Kulti
: Chapter 7

Practices and life just went on for the next few days.

There’d been at least a couple of reporters by the field every morning. It was usually the same ones for a couple of days before the rotation changed and other people showed up. Gardner led practices with the assistance of the fitness coach and one of the other assistants while the infamous frankfurter did what he always did: a whole bunch of nothing.

Eventually after a couple of days, I stopped giving a shit about the German—I had other things to worry about—and ignoring him became second nature, even when he was right there.

Like the day of the team photo.

Safely nestled in the front row with the rest of the under-five-foot-seven players, I had a midfielder on one side and a defender on the other, courtesy of the assistant photographer’s manhandling. Had I forgotten that Sheena had said I should stand by Kulti? Nope. Was I about to say anything to fix what was going on? No way, Jose.

The sun had taken its punishing nature to the next level, the humidity making me sweat in places most people never would, and all I wanted was the water under a canopy too far away to reach in a quick sprint. Standing there defenselessly huddled together was about a hundred times worse than running around having practice before the heat got too bad. Way worse.

“Is this almost over?” the player to my right sighed. She was one of the new additions to the Pipers.

“I think so,” Genevieve, a girl in the row directly behind me, answered. This was only her second season playing in the WPL.

I glanced over my shoulder to see the assistant rearranging the women in the top row. Harlow was standing off to the side, scowling at whatever the woman was saying, and it made me smile. “They’re almost done with the big broads up there, then it should start and it’ll be another twenty minutes tops.”

There was a collective groan from the six people around.

“Casillas!”

Oh hell. No. No. “Twenty-three! You’re in the wrong place!” the photographer yelled from her spot right next to the Pipers’ public relations employee.

“See you later, guys,” I muttered.

It took everything in me to not hang my head and drag my feet toward Sheena, who had appeared out of nowhere. I’d been keeping an eye out for her. Bah. I understood that she was watching out for me, doing me a favor by helping me out of the predicament that the past had gotten me into simply by association. But as I thought about those emails that went unread in my inbox, I decided it was probably worth it to just keep my mouth closed and do what I needed to.

Apparently, none of that mattered. I swallowed, put my Big Girl Socks on and took a deep breath as I walked like a normal sane human in the direction I was being pointed.

“Sal, squeeze in right there one row below Mr. Kulti, next to Miss Phyllis.” Miss Phyllis, the fitness coach who resurrected herself year after year to make sure the team was in shape. It also happened that we were around the same height, so Sheena’s thinking made sense. If you didn’t take into consideration that the human Berlin Wall was at least six inches taller than the player standing next to him.

I threw my shoulders back and pretended like I didn’t notice the way he ignored everything and everyone around him even when I stood less than a foot away.

But I took it like a champ, not letting him get to me.

Much.

Unfortunately just because I knew better than to try and engage him, didn’t mean everyone else was on the same page. I’d barely been standing there two minutes when I overheard the player standing somewhere behind me ask, “Could you tell me what time it is?”

Anyone who knew even a little bit about Kulti was well aware of the fact that he had a watch endorsement. He always wore one.

We’d all been instructed to leave our cell phones in our bags, so I wasn’t surprised that no one had a watch on. I’d played with one a long time ago, but didn’t want to risk breaking the face.

“No one knows what time it is?” the player asked again.

Nothing.

Not a single response from the man who was paid to wear a watch.

Jeez. I finally turned around and said, “I don’t have a watch on me, Vivian. Sorry.” Because I hated when I asked something and no one responded. It was rude and awkward.

But what was more rude and awkward was being able to give an appropriate answer and not do so. From the look on the player’s face, she knew he could have answered.

And he’d chosen not to. Classy.

I kept my face forward after that and smiled at the camera when the time came.

Things didn’t get any better when the videographers showed up two days later to film practice. Sheena kept waving me over in the general direction of where the coaches were standing. “Go on,” she whispered to me when I got close enough. “Just a few shots.”

It was just a few shots with a man who had said three sentences to me in a month.

Bah.

I picked up my pride, shook it off and placed it around my shoulders before gradually easing my way toward the coaches who happened to be standing together.

I made a point to make conversation with Gardner, while Kulti stood nearby with those fantastic flexed biceps crossed over his chest, and his attention elsewhere. Every time I looked at him, he reminded me more and more of a soldier in some branch of the military with his crew cut and blank face. Meanwhile, in my head, I flicked him off with both hands at the same time. Maturity was definitely a personal strength of mine.

