For the Win (18 page)

Chapter 41

August 18

(Rest Men/Women)

The door clicks behind me as I stand across the desk from a weary-looking Mitchell.  Brent is perched on one of the seats, knee bouncing.

“How is he?” I ask.

“Not great.” The coaches exchange a look. Brent grimaces and drops a bombshell. “He broke his hand.”

“Holy shit.” I ease into the empty chair. “How?”

“After you left he got even more upset and punched the wall mirror.”

I look over at Mitchell. Now I understand the tired eyes and messed up hair. He didn’t sleep at all last night. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s in with the sports psychiatrist right now. They think the stress got to him. He wouldn’t be the first,” he says.

I rub my chin. “Okay, what do we do?”

“You’re up. There’s no other way around it.” Mitchell peers at me from behind the desk. “Are you ready? I know you had a scare the other day.”

“I’m fine, my levels are good,” I assure him. “The clinic gave me the go-ahead.”

“You’ve been a real asset to the team, Julian. I’ll admit I was skeptical at first,” Mitchell says. “Your coach at Clemson called me earlier this summer, telling me to stay away from you—that there was no way you’d pull it through...but McDowell had other ideas so I agreed to let you come on. I appreciate your dedication to the team.”

“You do know I’m part of the reason Dominic cracked, right?”

“No. Don’t blame yourself even if Dom wants to throw you under the bus.” Brent shakes his head. “This isn’t the first time he’s gotten overwhelmed. We just thought it was under control.”

That makes me feel a little bit better, but there’s something else nagging at me.

Mitchell’s talking again. “I’ve already told Johnson you’ll be starting in the next game. Make sure you’re ready to go. There is no back up.” He stares at me until I nod in understanding. “Anything else before you head back?”

“Actually, there is one thing,” I hedge.

“What’s that?”

“I need to talk to McDowell.”

*

I’
m waiting for the elevator to go up to my room when the car arrives with a ding. The shiny silver doors slide apart, revealing Melina on the other side.

“Hey,” I say, waiting for her to get off. We haven’t seen much of each other since I collapsed on the field the other night, and while that’s mostly because of our matches and Dominic’s breakdown, I’ve wondered if she’s been avoiding me.

“Speak of the devil,” she says, cocking her head.

I look around but we’re alone—the car is empty other than her. “You talking to yourself?”

“Not exactly...but I was just looking for you.” She stays inside the elevator, watching me until I get the hint and join her. Before I can press anything, Melina reaches around me and hits the seventh floor button. She lifts a key card for me to see: room number 1762.

“Where—” She quiets me with her mouth. Tugging me down, she presses her soft, pillowy lips firmly against mine. I try to deepen the kiss, but she pulls back, nipping at my neck. Dropping my bag, I brace a hand against the wall as we zoom upward, off balance from surprise. With my other hand, I trace the curve of her cheek. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Her fingers spider-web over my pump. “I’m not mad...but you do scare me sometimes, Julian.”

The elevator comes to a stop, opening on my floor. Neither of us make a move. The door waits for a second, then two, and one final beat before it eventually slides shut.

Again we rise, silent, until we hit the next floor. The buzzer seems extra loud as I grab my bag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder. Melina is already halfway down the hall, checking the numbers on every door. Stopping abruptly, she pushes the key card into one door’s slot. The little green light blinks, and she’s about to open the door when I grab her hand.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask.

She looks down at my hand, then back up at my eyes. “Yes.”

She doesn’t know about Dominic, or the fact McDowell agreed to let Allie play tomorrow. She doesn’t know I’ll get my shot at winning a gold medal, for real winning. From the look in her eyes and the set of her jaw, though, she doesn’t want anything right now but me. I want her right back.

Pushing her hand out of the way, I unlock the door and open it wide. Melina follows me inside, closing the door behind her. And then we pause, the gravity of what we’re doing heavy between us.

“For the record,” I say, brushing her hair over her shoulder, “you scare the hell out of me, too.”

The suite has a frat house feel. Empty bottles and stale pizza crusts are scattered around the living room and kitchen. Other than that, it’s identical to mine two floors down, including the cheesy art on the wall over the couch.

