For the Win (9 page)

Chapter 23

(2012)

It was only thirty degrees outside when Allie met me on the steps of our apartment building. My ride, an engineering student that gave me a lift home for gas money, drove off.

I approached my sister, who I hadn’t seen in three months, and spread my arms in anticipation of a hug. Instead I got crossed arms and a dirty look.

“Merry Christmas?”

“Don’t even.”

Oh shit.

“Happy Hanukkah?”

“Shut up, Julian.”

I dropped my bags on the bottom step and rubbed my hand over my face. I still had the slight twinge of a headache from the night before. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you really think she—we— wouldn’t find out?”

I paused before I spoke, scanning my memory for which of many offenses she could be talking about. It had been a crazy night. The ‘she’ was clearly Melina. Who, I realized, now that I’d assessed the crazy rage on my sister’s face, had not returned my last text.

“Don’t play dumb,” she said.

I shook my head, trying to quiet the panic in my gut. “Maybe I am dumb.”

“You’re a dumbass for sure.” She sat on the step and sighed. “Look. I get that long distance is hard, but don’t forget—you were the one who suggested it way back when.”

There was no poker face when it came to me and Allie. She knew me better than I knew myself. I decided to keep quiet, not wanting to implicate myself unnecessarily.

              “It’s bad enough you fucked around, but then to see all of that on Facebook?” She glared at me.

“All of what?” I asked, stomach sinking. I’d gone to an end of term holiday party the night before at the Kappa Delta house. Things had gotten a little wild. “I didn’t post any pictures.”

She already had her phone out. She handed it over, tapping the screen. “Oh, you didn’t have to.” My memory of the night was fuzzy, but one glance at Kappa Delta’s page gave me total recall.

“Slutty Santas? Really, Julian?” Allie asked, summing up the KD’s costumes. The tiny red and green velvet dresses left little to the imagination. “And don’t even get me started on their Instagram. This party?” She poked at the screen, more angry than I’d seen her in a while. “Updated. Live. All night.”

“I didn’t tell them to dress that way!” Man, were those girls hot, though—especially Brenna Miller. I eyed a photo of the curvy blonde, my arm wrapped around her waist, remembering how friendly she’d been. She’d spent most of the night on my lap, boobs in my face. Guilt thundered through me.
Shit.

A stinging slap seared across my shoulder. I shut off Allie’s phone and handed it to her. “Is Melina okay?”

My sister stared at me. “Are you serious right now?”

“Nothing happened, Al.”

“Either you’re lying
to my face
,” she said. “Or you were too wasted to remember. You’re an asshole either way.”

I consulted my own phone as she ranted, looking up the KD’s Instagram page. It was pretty bad. Countless photos of debauchery, but the Snaps were gone, and with them more ‘evidence’ of the party. It didn’t matter, though. What had been seen could not be unseen. “So she’s pissed?”

“Yeah.”

I gave her a look. Melina was tough as nails.

“Okay yeah, hurt
and
pissed.”

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“If by talk you mean grovel, yes. Otherwise I’m not sure you should.”

Feeling like the scum of the earth, I grabbed the handle of my bag and stood. “Thanks for giving me a heads up, Al, but it isn’t really any of your business.”

“Maybe not,” she said. She stood two steps above mine so we were eye to eye. “But this?” She gestured to me. “Isn’t you. You look like shit and smell like booze. You better not let mom see you like that or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

She turned and walked up the stairs, going home. I’d spent my life juggling my mom, Allie and Melina, but this was the first time I’d risked making them all angry at once.

The worst part was, I deserved it.

Chapter 24

We’re in the middle of drills when I snap.

“What the hell was that, Gonzales!” I holler, throwing the ball hard as I can at his shins. He charged me moments before, nearly slamming me into the post.

“When did you turn into such a lightweight?” he shouts back, arms up in the air.

I counter with a string of profanities, kicking the pole with my cleat. “Julian, chill out,” Brent says, walking around the goal. “He just got a little close.”

