He chuckles.
“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I gesture toward his ribs.
“I feel better than I have in weeks.”
I laugh. He reaches for me and palms my ass, giving it a little shake. “You sure did a great job taking care of me this week.”
I smack his good shoulder and he laughs.
On his bedside table, my phone beeps and I lean over to see the message. My breath catches in my throat. “Luca, it’s the coach.” I look up at him. “She wants me to come this week for a one-week trial.”
He beams, his eyes bright with pride. “Go prove yourself, campionessa. This is your time to shine.”
I go to Alicante and spend a week training with Alicante Atléticas. It’s rigorous and brutal, but I rise to every occasion, giving everything left inside of me to the game I love. My game is strategic, a delicate balance of proving I’m a team player while also showcasing the individual talent I could bring to the team.
I hit it off with several of the women, enjoying their company and conversation during the lunch and dinner breaks. Each night, I check in with Luca to talk about our days and it’s natural. As easy as breathing.
I realize how silly I was to think I couldn’t have both—a career and a romantic life. A position on a squad and a boyfriend.
As the week progresses, I begin to relax. My footwork flows naturally, my instincts kick in, and so much of what I spent months teaching the girls at Santa Isabel plays at the forefront of my mind.
Look for the openings.
Commit to your passes and shots on goal.
Play to win.
When the coach thanks me for my time on Saturday, I hug her goodbye and thank her for the opportunity of a lifetime. Then, I board a flight to Milan to help Luca run his summer camp.
I don’t spend the following days agonizing over whether I made the team. Because it doesn’t matter anymore. I know I gave it my all; I gave it my everything.
If I don’t make the team, I’ll still be Carla García, and these days, I’m proud of the person she is.
I meet Luca and our group of youth and adolescent players, boys and girls, in Tuscany and turn my attention to coaching. I want to leave a lasting impression on these kids, providing them with effective training, sincere guidance, and the opportunity to make lasting friendships.
As we wrap up the first week of camp, Luca winds his arm around my waist.
“How are you feeling, campionessa?”
I glance at his arm in the sling. “I should be asking you that.”
He smiles. “Honestly? Never better. This, right here, is my dream come true.”
“Coaching?” I ask, surprised.
He nods slowly. “It took me a long time to realize that I enjoy coaching more than playing.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Not that I’m going to make a career change or anything. But I’d love to build this program into something bigger and, over time, transition from being a player to running an academy. I think my dad would have liked that too.”
“You’re an amazing coach,” I tell him truthfully. “You got me to believe in myself again.”
He shakes his head. “You did that all on your own.”
“Maybe but you sped up the process.”
“I like being here with you. Doing this together. It feels…meaningful.”
