t regret it at all. This is their fault for being so damn dumb. I’ve always done whatever they wanted me to do. I’m a team player. I don’t completely suck. I get to practice early and stay late, and this is how they repay me? By trying to send me to fucking New York? Where I’ll probably never get to play again?”

  I sat up, not caring in the least that I had to look like a giant mess and sniffled at my friend. I was feeling the weight of a hundred galaxies on my shoulders, feeling my dreams on the cusp of slipping away. I knew I was being overdramatic, but it was all too much. “What am I going to do?” I asked him, like he had all the answers.

  Kulti palmed my knees again. That handsome face that had aged gracefully was solemn, but he looked me dead in the eye as he spoke. “You’re going to keep playing. I promise you, Sal. I would never put your career at risk.”

  I sniffled and made a watery noise in my throat, my shoulders shaking and warning of another round of tears.

  The German shook his head. “No. No more. I won’t let you down; now stop crying. It makes me nauseous.”

  That was almost funny. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and he scowled, reaching back to pull a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll before handing them to me. “Control yourself,” he ordered.

  I almost laughed. I sniffled and wiped at my face with the tissue he gave me. “You can’t tell me to ‘control myself,’ it doesn’t work that way.”

  “You’re supposed to do what I say,” he said, snatching the tissue away from me and dabbing at my cheeks a little more forcefully than necessary with a frown.

  That made me crack a small, pitiful smile. “Who said that?”

  He met my eyes. “I did.”

  I pressed my lips together. “That’s convenient.”

  Kulti reached back and grabbed more toilet paper. “You’re a mess,” he said, continuing his cleanup process. “I didn’t take
you to be a crybaby.”

  “I’m not.” I tried to snatch the tissue away from him, but he held his hand out of reach. I stretched and he easily pulled his hand away further out of my grasp. “I can wipe my own face off.”

  He smacked my hand away. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he grumbled, returning to dabbing at me.

  “You know, the world doesn’t revolve around what you do or don’t want to do,” I said as he rubbed a little too hard under my nose, making me wince.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m not used to this.”

  “You’ve never had to clean off a girl’s face before?”

  He pulled back to observe his work. “Never.”

  I let out a deep sigh, eased by his admission. “In that case, thank you for the honor.”

  Kulti didn’t say anything; instead he put a hand on each cheek and tipped my head back. I had never been more aware of not having make-up on or looking like hell than I did right then. The man, who had dated supermodels, actresses and probably a whole bunch of sluts, didn’t comment on my freckles, the bags under my eyes or the scars I had.

  He finally dropped his hands and gave my thighs a pat with a long, deep exhale. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  “I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said.

  An exasperated breath later, he’d taken hold of my hands and pulled me up to my feet. “No. You’re fine.”

  “Rey, seriously, give me a minute.” I buckled my knees so that he couldn’t drag me along.

  With one yank, he pulled me forward. “So that you can cry more? No. Come. I have the coffee you like.”

  I sniffled and he gave me a dirty look in return. Why did I even bother? “You’re a bossy bitch, you know that?” I asked him even as I let him lead me out of the darkened bathroom.

  “You’re a pain in my ass, do you know that?” he shot back.

  I snorted as we went down the stairs one after the other. “I used those exact same words to describe you to Franz, buddy.”

  The German turned to peek at me over his shoulder. “Another thing we have in common.”

  “Ha. You wish.”

  A snicker came out of his mouth, but he didn’t argue anymore. We found Franz in the kitchen sitting on a stool, looking at his phone. He glanced up and immediately frowned.

  “I’m fine,” I said before he said anything. “I really am; I’m just being a baby.” Even saying it as an excuse did nothing to lessen the bolt of disappointment that shot straight through my heart. They are going to trade me.

  But in the back of my head, Kulti’s voice reminded me that it was only if I let them.

  Fuck me.

  “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Franz interjected quickly. “Please forgive me.”

  “No, no way. There’s nothing to forgive. Thank you for telling me. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I guess I don’t handle getting the shaft well.” They both looked at me over my word choice. “I don’t like to lose and I feel like I’m losing,” I explained.

  They both finally nodded in understanding.

  Kulti bumped my shoulder, talking to Franz over me. “Make a list of the women’s teams you know of.”

  “Wait. I don’t even know what I’m going to do,” I said, suddenly panicking again at the thought of going somewhere even farther away than New York.

  Jesus Christ.

  Europe? Was I really thinking about it? I was kicking up a fit about New York, but considering going to freaking Europe?

  “You want to stay here with these people?” Kulti asked, just shy of sounding incredulous. “Not everyone deserves your loyalty.”

  He was right, of course, in a selfish way.

  “I still have a year left in my contract.”

  “Too much can happen in a year, Sal. You could tear your ACL again, break a leg going down the stairs… anything.”

  Kulti 2, Sal 0. He was right again. Anything could happen. In eight months I would be twenty-eight and if I was really lucky and my body held out on me, I might have three or four years left in my career. Maybe more. Maybe. I didn’t want to put too much hope into longer than that; my knee and my ankle would be the ones making the decision, and there wasn’t much I could do to change their mind when they decided they’d had enough.