Rage boils in my chest. I haven’t felt this angry in a long time. Competitiveness surges through my limbs, and it’s like a key has been turned in my head. “Fuck him,” I say, getting ready for the next ball. It gets past me, tipping off my fingers into the net with a soft swish. “Dammit.”

“Why don’t you take a break,” Brent suggests. “Dominic, you’re up.”

“Hell no is he up—I just got in here. I’ve got at least ten more minutes.”

“Jules, get off the field.”

His voice is calm, making me even more irrationally angry. I rip off my gloves and tug at the collar of my shirt. On the way off the field, I kick two stray balls as hard as I can, watching them sail out of view. “Bastards,” I mumble.

“Told you.” I hear from behind me. “Knew he’d blow up sooner than later.”

I spin, looking for a face to match the voice, but Brent is herding me off the field. “I’m not blowing up,” I declare, loud enough for the guys closest to me to hear.

“Get a drink.”

I grab my bottle, my head swimming.

Brent stops short and reaches for my arm “You okay?”

“Just hot.”

He stands before me with narrow eyes. “How’s your sugar, or you know, whatever it is you watch?”

“Shut up,” I say, wishing he’d leave me be. “My levels are fine.”

“Seriously, Jules, do you need to eat something? You’re being a dick.” He looks me over
.
His words snap me out of it—a little—and I rummage through my bag for my kit. I move to the trainer tent and test my blood. Sure enough, I’m running high. I adjust my insulin and drink two bottles of water and soon my head clears. Brent walks over.

“You okay?”

“Shit.” Exhaling roughly, I squint up at Brent. “I’m sorry.”

“No big. We just need to keep an eye on it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Go down to medical. Have them check you out.”

My temper flares again. “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.”

He jerks his head to the side. “Go. Or I’ll get Mitchell down here.”

Too tired to argue, I grab my bag and stalk off the field, fighting the woozy feeling in my head. Thankfully the cool air from the locker room wakes me up a little, and I head to the clinic.

“You okay?” the receptionist asks.

“Light-headed. I think my sugar just got low. They sent me down here.”

Allie rounds the corner, foot wrapped in ice. Concern flickers over her face before shifting to annoyance. “You’ve got your bitchy face on. What did you do?”

I’m too cranky to laugh, but she’s right. Brent was right. I slipped, and I know it. “I’m okay.”

“Did you eat something? Are your levels good?” Her hand lingers on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been adding calories in the morning to compensate for the extra workouts, but I don’t think it’s enough.” I glance down. “How’s the foot?”

“It’s fine. Just swelling a little.”

We haven’t talked about the risks of Allie playing on that old injury.  We haven’t talked much at all. Aside from quick exchanges in the cafeteria and reminiscing during our interviews, we’ve been doing our own thing since arriving. This is mostly my fault; I’ve never been able to keep much from Allie, because we’ve always been too close. McDowell’s put me in an awkward position with his deal, and it’s created distance between me and my twin.

But I miss her. And I’m tired of feeling isolated. “You busy now? Want to get lunch?”

She smiles, eyes softening. “My schedule is clear for a little bit, so yeah.”

I throw my arm around her shoulder. She leans in, and it feels nice—like old times.

*

We’re the first ones in the dining hall, our plates cleaned and pushed aside by the time everyone else starts filtering in.

“So you think you’ll be able to play?” We’ve been talking about her foot, and I want to know the truth.

She hesitates. “Probably as much as you will.”

“Ouch.” I watch her closely, trying to determine if she’s as okay as she’s acting.

“Well, your time on the sidelines is a direct result of your past.” She shrugs, matter of fact. “I’m just a product of a shitty accident.”

“So we’ll go to the Olympics but ride the bench?” I eat the final piece of bread off my plate.

“We could do worse—right?”

Her mouth tugs into a frown, and she looks away. Twin instinct tells me that comment had heavier implications and I ask, “So how’s Marcus anyway?”

