Luca’s schedule intensifies even more after our whirlwind trip to Tuscany. With commitments for League Valencia, the Copa del Rey, and the Champions League, I barely see my boyfriend.
But the moments we do share—late nights, early mornings, and any second we can squeeze in between—leave me sated, breathless, and smiling. Luca makes me feel like a priority in his life, showing up at my door when he gets off a team bus, leaving fresh pastries before he flits away in the morning.
I attend his home games, smiling for the paparazzi and their cameras on my way in or out of the stadium. And although I grin at their questions—“Carla, how serious is your relationship with Luca? How does Alejandro feel about you dating his best mate? Are you planning to play fútbol again, or is Luca’s career the focal point now?”—they tear me up on the inside.
Do people think I need my brother’s permission to date? Or that I don’t care about my career now that I’m dating Luca?
These questions are multiplied by well-meaning fans. And while I know it’s their blatant curiosity getting the best of them, my run-ins with these questions leave me feeling off kilter. They twist my mood and infiltrate my self-talk, making me wonder if I’m ready for the big romantic commitment I’ve shirked for years.
My doubts grow legs the longer Luca and I are apart. But the moment we reunite, we reconnect wholly. And knowing our time together is limited, I don’t want to waste it talking about other people’s projections about our relationship. Those opinions shouldn’t matter anyway.
So, I push them away and soak up as much time with Luca as possible. I miss him desperately, but I also love how we crash back together after several days apart. Our needy couplings in early morning hours and sappy voice notes, filled with yearning, when he’s traveling to an away game, layer our relationship with a sense of adventure.
The time apart also provides us with an opportunity to know each other on a deeper level. Our conversations transcend our daily routines. We talk and text about meaningful topics, all laced with my sassy humor and Luca’s steadfast values.
Where do we see ourselves in five years?
I’m playing on a club team and representing Spain on the national team. Luca’s preparing to elevate his camp to an academy.
What destination do we want to visit most in the world?
I would love to see the cherry blossoms in Yoshino, Japan. Luca wants to cage dive with great white sharks in Cape Town, South Africa.
What superpower do we wish we had?
Luca wishes he could fly while I’d prefer mind-reading.
And so, our text thread goes, with Luca messaging on long team bus rides when he can’t make the phone call and me responding in early mornings or late evenings when I’m not at Santa Isabel.
By the time the end of April rolls around, my girls are poised to advance to the regional semifinals and League Valencia is competing against League Bilbao in the final for the Copa del Rey.
Our schedules are both about to normalize and I’m looking forward to spending more time with him after his game this weekend.
I’m shutting down my computer on Friday afternoon before I scoop up Abuela for our drive to Sevilla ahead of tomorrow’s game when I glimpse a sticky note tucked under my desk calendar, the corner sticking out.
I pull it out and swear. Anna Garida. Julieta Cruz.
Sighing, I drop back into my desk chair. I remember writing the girls’ names down so I could follow up on their submitted medical clearances and additional documentation. Since the girls are not Spanish citizens and are living in Valencia under their parents’ visas, I was required to fill out additional paperwork for their eligibility in the regional games.
But now…I fire my computer back up. I know I filled out the forms and…I close my eyes to sift through my memories. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of extra practice sessions, local games, and travel logistics as Sergio tried to screw me out of field time or busing priority on several occasions.
Sergio!
He walked into my office as I was filling out Anna and Julieta’s documents and offered to submit them with three of his players’ paperwork. Of course, I refused, not trusting his sincerity. But then, Juan Ramon, the athletic director, poked his head around the door, thanked Sergio for helping me, and I had no choice but to pass the papers to Sergio.
That’s why I wrote the sticky note! To remind myself to follow up on the documents being submitted and approved.
My stomach sinks even before I sign into the athletic portal. I grip my mouse and suck in a breath.
Sergio filed the paperwork. He might hate me, but he wouldn’t try to screw over the girls.
Oh, please! Of course he would. That’s why you didn’t want him to take the papers in the first place.
My mind argues with itself as the portal page loads.
“Ugh,” I groan, noting the red exclamation marks next to Anna and Julieta’s names. Insufficient documentation.
I check the boys’ roster and note that his three players have all been approved. Sergio didn’t file my players’ paperwork. On purpose. And, no doubt, he was hoping I wouldn’t notice because I’ve been so busy and he knows I was planning to go to Sevilla for the game this weekend.