  So.

  Europe? New York was closer. Then again, New York was a decision being taken out of my hands and I was not a fan of that, not a fan at all. I didn’t want to go to there and it was mainly just to spite Cordero. Who the hell did I know in Europe, anyway?

  Was I really using not knowing someone as an excuse to stay in the U.S. when that choice would have me playing under a woman that would make it impossible for me to do well? Was there even a choice, really?

  Indecision filled my chest and shamed me. Was I going to let fear get the best of me and keep me somewhere I wasn’t going to be happy? Keep me with an organization that obviously didn’t want me anymore because I was friends with my coach? How fucking stupid would that be? If twenty-two-year-old career driven Sal Casillas could hear me now, she would kick my twenty-seven-year-old ass for being a pussy.

  A tiny part of me realized that I didn’t need to rush into a decision yet. There were still four games left in the season, and if we moved on to the playoffs—when we moved on to the playoffs—there would be more games. I had time, not much but some.

  Big Girl Socks on, I thought about it.

  Screw it. There wasn’t a decision to make. I’d be an idiot if I stayed in the WPL and gave someone, who didn’t have my best intentions in mind, a key to my future. Wasn’t I? What would my dad or Eric tell me?

  It only took a second for me to decide what they would say: get the hell out.

  “You’re right,” I said and straightened my spine. “I have nothing to lose even if things don’t work out.”

  I didn’t see Kulti roll his eyes. “Make a list of the teams you’re familiar with,” he said to Franz.

  The demand got me thinking instantly.

  “Hold on. I don’t want to get on a team because you ask someone for a favor. Tell me the names of the teams you think I could be a good fit for, and I’ll talk to my agent about seeing what she can do.”

  I didn’t miss the look they shot each other.

  “I’m serious. I don’t need this to haunt me down the road. I want to go somewhere where I’m needed, or at least wanted.” Because it was the truth. I hadn’t gotten to where I was by taking advantage of who my grandfather was, or who my brother was. I had worked too hard to avoid getting screwed over, like I was now, and I didn’t plan on letting it happen again.

  They exchanged another look.

  “I’m not joking. You especially, Pumpernickel, promise me you won’t pay someone to take me.” I cringed, realizing what I’d said and gave Franz an apologetic smile. “It’s a joke, I swear. I have nothing against Germans.”

  “No offense taken.”

  Kulti agreed to nothing.

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “Rey, promise me.”

  That time I did catch him rolling his eyes. “Fine.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a promise to me.”

  “I promise, schnecke,” he grumbled.

  I totally caught the small smile that crossed Franz’s face as he heard the nickname Kulti called me. It was the first time he’d used that term in front of someone, and Franz’s smile said that it couldn’t have meant a bad thing. At least that’s what I was pretty sure of.

  “You’re positive this is what you want to do?” the German asked seriously, a gentle reminder of how he’d lost his crap when I first mentioned Franz’s idea of me playing overseas. Now, he was totally focused and calm. He looked ready to kill someone.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit terrified. The fact was, I could either let my fear of the unknown make me a victim, or take control of my career.

  There wasn’t really a choice in the matter.

  You don’t get to live your dreams by waitin
g around for someone to hand them to you.

  Or at the very least, you hold on to them for dear life when others try and take them away.

  I nodded at my friend, determined. “I’m positive.”

  * * *

  I was yawning every two minutes by the time Kulti finally glared at me from across the table where we were all playing poker. I hadn’t laughed when he busted out the cards and asked if we wanted to play, but I’d wanted to.

  “Stop giving me that look. I’m going home now before I fall asleep,” I said, pushing the chair away from the table.

  “Call a taxi.”

  “No. I can drive home. I live close enough, it’ll be fine.” Before he could argue with me I leaned over and gave Franz, the man who had won both games we’d played, a hug. “Thank you for coming to camp today and thank you for all your help with the other stuff, too.”

  “Let me know as soon as you hear back from a team. I can help you narrow it down,” he said, giving me an affectionate pat on the back. “You still have my information?”

  “Yes.” I pulled away from him. “I’ll definitely let you know if I hear from anyone.”

  “You’re an idiot. You will,” the bratwurst interjected, getting up.

  “I don’t know how I’ve lived my entire life without you and your kind, encouraging words. Really. It’s a miracle I’ve survived this long.”

  Kulti was doing his usual scowl-thing, but the corners of his mouth were tipped up as he grabbed the back of my neck with his broad palm and swung me around to face the doorway. “I have never met anyone that needed me less than you do.”

  The way he said it, I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not, so I didn’t comment on it. I just bumped my shoulder against his. “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”

  He nodded as we walked out the path leading toward my car. When we stopped by the driver side door, he put one hand on it and the other on my upper arm. “I’ll make this up to you.”

  “You don’t have to make anything up to me. This isn’t your fault. I knew what I was doing. As long as you don’t forget I exist after the season is over, there won’t be anything to regret, all right?” I said, even though on the inside a small part of me was still frustrated and a bit depressed about all of this.