Page 19 of Last Line of Defense

Sonia finally looks up from her nails and raises an eyebrow with pure malice at the physical therapist.

“Is Dr. Valle giving you some kind of first-class special treatment that the rest of us don’t know about, Alicia?”

I burst out laughing, throwing my head back and leaning against the cold metal of my locker.

“Of course, girls. Spending time with Clara is an idyllic experience, full of tenderness, pampering, and affection,” I say sarcastically, playing along.

“And medical threats to bench you,” Alba adds, winking at me knowingly.

“Especially medical threats,” I confirm, delighted to play along. “Although I have to tell you, her hands do so much more for my muscles than all her strict orders combined.”

The collective laughter grows louder in the locker room. Clara stands in the middle of the room, her posture perfectly straight, her shoulders stiff as boards, and her folder clutched tightly to her chest, probably weighing her options between seeking political asylum and fleeing the country right this very moment.

“I’m absolutely delighted to see that my professional authority and my therapeutic massages are generating so much controversy and debate among the team,” she remarks, displaying impeccable composure, though I—who haven’t taken my eyes off her—detect a subtle, lovely crimson blush rising in her cheeks.

“Hey, it’s not your massages that are causing controversy here, Clara,” Alba replies with completely feigned innocence as she ties her hair back. “It’s the insane chemistry between the two of you. I mean, you can feel the tension from across the club’s hallway, for heaven’s sake.”

A brief but incredibly heavy silence falls over the locker room. Sonia lets out a low “Ooh, ooh, ooh!” that does absolutely nothing to calm the waters. I laugh even harder, leaning forward on the bench with that exaggerated nonchalance you always use when you want to hide an open secret.

“Come on, you’re making such a big deal out of nothing,” I say, waving my hand in the air as if to downplay it. “Clara barely tolerates my existence at this club. She puts up with me and touches my knee because she gets paid for it at the end of the month—don’t get so worked up.”

“Yeah, right… That’s exactly what all the proud ones say right before they end up married,” Alba mutters loud enough for even the girls in the back row to hear.

“Shut your mouth once and for all or I swear I’ll kill you right here,” I warn her with a nervous laugh, grabbing my used towel and throwing it straight at her face.

But the truth is, nerves have already settled in my stomach. And even though I try to keep up my cocky facade, I notice the immediate shift in the atmosphere. That precise, uncomfortable moment when a silly joke stops being just a joke among teammates. Because rumors on a soccer team start exactly like this: with knowing glances, with snide comments spoken aloud, and with little remarks that, if repeated often enough in the locker room, end up becoming public and official truths. Clara knows this all too well. And so do I.

When I look back at her, she’s no longer smiling in the slightest. She’s not even trying to hide it from the group. There’s something far more serious, sharp, and cold in her expression: a clear, impeccable, purely professional warning. Before I can open my mouth to smooth things over, she simply nods stiffly.

“Don’t be late,” she says in an icy voice. And immediately afterward, she turns on her heel and strides out of the locker room without looking back even once.

The door slams shut behind her, and the laughter in the locker room dies down abruptly. I stare at that empty space for far too long, a strange feeling in my chest. You’ve really screwed up, Alicia. You’re an idiot.

Sonia is the first to break the awkward silence.

“Oh my God… I think we just summoned the devil in all her glory. She stormed out of here as if the devil herself were chasing her with a trident.”

“I firmly believe that Alba deserves to be expelled from Ravenhill FC for life for inciting a riot and harassing the medical staff,” I add, trying to regain my usual mocking tone.

“And I think,” Alba says suddenly, coming over to sit right next to me on the wooden bench and confidently draping an arm over my shoulders, “that a certain star forward is way more into Dr. Valle than she’s willing to admit in public. Come on, Alicia, tell us the truth. What the hell is really going on between you and Clara? Because the tension between you two is thick enough to cut with a knife…”

I glare at her, feigning indignation, though I can’t help but let an involuntary half-smile slip out as I remember the showers.

“Don’t make such a big deal out of it, Alba. She’s just… a complicated woman to deal with, that’s all.”

“Oh, Alicia, sweetie, you know me: I live for drama and thrive on it. And this is major drama with a capital D,” she insists, giving me an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder. “You get as nervous as a fifteen-year-old the moment she peeks through the door. And she goes stiff as a board the moment you open your mouth to blurt out one of your silly remarks. It’s adorable and worrisome at the same time.”

I sigh resignedly and run a hand through my brown hair, which is still damp from exertion.

“There’s nothing going on between us. You’re just imagining things.”

“Look, Alicia, that exact phrase always means the exact opposite in the language of women,” Sonia replies from her locker, looking at me with serious intensity. “If you need to vent or talk about anything, we’re here for you. No judgment. Well, hardly any—we know each other.”

I hate it with every fiber of my being when the people around me are absolutely right. I jump to my feet to change the subject drastically before these two decide to give me an unsolicited emotional counseling session right in the middle of the locker room.

“So what? Do you guys really think Northbridge is going to crash and burn in the league this year, or are we going to keep letting Alba fail spectacularly as the team’s sports analyst?”

And, fortunately, the trick works. In less than a minute, we’re back to talking about the usual stuff: soccer, tactics, the latest rumors from the summer transfer market, Easton’s star forward who’s probably going to switch clubs in the coming weeks, and the absurd pressure that the Ravenhill FC board is putting on our shoulders this season. Expectations of winning, titles, and results. The old, boring, safe language of professional sports. I answer everything, offer my opinions with ease, and smile at the right moments in the conversation so no one suspects a thing. But a huge part of my mind remains completely detached from that locker room chat, trapped by the exit door, thinking about Clara hurrying away down the hallway and the exact way her expression hardened because of me. Because what happened between us in those showers has irreversibly changed the rules of the game, and that change is no longer a private—and delightful—secret between her and me. Now there’s a real possibility that someone else might stick their nose in and notice. And I don’t find that idea funny at all.