Not.

But I did what I had to do. Always. That’s what put a smile on my face and made me talk to people I was actually fond of while the videographers walked around. It had to be good enough.

I brushed off thinking about the German ignoring life itself and paid attention to the girls standing around me; Gardner began speaking to someone else.

“I’m ready to get this over with. Anyone know what we’re doing tomorrow?” I overheard Genevieve ask.

Another girl responded, “I think we’re meeting at the offices tomorrow to pick up the rest of our uniforms, aren’t we?”

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?

Today was our open practice before the preseason games began against the local college teams. This practice was a gesture that the league did for season ticket holders, friends and family of players, and winners of various contests. After practice we hung around and took pictures, and if there were little kids, we kicked the ball around with them for a while.

“Yup. I’m not sure if Eric will be able to come by this year since he’s still overseas.” Thankfully. I could easily picture him in the stands glowering at the bench, and by ‘the bench,’ I meant Reiner Kulti.

“Let me know in advance so I can put some make-up on that day,” the girl laughed.

I snickered and waved her off, pulling my socks on over my shin guards since we were already finished warming up. Getting to my feet, I looked at the hundred or so people that were in the bleachers in a small, sectioned-off part of where we practiced. In the matter of just a couple of minutes, I spotted my dad’s receding hairline, my mom’s new bright red hair color and Ceci’s big head covered by a cowboy hat. Throwing both hands into the air, I waved at my family and whoever else assumed I was waving at them; I smiled big. Instantly, Mom and Dad waved back, and so did a few other people I didn’t know.

“Come on, ladies. If everyone is ready, let’s get started,” Gardner called out.

The next two hours flew by without a trace of the awkwardness that had been blanketing the team since Kulti decided to take his bastard-ness to the next level. We all seemed to block that out of our heads for the time being at least. I snuck glances at the bleachers throughout the exhibition. I had always been one of those kids that liked having her family around for games. There were people who didn’t, but I wasn’t one of them. I played better when they were in the stands, or at least I took it even more seriously—if that was possible. My parents knew more than enough about soccer to catch everything and still make suggestions to me about things that could be worked on.

The sun seemed extra hot and my ankle was only bothering me a little bit, but overall it went really well. Except every time I looked in my dad’s direction he was busy staring at Kulti like a total creeper. I loved him even if he had horrible taste in men.

We wouldn’t even bring up that I’d been just like him many years before.

As soon as we’d cooled down and stretched, a few of the Houston’s men’s team employees—our team was owned by the same people—led the onlookers off the stands and onto the field. It’d been more than a month since the last time I’d seen my family, and I’d missed them. I watched my dad looking around the field for the only person that really mattered. I knew it wasn’t me, ha.

“Ma.” I held out my arm for my mom who quickly glanced at my sweaty training jersey, made a face and hugged me anyway.

“Mija,” she replied, squeezing me tight.

Next, I grabbed my little sister by the brim of her cap and pulled her toward me as she squealed, “No, Sal! You’re all sweaty! Sal, I’m not kidding. Sal! Shit!”

Did I know she didn’t like sweaty hugs? Hell yeah. Did I care? Nope. I hadn’t forgotten she’d called me a bitch the last time we’d been in the same room together, even if she was going to act like no such words had come out of her mouth. I hugged her to me even harder, feeling her smacking me on the back pretty damn hard as my mom said, “Hija de tu madre, watch your mouth” to deaf ears.

“I’ve missed you, Ceci,” I said, peppering kisses all over my baby sister’s cheeks as she tried to pull away, saying something about her make-up getting smudged.

She was seventeen. She would get over it. We were both almost the same height, had brown hair, although mine was a bit lighter, taking after our Argentinian grandma, and the same light-brown eyes. But that was about it as far as our similarities went. Physically, I had about twenty pounds on her. Personality-wise, we were as different as could be. By the time she was fifteen she had mastered wearing heels, while I thought putting on a real bra was fancy, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. But I loved the crap out of her, even when she was a little snobby and whiny… and sometimes she was a little bit mean.

When I finally let her go, I snorted in my dad’s direction. He had his back to us and was busy looking around the field. “Hey, Dad? Give me a hug before you never want to wash your hand again.”

With a startled jump, he turned around and flashed a toothy smile at me. He’d had a receding hairline for as long as I could remember, his facial hair cut short and his green eyes—inherited from a Spanish grandmother—were bright. “I was looking for you!”

