Kulti (42 page)

Okay
. That was a little extreme. Sort of.
Patience
.
Patience
.

There was only one person who could have been behind this possible move. That spiteful, little asshole.

“Thank you for telling me,” I somehow managed to tell Franz, even though my insides were ready for anarchy.

“Don’t waste your potential,
ja?
”

I nodded at him, feeling this huge surge of emotion climb up my chest, and it wasn’t good. It made the smile on my face feel short of the braveness I wanted to portray. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Call me, email me, whatever you need,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you, Franz. I really appreciate it.” I did, even if the news made me want to cry.

Going to play with freaking Amber and her minions?

Apparently my thoughts were written all over my face. He gave me a sad smile that made me feel even worse.

A soft touch at the small of my back had me straightening up my shoulders. “Franz is spending the night. Have dinner with us,” Kulti said, stopping at my side.

Bile pinched my throat, and I had to keep my gaze away from his. “I need to go home. Thank you, though.”

He ignored me. “I’ll ride with you. Franz, take my car.”

“Rey, I want to go home,” I told him firmly.

“I want you to come over,” he replied, already turning around. “Where are your things?” Kulti didn’t even wait for me to say anything else before he started walking in the direction of my bag. Damn it.

“Rey,” I called out, following after him.

He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stop walking. “You don’t have anything else to do. Stop being difficult.”

“Umm, I do have things to do. I have to go for my run later, or I might do some yoga.” Or cry, or scream… the usual.

The German waved me off.

I was going to kill him.”
Reyyyyy
!”

Nothing.

Son of a bitch.

“He’s difficult, isn’t he?”

“That’s the understatement of a lifetime,” I told Franz. “What a pain in the ass. I really don’t know how someone hasn’t killed him in cold blood yet.”

The other man barked out a laugh.

From across the field, I spotted the Kulti
in the process of throwing my bag over his shoulder. “There’s no point in even trying to argue with him, is there?” I asked Franz.

“
Nein
.”

“He’s such a pain in the ass.”

Franz snickered. “He is.”

I sighed. I could leave after a little while. Hopefully.

I met Kulti at my car where he had apparently already gone through my bag to get my keys. He tossed them over the roof and we got in, waving at Franz as he slipped into the Audi parked next to mine. As soon as we were inside, I shot him a look. “You could have let Franz ride with me instead of making him ride alone.”

He gave me that annoyingly even look. “He will survive by himself.”

I glared at him for a beat before shaking my head. “You’re being rude.”

“I don’t care.”

Not a surprise. I turned on the ignition and pulled out of the lot before I finally thought about it. “Why didn’t you invite Mike?”

“I don’t like him.”

Seriously, I would never understand men. “Then why did you invite him today?”

“He owed me a favor,” was his simple response. Then he added, “And his plane ticket was reasonable.”

Wait a second. “You—“ I couldn’t get the words out. I had to swallow and process what he’d said. “You paid for their tickets here?”

Kulti didn’t even bother looking at me; his attention was directed out the window. “Yes.”

I dropped my head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. This was all too much for one afternoon. Way too much. Everything seemed to pile on top of me. “How do you expect me to ever pay you back?”

“I don’t,” he answered, turning to face me. “The light is green.”

Sitting up, I kept my gaze forward. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I wasn’t sure what the hell I would do. “I didn’t even think about how they made it here. I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry for not thanking you more.”

Nothing.

I clutched the steering wheel and kept my mouth closed the entire drive back.

I was getting traded.

Half of my teammates thought I was a tramp.

The idiot next to me had been paying for people’s plane tickets to come to my youth camps, my free camps.

I was at least a little bit in l-o-v-e with the same idiot, but realistically it was more like a lot. My childhood feelings had come back in full force, more real than ever. Plus I knew myself, and I didn’t tend to half-ass anything.

And said idiot was leaving at the end of the season.

What the hell was I doing with my life? Everything I’d worked up to, worked for, suddenly seemed to be repelled by me.

What was I going to do?