One bedroom door is already closed, a pair of beat up sneakers abandoned by the wall. I hear the faint sound of voices, so I follow Melina to the empty room at the end of the hall. The lamp on the nightstand is dim, casting our shadows onto the narrow twin bed. The room is hardly luxurious, but a surge of arousal runs through my limbs anyway, settling in my stomach. Everything else seems far away. The games. The drama. Everything that’s not in this room.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, but that’s all wrong. I close the distance between us, stilling her movement.  She stares at my chest, red tinting her neck, and I take over, lifting the shirt up and over her head.

Her bra is sporty and black, her pants tight for running. Both seem impossible to get off, and while I’m considering the best course of action, she pushes my shirt over my head.

“Damn,” she mutters.

“What?” I cinch my hands around her waist, appreciating the softness of her skin.

“This.” She traces her fingers slowly down my stomach. “You’re a work of art, Jules. I never imagined this body on that scrawny kid I knew back in Lexington Acres.”

Laughing at the irony, I push her down on the bed, crawling over her. I lick the skin between her breasts, cupping them with my hands. “You’re one to talk.”

I finally get her pants off, peeling the fabric down her smooth, brown thighs. Tired of all the barriers, I strip off my shorts and yank the bra from her chest the instant she unhooks it. I spread her legs apart, pressing my mouth against the silky flesh of her inner thigh. She squirms and laughs. “God, that beard.”

“Too much?” I rub it.

“It’s just different,” she says, resting her hands on my head.

I’m different
, I want to say. I kiss her inner thighs again, both of them, working my way to where I want to be, but she grabs at me, pulling me up. Her hands weave through the hair above my ears, tugging my mouth to fit against hers.

She tastes familiar. Sweet. Her breath warm, her hands needy. I close my eyes when she strokes me, working me up. Clenching my jaw in restraint, I catch her eye.

She nods in approval, whispering, “Yeah.”

In an instant I’m inside, trying, yet desperately failing, to control myself. Melina is so beautiful, with her dark eyes and that dark hair spread across the white sheet. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. So long that my body has a mind of its own, moving too fast, too raw. I’m about to pull back when she hooks one foot and then the other around my hips, settling my movements. Her hand tightens around my hip, just below the pump, and with a grunt I sink in deeper. Deep enough for her to exhale.

I lean over and she pants into my mouth. We push-pull against one another, connected and sweat-slick, until we’re both wound tight, coiled and ready to spring. I keep my eyes on her, on the way her face looks. Her nose wrinkles, and her cheeks redden with heat. Her whole body responds to mine, to me. Finally.

If there was ever any doubt about my guiding force, it is gone after this moment. All confusion vanishes the instant her body clenches around mine. There aren’t bells or whistles, just her surprised gasp and a little groan close to my ear. No sitcom-style fireworks, but something in my chest tightens. A feeling that travels down to the pit of my stomach. An ache twined in my chest, spurning my release.

Worn out, I rest my forehead on her shoulder. Melina combs her fingers through my hair, and I shift our weight, rolling her on top of me. I almost expect her to fight it—fight me—but she just burrows her head into my chest. I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight, wanting
this
to last.

Her eyes flutter shut and she falls asleep.

Chapter 42

August 19

(Women’s Final)

Dawn breaks through the small window, washing light over the foot of the bed. Melina stands and dresses quietly. I watch, afraid that if I speak, she’ll spook.

I’d like to say I slept better than ever with Melina tucked against my side but I didn’t, instead fighting the urge to kiss her all over—to have her once again. I stayed on edge all night, my senses amped. I can’t say the same for her though; she slept soundly on the tiny, one-person bed. Today she seems relaxed and ready as she squeezes her ass into those tight running pants.

God.

I run my hand over my face, while tugging the sheet over my waist.

The movement catches her attention and she turns. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I was going to let you sleep in, you know, since you have the day off.”

“Mom and I are going to the game.”

“Right.” She bunches her hair behind her head and secures it with an elastic band. “We’ve got to be on the bus by nine.”

I nod, trying to feel her out. She seems fine, normal even. Like nothing major happened.

Maybe it didn’t.

Rolling to the other side of the bed, I grab my shorts from the floor and look for my bag.

“Looking for this?” she says, tossing the backpack on the bed. I fish out my tester and prick my finger. I can’t let this get away from me. Not now. Not today.

I still haven’t told her about Dominic or the conversation I had with McDowell. She’ll find out both soon enough.

“You ready for today?”

“I think so.”

“Japan’s goalie has a weakness.”