“Oh, whatever, liar,” I laughed. We gave each other a big hug as he gave me some commentary on the scissor kicks I’d done during the practice. It was a move that required you to throw yourself in the air and kick the ball over your head or to the side, whatever worked.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, still hugging me. “You get better every time I see you.”

“I think your vision might be getting worse.”

He shook his head and finally pulled away, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He wasn’t very tall, only about five-nine according to his license, though I thought he was more five-seven. “Alomejor.”

There was a tapping at the side of my leg and when I looked down, I found a little girl and boy standing there with my player profile photograph from last season in their hands.

I talked to them for a little while, signed their pictures and then posed for a few with them when their mom asked. Immediately following them, another three sets of families—most of the time it was little girls with their moms—came over and we did the same. Between the photographs, I asked them questions and passed out hugs because they were the world’s cheapest and most effective currency. I hated talking to the press because it made me nervous and uncomfortable, these strangers, these people made me incredibly happy, especially when the kids were excited. I lost track of my parents but didn’t worry about it too much; they knew how these types of things worked.

What must have been thirty minutes later, once I was done signing a teenage girl’s ball and telling her she wasn’t too old if she wanted to play professionally one day, I looked around, trying to replace my family. Off by one of the goals we’d used during practice, I spotted my dad and mom speaking to Gardner and Grace, the veteran. They’d met both repeatedly throughout the years.

By the time I made it over to them, I flung an arm around my dad’s side and smiled up at him. But what faced me was a borderline grim faintly sad smile that tried its best to not look that way. It immediately put me on alert. “Que tienes?” I whispered.

“Estoy bien,” he whispered back, kissing my cheek. He didn’t seem fine to me. “Coach was telling us how good you’ve all been playing together.”

I watched his face really carefully, taking in the sun and age lines from years of working outside, most of the time with a hat and sometimes without it, and I knew that there was something bothering him. He was just being stubborn, which was where I’d gotten it from—him. But if he didn’t want to say anything in that instant I wasn’t going to force him to. I cleared my throat and tried to catch my mom’s eye, but she seemed fine. “I hope we do. I don’t see why not, right, Grace?”

The slightly older woman, turning thirty-five this year, smiled cheerfully back. Completely unlike the look on her face when she’d said who-knew-what to Kulti. “Definitely.”

When Gardner and Grace were gone and it was just the three of us—Ceci was over talking to Harlow about God knows what—I elbowed my dad in the arm and asked, “What’s wrong? Really.”

He shook his head like I knew he would. “I’m okay, Sal. What’s wrong with you?”

Deflection was a talent in the Casillas family. “What happened?” I insisted, because that was another Casillas family trait.

“Nada.”

This man. I could shake him sometimes. “Will you tell me later? Please?”

With two pats to the top of my head, he shook his head once more. “Everything is okay. I’m happy to see you, and I’m happy we’ll get to see the season opener in a couple of weeks.”

He was so full of shit, but I knew it was pointless to argue with him, so I let it go.

A few minutes later, my family left and promised to see me in the evening. My mom and Ceci wanted to go shopping while they were in town, and we made plans to meet up once I was done working. There were still a few fans around; all the players were still on the field getting their stuff together if they weren’t busy. I had just grabbed my water bottle to take a swig when Harlow came over and gave me a grave look. Two looks like that in one day were way too much.

“What’s going on?” I asked her, stuffing the bottle under my armpit.

Her lower jaw moved a little. “I didn’t say anything because I know you would want to do the honors.”

I blinked. “Of doing what?”

Harlow planted her hands behind her back, the faintest trait of irritation crossing the plains in her cheeks. This was a facial feature of hers I was familiar with. She was trying to rein in that explosive temper. “Mr. Casillas didn’t say anything to you?”

I blinked, suspicious. “No. About what?”

Har cleared her throat, another giveaway that something had made her angry—which wasn’t saying much. She wasn’t known for her patience. “I think he went up to you-know-who and asked him for an autograph.” She cleared her throat once more. “I’m not sure, Sally. All I know is that your dad walked away and it looked like he’d gotten nut-punched.”

Patience, Sal.

I took a deep breath. “You think…” I was speaking about a word a minute so that I wouldn’t burst a capillary in my eye from how strained I felt on the inside. “He was mean to my dad?” My dad?

“I think that he was,” she responded nearly as slowly. “I’ve never seen your dad look like that. Especially not after he had Valentine’s Day in his eyes right before, and then didn’t afterward.”

