Why the hell is Sergio here? And why does he have Álvaro cornered?
Keeping my nonchalance, I stride over to the men, who are clustered beside a potted plant.
“You’ve been around long enough to know where the real talent lies, old man. Was it you who gave Carla the heads-up about her players’ paperwork? It had to have been you…” Sergio bites out in rapid Castellano, leaning closer to Álvaro. “One call from me…” He points to his chest to emphasize his importance. “And the school will find someone younger, more capable, to sweep the hallways. Do you want to lose the only thing you have left? Or do you want to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
Álvaro doesn’t flinch. He’s stared down fuckers bigger and badder than Sergio.
But I see red. My hands clench and unclench as waves of hot fury roll through me. Who the fuck does he think he is threatening my friend? Sergio messing with Álvaro is the last straw. I’ve been trying, for weeks, to keep my shit in check and let Carla handle this as she sees fit.
But I can’t stand back and let this slide. And I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines where Carla is concerned and letting this fucker mess with her head. I’m just…done.
Rushing toward them, I shove Sergio away from my friend. He staggers back a few steps before rolling his eyes. “This doesn’t concern you?—”
I have him pinned up against the wall with my forearm cutting into his windpipe in seconds. Fury rolls through me—for all the shit Carla’s put up with, for the spillover it’s had on her team, and for the horrible words Álvaro just endured. “Shut the fuck up,” I growl. “Álvaro, Carla, they’re my family.” I jab at my chest, half mocking him and half making my own point. “And my family will always concern me. You think you can threaten him? One more word and it will be you that’s out of a job, Sergio.”
His face reddens and his lips flap. I slightly release the pressure against his throat. But my mouth keeps going.
“Not only because you’re a shitty coach and your team hasn’t won a title in two seasons but because you’re a terrible fucking role model for adolescent boys. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing but you’re not going to win. If you speak to Álvaro again or do anything to undermine Carla and the program she’s running, you’ll answer to me. And trust me, you don’t want to fucking go there.”
I step back and Sergio sucks in a breath. His eyes are wide, blown with momentary panic, and his mouth falls open, gaping at me in shock.
I shake my head at him and turn away, gripping the handles of Álvaro’s wheelchair and pushing him out of the physical therapy building.
“That’s going to blow up in your face,” Álvaro warns, his voice calm. Almost bored.
I snort. “Fuck him.”
But my stomach twists and my hands grow clammy as the repercussions of my exchange with Sergio slam into me.
Deep down, I know Álvaro’s right. And I brace myself for the fallout.
It’s a spectacular fall from grace. And even though I’m not sorry for my actions, or for the words I spit at Sergio, I am sorry that it affects every aspect of my fucking life.
Within the week, as Carla’s team prepares for their final match and League Valencia gears up for our last big push of the season, I’m tagged in thousands of social media posts rehashing my interaction with Sergio, weighing in on the reasons behind it, and either celebrating me for standing up for my girlfriend or tearing me down for solving problems with my hands.
Since no one glancing at the short video clip that someone must have recorded and posted knows the nature of Sergio’s and my heated exchange, rumors run the gamut.
Some claim that Sergio fucked Carla and I’m reacting in a jealous rage.
Others are certain that I’m trying to control the success of Carla’s team by undercutting Sergio’s.
And some insist that Sergio must have sexually assaulted Carla or one of the girls and I lost it, stepping in to protect them.
“You’re going to be sued for slander or libel,” Carlos warns me the day Coach Javi calls me into his office.
Andrés shakes his head. “There’s a greater chance of Sergio pressing charges for physical assault.”
I blow it off, but deep down, I’m concerned. Carla hasn’t spoken to me in three days, not since the video went viral. Bianca called me, furious, and cursed me out for a solid ten minutes for being so “goddamn reckless.” Only Álvaro offers wise counsel, reminding me to keep my mouth shut and lawyer up.
Hanging my head, I walk into Javi’s office and close the door.
“Take a seat.” He gestures to the seat in front of his desk.
Sighing, I sit down and wait to be reprimanded.
Javi sighs. “I know you, DiBlanco. You wouldn’t have put your hands on that guy if there wasn’t a good reason.”
I nod in agreement. But don’t offer words—neither an excuse nor an explanation.