“What’s that?”

I slip my foot in my shoe, pulling it up on the bed to tie the lace. “Upper right. I’ve watched a couple videos.”

“Maybe it was a fluke.”

I shake my head and stand. “It’s consistent.”

Melina moves to make up the bed, erasing any sign we were here. I smooth out the blanket and prop the pillow against the headboard.

“Thanks for the tip,” she says.

We walk through the living room. The other bedroom door is open now, the shoes gone. At the front door, I press my hand against the door.

“Locking me in?” Melina teases, leaning against the door.

“I wish.” I bend, kissing her twice, the last one longer than appropriate. To be fair, she doesn’t push me away. Not at first, at least.

“I better go.”

I nod. “See you after the game. I want to see that Gold medal up close, you hear?”

She pauses. “Thanks for last night. I was freaking out, like a total bundle of nerves. I just…I needed somewhere to put that energy.”

“No problem.” I want to say something more, like how much I enjoyed seeing her naked. How good she felt. How beautiful she looks when she comes undone. I want to tell her about Allie playing and about McDowell and our deal, but that seems like it would violate the rules of the agreement, and the last thing I need to do is unnerve her before the game. She walks away but I can’t resist calling out one last, “Good luck,” before she steps into the elevator.

*

The next time I see her is when she walks onto the field later that day in Belo Horizonte. She looks ready for battle, outfitted in red and blue. She’s got her game face on, but the Japanese want redemption for their loss in 2012. The match is going to be difficult, one reason I think McDowell agreed to consider letting Allie play today. Frankly, they need her.

My mother though, is completely surprised when Allie’s name is announced over the booming speaker.

“What is she doing?” Mom asks, gripping my arm as my sister trots across the field.

“Taking the field?”

“But her foot.” She gets out her binoculars like it will help her assess Allie’s condition. Meanwhile, the jumbo-tron focuses in on Al as she smiles wide and waves to the crowd. She looks great.

“She seemed strong when I saw her yesterday,” I say. “Kasey got banged up pretty badly in that last game.”

My words do not erase the worry lines next to my mother’s eyes.

The match is intense, with no score during the first half. The Japanese women are ruthless, and every time Allie gets near the ball my mother tenses. That worry slips away for me as I watch Allie and Melina play together. They’re a match made in soccer heaven, looking more like twins than we do. They move in tandem, anticipating passes, appearing in undefended holes. The whole team plays better with Allie on the field. No wonder they struggled in the last couple of games—they were missing an integral link.

There’s still no score by halftime. I go down to the concession area to get a drink and spot Mendez and Johnson.

“Hey guys.” I wave and they walk over. The first thing I notice in the crowd of thousands is the green Adidas shoes Mendez is wearing. He was in the suite last night with some random hook up while Melina and I were there having…ugh, our own random hook up?

“Good match,” Johnson says. “Your sister is having a great game.”

Mendez nods. “She’s favoring the left foot though and hedging on taking a shot. She had two at least she didn’t take.”

Annoyance flares but of course he’s right. Allie is holding back, just enough, out of fear of re-injuring her foot. It’s common, like getting back in the car after a wreck. “Hopefully she’ll ease up in the next half.”

“She’s got to,” Johnson agrees. “Or Melina.”

“Yeah.”

I move forward in the concession line and they wait off to the side, signing the occasional autograph. When I come back with a drink for myself and one for my mom, Johnson asks, “Have you seen Dom since the other night?”

“No,” I reply. “I’m the last person he would reach out to.”

Mendez checks out a couple of girls walking by and says, “It’s really not a surprise he flipped. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No,” Mendez says. “Last fall at the first round of preliminaries he turned into a total stress case. Mitchell and Johnson talked him down, but he’s been shaky ever since.”

I had no idea. I was completely off the grid at that point. “Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

Johnson laughs. “Why do you think they tracked you down and pulled you out of a shitty van to join the team? They knew it was a possibility. I guess they were just hoping he’d get through.”

“Plus the slightly psycho part of Dom is part of what makes him such an incredible athlete.”

Johnson shakes his head. “You’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“I’m not worried.” The clock on the stadium wall ticks off the minutes until the game starts up and it’s about time to head back in. “See you guys later,” I say.

They both wave and disappear into the crowd. The women have 40 minutes to pull out a win or their shot at the gold is over.

