Page 41 of Last Line of Defense

“They brought up that thing about your former coach in Spain, Alicia.”

The expression on her face hardens instantly, turning into a stone mask.

“Sure, of course, that topic. I don’t even know why the hell I’m asking,” she mutters angrily. She jumps off the treatment table, landing on her good foot, and crosses her arms abruptly, erecting a reinforced concrete wall between us in an instant. “And what are they saying now? That I slept with him in his office to get preferential treatment, to have him clean up my image in the press and put me in the starting lineup for every league game?”

“They haven’t given me any juicy details about the matter, Alicia; they’ve just told me that…”

“Let me guess—I know it by heart!” she cuts me off, visibly upset, her eyes bloodshot with rage. “That the troublesome and capricious Alicia Puertas once again used her dirty tricks to seduce some poor, innocent member of the coaching staff who was unable to resist her charms. Is that what it was?”

I take a decisive step toward her, breaking my own rule, trying to bridge that physical and emotional distance that suddenly feels like an uncrossable chasm between us.

“Alicia, slow down a little, please. The only thing I really want to understand is why…”

“Just say it already, Clara!” she insists with a choked cry, her gaze accusing me. “They told you to stay as far away from me as possible if you don’t want to end up out on the street, didn’t they? Isn’t that right?”

I’m completely speechless, petrified. Not a single word comes out of my throat because answering would make the threat real.

“Perfect.” She holds my gaze with that defiant look she gets when she feels deeply hurt. “Look, Clara, I didn’t have a consensual relationship with my former coach, if that’s what’s worrying you so much,” she tells me with a seriousness and intensity I’ve never seen on her face in all the time we’ve been together. “What actually happened was that that man decided, entirely on his own, that he had the right to sexually assault me in his office. And when I stood my ground, put a stop to it, and set very clear boundaries, the narrative changed. Because in soccer, the story always turns against us. Because it was a thousand times easier and cheaper for the board to say that I was arrogant, problematic, and confrontational than to admit that their star coach had crossed a criminal line he should never have even come close to.”

I feel a wave of pure rage and tremendous disgust burning in my gut as I listen to her. Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen how, in elite professional soccer, the institutional image of a man in power carries a thousand times more weight than the words and dignity of a female player. It’s always the easy way out: point the finger at the player, label her the black sheep, and make her the sole culprit for their own failures or their shitty behavior.

“And of course…” Alicia continues, her voice beginning to tremble from the rush of adrenaline and the sense of helplessness, “since I already had that reputation for being stubborn and a woman who’s hard to tame, their whole story fit like a glove for the journalists. Case closed, and Alicia’s off to the transfer market.”

She lowers her gaze to the floor for a second, clenching her fists tightly, and when she lifts her head again to stare at me, I see the most absolute pain and vulnerability bleeding from the depths of her eyes.

“So no, Clara. I don’t go around causing chaos or sleeping with coaches wherever I sign. It’s everyone else who decides to pin the blame on me and use me as the perfect excuse to justify their bad ideas or their shitty behavior.”

I don’t know what the hell to say to her. Basically because there’s no right phrase in any manual to console someone for an injustice of that magnitude. So I let my instincts take over, move quickly, and step closer to her to hold her arms firmly, forcing her to feel my presence.

“I believe you, Alicia. I really do believe you.”

“Yeah, you believe me… but deep down you’re doubting me and wondering what this is going to cost you,” she says, drawing out her words very slowly, with a latent disappointment. I shake my head desperately. “Besides, if you believe me so much, why the hell are we having this conversation right now?”

There it is. The part of the script that my cowardice didn’t want to touch.

“I’m talking about reality, Alicia. About the fact that if this blows up, it could destroy both of our lives and careers.”

Alicia blinks a couple of times in a row, taking in the impact of my words, and then lets out a dry laugh, devoid of even the slightest hint of humor.

“Ah. So that’s the real underlying problem. You’re not willing to lose your ‘wonderful life’ and your professional status just because you’re with a woman like me.”

“Don’t simplify everything in such a petty way, please!” I plead, feeling cornered.

“No, Clara, not at all—I understand it perfectly,” she says, fixing me with a gaze in which I can see her hopes shatter into a thousand pieces. “You’re worried about your reputation. You’re terrified that your entire impeccable career will go down the drain simply because you’re in a romantic relationship with me, Alicia Puertas, the black sheep and the most controversial player in all of Europe.”

“What you’re saying isn’t fair to me. You know that’s not true.”

“Oh, really? It’s not fair?”

She suddenly takes a step forward and stands so incredibly close to me that I feel her hot breath hit my lips, challenging me to face her.

“Because from where I’m standing, the message you just dropped on me came through crystal clear and in high definition: Alicia Puertas is a very high professional risk, and I need to weigh whether she’s worth putting my permanent position on the line for.”

“Don’t do this to me, I’m begging you…” I whisper, feeling as if I can’t breathe.

“What? Tell you the truth straight to your face without beating around the bush?”

My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, threatening to burst out. Because yes. Because I’m terrified. Because a deeply wounded part of my past keeps screaming at me that falling in love with someone at work is a very sophisticated and painful form of mass self-destruction. And because admitting that cowardice to her makes me feel like the most miserable person on the planet.