P-a-t-i-e-n-c-e. Be calm. Count to ten.

I opened and closed my mouth to try and release the tension in my jaw, and nothing happened. The next thing I knew, my arms were shaking as I remembered the look on my dad’s face.

Fuck it.

I tried. I could live with the fact that I really did try to not get so pissed. I put in the effort. Then again, there were very few times that I’d ever gotten so mad so fast. I was usually calm, and if I wasn’t, I understood there was a time and a place to be angry.

Most of the time.

I took a step forward. “I can’t—“

Like a good friend, Harlow understood that there was no talking me off of the ledge I’d set myself on. She herself was protective and knew that you didn’t ever hurt a person’s loved ones, so she let me go. Later on, if I ever really thought about it, I’d remember that she’d said she was going to let me do the honors despite the fact she’d had the urge to stand up for my daddy’s pride, too.

“Just don’t hit him in front of everyone!” Harlow ordered me as I marched toward… well, I didn’t know where exactly. I only knew my destination and that was wherever the hell that German bitch was.

In the time it took me to replace and speed-walk toward him, I calmed down enough to tell myself that I couldn’t punch him. I also couldn’t and shouldn’t call him Führer or anything else that could potentially get me in trouble. Fortunately for me, I thought well on my feet.

My goal: ripping him a new asshole without getting in trouble.

I took my mental Big Girl Socks off and threw them on the floor. Fuck this motherfucker. If I would have had earrings on, I’d be taking those off and handing them to Harlow, too.

My shaking arms and pounding heart egged me on.

I found him.

He was just there, minding his own business looking over some notes in a binder. Tall and solemn and completely oblivious to the fact that he’d hurt the most important man in my life’s feelings.

I didn’t think or bother to look around me to check and see who the potential audience was going to be because I didn’t give a single shit.

Don’t talk outright crap to him.

Don’t call him a curse word or Führer.

In that moment, I didn’t give a crap who this man was or who he had been. He was just some asshole with an attitude problem that had done the unthinkable. It was one thing to be an ass to me or my teammates. But he’d hurt my papi’s feelings, and that shit just didn’t fly.

“Hey,” I snapped the minute I was close enough.

He didn’t look up.

“Hey, you German bratwurst.” Did that just come out of my mouth?

When the German bratwurst in question looked up, I figured out I’d actually said that out loud. Well I guess I could have said something a lot worse, and it wasn’t like I could back out at that point.

“You’re talking to me?” he asked.

I focused on how my forearms were tensed, on the anger that had flamed to life in my chest and I let the words out. “Yes you. Maybe you don’t give a crap about helping the team out and that’s fine. I get it, big man. Want to talk shit to us, when you know you’re in no position to say anything about what people should and shouldn’t be doing?” I shot him a look that said I wanted him to remember what exactly I’d done for him.

Hypocritical ass.

“We’ll all get over you being rude with us, trust me. I won’t be losing any sleep over you, but we don’t treat our fans like crap here. I’m not sure what it was like for you back where you played, but here, we’re grateful and we treat everyone kindly. It doesn’t matter if someone asks you for an autograph or to sign their ass cheek, you do it with a smile.

“And you especially aren’t allowed to be an asshole to my dad. He thought you were the greatest thing since frozen meals. He’s one of your biggest fans, and you’re going to be rude to him? Jesus Christ. Everyone knows you were a terror to play against, but I didn’t think you were mean to people that have been supportive of your career.”

Someone was panting, and I was pretty sure it was me. “All he wanted to do was meet you and, I don’t know, maybe get a picture so he could brag about it to his friends. He’s the best man I know, and he’s been talking about seeing you for weeks. Now my dad left here upset and probably disillusioned, so thank you for that, you German Chocolate Cake. I hope the next time someone approaches you, you think about how two minutes of your time could make one person’s entire year.”

You fucking sauerkraut.

Okay, I didn’t say that, but I thought it.

I also thought about flicking him off with both my hands, but I didn’t do that either.

My fingers flexed on their own and my molars started to grind together as we stared at each other in silence. I’d thought I was done, but when he blinked those eyes that reminded me of playing in New Hampshire once in late fall, I felt my inner thirteen-year-old come to life, the girl who had held this man on a pedestal and thought the world of him.