My nose tickled in response.

We arrived at his house and parked, but still I couldn’t get myself to say anything. I wanted to cry. I really wanted to cry, and I sure as hell didn’t want to do it anywhere near here.

I kept my gaze down and followed the German up to his door where Franz was already waiting. We’d barely gone inside when I felt a choking cough in my throat. I knew I needed to get away from them. “Where’s your bathroom?” I asked him in a voice that sounded even weird to me.

“Up the stairs, first door,” he answered, his voice distant enough to let me know he wasn’t standing that close.

“I’ll be right back,” I lied, already hauling my butt up the stairs, desperate to get away.

Two swipes at my leaky nose later with the back of my hand, and I was inside. I didn’t even bother turning on the light before I was plopping onto the porcelain rim of a tub I could appreciate when my life wasn’t falling apart.

I was getting traded because I was friends with someone.

My throat convulsed and I hiccupped.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t do it, Sal. Don’t you fucking do it.

I managed to hold out thirty seconds before the next hiccup wrecked my upper body. It was followed by another and then another. By the fifth one, I hunched over and pressed my palms to my eye sockets. I didn’t cry hardly ever. When I was upset, I did other things to get my mind off of whatever was bothering me. There were very few things in life worth crying over, my mom had told me once.

Sitting on that tub, I really tried to tell myself that getting traded wasn’t the end of the world. I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t take it personally. It was just business and it happened, sometimes, to other people.

That only made me cry harder.

I was an idiot. A stupid fucking
idiot
.

When I thought about Kulti cashing in favors to get players to come to my camp and buying kids’ shoes and how he’d given me a freaking hug, it only made things worse.

I cried like a baby, a big silent baby that didn’t want anyone to hear her.

“
Schnecke,
did you—“ Kulti’s voice abruptly cut off.

In hindsight I would realize that I didn’t hear him come in because he didn’t knock. He just barged right in, sticking his big fat head in the room like there wasn’t a chance that I was on the toilet doing something he wouldn’t want to see. I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t muffle the next sob or bother to try and hide it.

I missed the horrified look on Kulti’s face before he came inside and shut the door

behind him. I didn’t see him drop to his knees or put his hands on my own, lowering his head so that his forehead pressed to mine.

“
Schnecke
,” he said in the softest, most affectionate tone I’d ever heard. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I managed to blabber out. I was shaking and my upper body was convulsing with soundless cries.

“Stop with your lies and tell me why you’re crying,” he ordered even as he scooted forward and stroked a big hand down my spine.

“I’m not crying.”

“You are the worst liar I have ever met.” He moved to rub my shoulder. “Why are you upset?”

Every time he asked, I somehow managed to cry harder, my body shaking more; there were actual noises coming out of me. “It’s stupid.”

“More than likely, but tell me anyway,” he said in a gentle voice.

I couldn’t catch my breath. “They’re… going… to… trade… me,” I bawled to my freaking humiliation.

The hand on my shoulder didn’t let up its comforting circles. “Who told you?”

“Franz,” I said, but it really sounded like more
Franzzzz-agh.

Something quick and vicious-sounding in German shot out of his mouth: a spit, a curse on top of a curse.

“He’s not lying, is he?” I asked his shirt collar.

Kulti sighed into the top of my head. “No. He wouldn’t say something unless he was sure,” he confirmed.

My heart and my head were both well aware that the signs had been there.

“Gardner warned me, but I didn’t listen,” I told him. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I know it’s not the end of the world and this is embarrassing, but I can’t stop crying.”

The big German I’d been in love with since I was a kid, put his arms all around me. And he shushed me. Literally, he said, “Shush.” Then he held me a little closer and said into my ear, “You’re better than this. Stop crying.”

“I can’t,” I whined for probably the first time in at least ten years.

“You can and you will,” he said tenderly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now—“

Of course he couldn’t. He’d never been traded against his will and if he had, it had to have been for a better position and more money. For me, it was like getting dumped. Violated. Thrown away.

