One thing’s for sure: when a pro midfielder stops joining his team for a victory beer at Corcho, something is up. Stay tuned!
@SoccerGirlie Noooo, this is devastating.
@CallMeMrsGarcia I don’t believe this. Fake news?!
@SoccerSux33 I really don’t care.
@CarrieSins12 I hope this isn’t true.
@SweetPea3
31
Carla
“You did it!” I scream, my arms raised in the air, as my girls swarm me. I fall over with them in a heap, right on the field, as we celebrate the regional win.
“You did it!” Julieta hollers.
I hug them close as we stagger to our feet. Our arms are tossed around each other, our huddle tight knit. I take in their faces, committing their expressions to memory.
So carefree. So exuberant.
When I look at the girls on my team, I see myself. I can pluck a personality trait from each and comprise a younger version of me. In them, there is endless potential. I can’t wait to see the women they grow into and the fact that I was fortunate enough to be part of their journeys fills me with immense gratitude.
Time slows as I savor the moment, truly embrace this win and the hard work it took to achieve this milestone—as a team, as a coach, and as a group of women.
“Thanks for everything, Coach,” Anna says, giving me a tight squeeze.
“This season was the best. I’ll never forget what you taught us,” Carmen adds.
The heartfelt good wishes from the girls sends me over the edge and I cry.
“Ohhh! She’s crying!” Maria outs me.
The girls laugh and hug me again.
“It’s okay. I’m good. Go get that trophy.” I point toward the official who is ready to begin the presentation of the trophy.
And the girls take off. I watch them, beaming, as they accept their trophy and do a victory lap around the field. In the stands, my father cuts a loud whistle.
I turn and grin at him. Rubén García is one of the greatest futbolistas of his generation. He is known for being an uncompromising hard-ass. But the past few years have softened him. It started when he truly embraced my sister Valentina’s American husband Avery into our family. And then, he welcomed Marlowe with open arms, realizing that Alejandro was a stronger player and a better man with a committed woman by his side. Now, he’s about to become an abuelo.
And that has turned him into a bit of a mush who shows up to the high school fútbol matches his daughter coaches just to show his support.
The girls’ smiles widen when they hear Papá’s whistle. And Julieta and Anna nearly swoon when Alejandro starts up a chant. It’s an incredible moment. The only thing missing is Luca.
Regret unspools in the cavity of my chest and I rub at the space above my breastbone as if that will help alleviate it. It won’t. It’s been plaguing me for more than a week and it’s my own damn fault.
I was too overwhelmed, too fucking scared, to accept the gift in front of me so I sabotaged it. And, in doing so, I hurt the man who means the world to me. The one I couldn’t not be in love with, even when I’m trying.
Turning away from my family, I focus on my team and their massive accomplishment. Tomorrow morning, I drive to Alicante and begin my next chapter. There’s no room for pity or regret.
There’s no time to question could-have-beens.
I made my decision and now I have to suffer the consequences of my actions. Even if they gut me from the inside out.
“Call him,” Marlowe advises as she hugs me goodbye. “Go to Alicante with a clear head, Carla.”