Her eyes light in surprise—yeah, I nailed it. Marcus had always rounded out our little group, as close to Allie as I was to Melina. They dated for a while in high school, but when Allie left for college he went to a small school in town. He had plans to transfer to a bigger one, but ended up losing his athletic scholarship and dropping out. Last I’d heard, things weren’t too good between him and Allie. She hasn’t offered much information since.

“I haven’t spoken to him,” she admits.

              “Yeah, me either.”

“Have you tried?”

“Not in a long time.” I shake my head, remembering the last time Marcus and I hung out. It had been unexpectedly awkward. “He was just so angry at first, you know? Then things got weird.”

She nods and folds her napkin into a tiny square. “Melina is still in touch with him.”

“Really?” An uneasy feeling spins in my stomach. No wonder he stopped talking to me.

“Yeah.”

“So they talk? A lot?” I press.

“I don’t know. Enough.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “So you’ve got Melina and Melina has Marcus and I’ve got…”

“Me.” She lays her hand on the table, palm up. “Isn’t that how this works?”

              Smirking, I squeeze her upturned hand. “We hung out the other night, did she tell you?”

“You and Mel?” She doesn’t hide the shock in her voice. “How did that go?”

“Actually, better than expected. We’ve agreed to just move on—forget about the past.”

“Hmm.” Her expression stays neutral, but I know her.

“What? Not convinced we can do it?”

Her shoulders lift. “No, just, I guess good luck with that, you know? You guys have a lot of history. More good than bad, considering.” She pauses, looking at me. “Are you ditching that, too? The good times?”

A group of gymnasts come in the door and go through the line, filling their plates and grabbing drinks from the cooler. “I’m doing what I can to get through this. I’ll play by her rules if that’s what it takes.”

“And then?”

“And then we win gold medals and go down in history.” The answer is a dodge and my sister knows it. I’ve got nothing better at this point though. The three of us will get to Brazil and take it from there. It’s our job to be a part of a team, not figure out relationship dramas from the past five years.

Because it doesn’t matter what I think, what I want. The ball is in Melina’s court—or, possession if we’re going with soccer—not mine.

Reporter
: There’s another interesting part of your story that we’ve only touched on a little bit.

Julian
: What’s that?

Reporter
: Melina Diaz.

Julian
: *
Raises eyebrow
*

Reporter
: You and Allie went to school with her. The odds of two players from the same community making it to the Olympics are astronomical, but three? And rumor has it you’re all good friends.

Julian
: Allie and Melina have always been best friends. They play as one unit on the field. I can’t wait for the world to see it.

Reporter
: What about your relationship with Melina?

Julian
: We’ve known each other since we were kids. We’re all pretty tight.

Reporter
: I heard you two dated at one time.

Julian
: Ah, right. Well, Olympians like to gossip a little too much. Melina is a very special person. She’s smart. Talented. Beautiful. She’s clever and has a wicked sense of humor. But most of all she’s like family.  I’m grateful Allie has always had a best friend like that.

Reporter: She has a reputation.

Julian: I don’t know what that means.

Reporter: She’s team captain, right? She keeps everyone in line. She’s hard to get to know.

Julian: Every team has to have a leader. It’s an important role. Melina is more than qualified and she works her ass—butt—off every day for that team. And yeah, she’s hard to get to know. She’s very strong, which can come off as abrasive to some people, but she’s more than her gruff exterior. She’s the heart of the team. She cares so much about the Games and the players and frankly, everyone in her life. Her parents. Her siblings. They relied on her. We—me and Allie—relied on her, back in the day. It’s hard on her, always being the responsible one.

Reporter
: Sounds like she’s quite remarkable. Are you still close?

Julian
: *
shakes head
*

*
turns off tape
*

Veronica
: One day you’re going to tell me what happened, Julian.

Julian
: You’ve been gossiping around the training camp. There’s no way you don’t already know.

Veronica
: But I want to hear it from you.

Julian
: Nope.