I felt her come to life and die in a split second. Just that quickly, this version of me who understood that people changed over the years was reborn from the ashes of teenage Sal. The grown up version of me didn’t give a single fuck about Reiner Kulti. He hadn’t been the one who sat through my practices, my games. He wasn’t the one that stressed about my injuries and teased me through my recuperation periods. I had a list of people that I loved and respected, people that had earned their way into my heart and deserved my loyalty.

Reiner Kulti wasn’t anyone special in the ways that really mattered. He’d been my inspiration a very long time ago, but he hadn’t been the one to help me make it happen.

“I get that you’re the greatest thing to ever come onto this field, Mister Kulti.” Yeah, I said the ‘mister’ as sarcastically as I could. “But to me, my dad is one of the greatest people in the world. And the next person whose feelings you hurt by not caring to meet them is someone else’s dad or brother or mom or sister or daughter or son. So think about that.”

Goddamn frankfurter.

Luckily, I wasn’t really expecting him to reply and, in the end, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t because I seriously doubted something sincere or apologetic could have come out of such an indifferent apathetic mouth.

Hours later when I was hauling rocks around on a wheelbarrow and my shoulders were on the verge of sprouting tear ducts because they hurt so much, I couldn’t help but still feel rattled, pissed. If I hadn’t already taken them down almost ten years ago, I would have ripped the Kulti posters off my wall with a scream that would have made Xena proud. No one had stopped me as I grabbed my shit and left. Gardner had just stood there as I passed by him with what I recognized as an impressed look on his face.

So there was that, at least. I couldn’t get kicked off the team if Gardner looked pleased with what I’d said.

At least that’s what I hoped, but either way, I couldn’t replace it in me to regret what I had done. If I couldn’t stand up for what I believed in, then I wasn’t the person I strived to be.

I got three voicemails that evening while I snuck in a run before meeting up with my parents.

The first was from Jenny, who said, “Sal, I can’t believe you said that to him, but I think it was the nicest things I’ve ever heard come out of anyone’s mouth. I’m proud of you, and I love you.”

The second was from one of the defenders on the team that I wasn’t particularly close to, who laughed so hard she sounded like she was dying. “German Chocolate Cake! Oh my god, I thought I pissed my pants.”

The third was from Harlow. “Sal, I always knew you had balls of steel in that puny little body, but goddamn, I almost cried. You let me know when you wanna go out to celebrate you giving Kulti the reaming of a lifetime.”

Overall, I was pretty pleased with myself.

I didn’t say anything to my dad that night when we all went out to eat, but I gave him a hug twice as hard as usual that left him gasping for breath.

If I was worried that the staff would be pissed about what I’d said the day before, it had been a waste of mental and emotional effort. A couple of the newer girls gave me discreet low-fives when I showed up, but it was the hard pat on my back that Gardner gave me that finally relaxed me. Nothing would come of it.

I held my head up high and didn’t put in any extra effort to pretend not to look at Kulti. If I glanced in his direction, I kept on looking. The one time our gazes met, I let my eyes linger for a second before looking elsewhere. They say not to make eye contact with dangerous animals so that they don’t perceive you as a threat, but I said screw it; I was no one’s bitch, especially not Kulti’s.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and let this German tank make the best dad in the world feel dejected. He’d been acting normal when we had dinner at the restaurant by their hotel but… still. My gut knew that his feelings had been hurt and that was not going to fly on my radar, ever.

When I happened to get knocked to the ground during a particularly competitive game of three-on-three, right at Kulti’s feet, I hopped back up, brushed my thighs off as I looked him right in the eye, and then went right back to what I was doing.

Was it the smartest thing to do?

Maybe not, but all I had to do was think of my dad and I knew I’d done the right thing, the only thing, really. Though Grace and I never talked about what had gone down between her and Kulti, the look she gave me after that fateful day had me convinced she’d said something about how he’d talked to the other Pipers. While I hadn’t found the balls to say anything to defend the girls he’d chastised, I’d stood up for my dad and also, maybe in a way, for every person he brushed off.

Which was all of us—sort of. Only it’d taken me a lot longer than it had Grace. Maybe if it had been Jenny or Harlow, I would have handled it differently. The point was no one deserved that treatment.

Nothing in his actions had changed at all. We were all tiptoeing, watching our backs and our words. Did it suck? Absolutely. There was only so much you could think about it, though.

With our first preseason game coming up—and five others following within a two-week span—I had to settle for keeping my thoughts on the game and not on the dumb man people had called ‘The King’. Sure. He was ‘The King’ of every full-of-shit bastard on the planet.