“—but you’re better than this. In two years you’ll be thanking them for being so stupid—“

His pep talk wasn’t helping. “I gave them the best years of my life,” I might have wailed, but hoped I didn’t.

“You have not. You haven’t even reached the peak of your career.”

I was inconsolable. Reiner Kulti was telling me I still had better years ahead of me, and it wasn’t making me feel better.

“Taco. Stop. Stop this instant,” he demanded in a grave voice.

I couldn’t. All I could keep thinking was that Houston was where I wanted to be. It’s the place I had made my home. If they had asked me first if I wanted to go somewhere else, it would be one thing, but these under-the-table deals were for the players you tried to get rid of so that they wouldn’t blow a gasket.

There was snot running down my nose and it made the German huff in exasperation and tighten his hold around me, his arms like a shield against the world. “I know this is my fault, and I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured in that thick accent I wanted to wrap myself in.

“It’s not your fault,” I said muffled against him before changing my mind. “I don’t regret it at all. This is their fault for being so damn dumb. I’ve always done whatever they wanted me to do. I’m a team player. I don’t completely suck. I get to practice early and stay late, and this is how they repay me? By trying to send me to fucking New York? Where I’ll probably never get to play again?”

I sat up, not caring in the least that I had to look like a giant mess and sniffled at my friend. I was feeling the weight of a hundred galaxies on my shoulders, feeling my dreams on the cusp of slipping away. I knew I was being overdramatic, but it was all too much. “What am I going to do?” I asked him, like he had all the answers.

Kulti palmed my knees again. That handsome face that had aged gracefully was solemn, but he looked me dead in the eye as he spoke. “You’re going to keep playing. I promise you, Sal. I would never put your career at risk.”

I sniffled and made a watery noise in my throat, my shoulders shaking and warning of another round of tears.

The German shook his head. “No. No more. I won’t let you down; now stop crying. It makes me nauseous.”

That was almost funny. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and he scowled, reaching back to pull a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll before handing them to me. “Control yourself,” he ordered.

I almost laughed. I sniffled and wiped at my face with the tissue he gave me. “You can’t tell me to ‘control myself,’ it doesn’t work that way.”

“You’re supposed to do what I say,” he said, snatching the tissue away from me and dabbing at my cheeks a little more forcefully than necessary with a frown.

That made me crack a small, pitiful smile. “Who said that?”

He met my eyes. “I did.”

I pressed my lips together. “That’s convenient.”

Kulti reached back and grabbed more toilet paper. “You’re a mess,” he said, continuing his cleanup process. “I didn’t take you to be a crybaby.”

“I’m not.” I tried to snatch the tissue away from him, but he held his hand out of reach. I stretched and he easily pulled his hand away further out of my grasp. “I can wipe my own face off.”

He smacked my hand away. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he grumbled, returning to dabbing at me.

“You know, the world doesn’t revolve around what you do or don’t want to do,” I said as he rubbed a little too hard under my nose, making me wince.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m not used to this.”

“You’ve never had to clean off a girl’s face before?”

He pulled back to observe his work. “Never.”

I let out a deep sigh, eased by his admission. “In that case, thank you for the honor.”

Kulti didn’t say anything; instead he put a hand on each cheek and tipped my head back. I had never been more aware of not having make-up on or looking like hell than I did right then. The man, who had dated supermodels, actresses and probably a whole bunch of sluts, didn’t comment on my freckles, the bags under my eyes or the scars I had.

He finally dropped his hands and gave my thighs a pat with a long, deep exhale. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said.

An exasperated breath later, he’d taken hold of my hands and pulled me up to my feet. “No. You’re fine.”

“Rey, seriously, give me a minute.” I buckled my knees so that he couldn’t drag me along.

With one yank, he pulled me forward. “So that you can cry more? No. Come. I have the coffee you like.”

I sniffled and he gave me a dirty look in return. Why did I even bother? “You’re a bossy bitch, you know that?” I asked him even as I let him lead me out of the darkened bathroom.