*

The game ends in a tie, sending both teams into a round of overtime. Two halves of fifteen minutes each are added to the clock. The one with the most goals at the end of that wins. There are no substitutions. Allie and Melina already look worn out, but they’ll have to push through it.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” my mother says pulling at the hem of her shirt. They’ve started the second half, still scoreless. The frustration on the field is evident by the scowls on the player’s faces and the increasingly aggressive play. “Overtime, can you believe it?”

I snort. “Yeah. Unfortunately I can.”

The crowd grows tense with each passing minute, as neither team seems able to connect with the goal. The big screen shows how hot and sweaty Maria is in the goal box after she punts down the field. Exhaustion shadows her face. One goof and they’re done.

The ball rolls to Melina’s feet and she moves quickly to the outside, a Japanese defender on her tail. Allie sprints into position, but the cross goes wide, leaving any sort of contact out of reach. While the ball is off field, the two confer, waving over Nicki Valdez, a USA midfielder.

I have no idea what they’re planning, but the ref gets impatient and blows the whistle to start back up. Japan has possession, the goalie taking a kick from the back field. The ball is good, making it to the other end. Becky moves swiftly, carrying the ball down the side, easily going for a one-two pass with Nicki before she darts down the side. Melina and Allie line up, getting into open positions. Japan holds tight, elbowing my sister in the ribs. Allie shoulders her back, giving Becky time to launch the ball from the midline. It crosses right in front of the goal.

Both Melina and Allie take off, dashing for the goal box. The crowd stands, and I’m on my feet too, looking over heads. Becky one-touches the ball into a set up and crosses high and wide. It passes over the heads of the midfielders and two Japanese defenders. The goalie dashes out of the net, charging toward Allie. The ball lands at Al’s feet while the goalie dives, but my sister’s feet move quick. She taps it over to Melina an instant before colliding with the goalie. The box is wide open as their goalie scrambles back to her feet. Melina takes the shot, the ball landing against the back of the net.

“They did it!” my mother shouts, barely audible over the crowd. She jumps into my arms shaking with excitement. Over her head I keep an eye on the field. Allie is still on the ground, knee bent, Melina squatting next to her.

“Mom,” I say, gently pulling her arms from around my neck and pointing to the field. Her smile fades.

Their coach runs out to the field, followed by medical, but we all know it’s her foot. I hope. It could be worse. It could be a head injury or her spine. My stomach turns to lead. The camera pans from the field back to me and my mom. I try to keep my face unreadable, while I’m panicking beneath the surface. I talked McDowell into this, even though we all knew it was risky.

The seconds tick by, the players bent on one knee, resting during the assessment. Relief washes over us when Allie, with the help of the coach and medic, hobbles to her feet and is assisted off the field. The crowd cheers and referee blows his whistle. There are two minutes left in overtime. The game continues as though nothing happened, which is what Allie would want. They just have to hold it out at this point.

“I’m going down to the locker room,” Mom says. I squeeze her hand, but I can’t walk away from this game yet.

“She’ll be okay.” She has to be or I’ll never forgive myself. “I’ll meet you down there.”

Melina’s face is grim as she and the others move to midfield for a kick off. The crowd roars, excited by the close score and last minute injury. The big-screen shows the play over and over, even as the timer ticks away the seconds. I say a silent prayer for my sister, for Melina and for the whole USA team, hoping my decision was worth it.

*

I wait on the sidelines during the medal ceremony, smiling and cheering with the other family and friends. Tears stream down faces, even mine, as our anthem plays and the girls huddle on the highest platform. After, Allie gives me a hug, her heavy gold medal crushed between us, the round edges jabbing painfully into my chest. She doesn’t notice, already doped up and high as a kite, with her leg wrapped tight. I want to tell her it’s my fault, that I pushed McDowell to put her in, but she’s way too out of it. The blow will come later, after surgery. There will be plenty of time to apologize then.

She and my mom go straight to the clinic, but I need to eat. Taking the bus back to The Village alone, I grab some food from the dining hall before swinging by the clinic.

The lady at the desk points me to Allie’s room, but when I get to the door I hear another familiar voice. I peek into the room.

The first thing I spot are the shoes—the green Adidas. A switch flips in my head.
Oh hell no.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, my tone lighter than my words. Mendez is on one side of the bed, my mother on the other. Allie smiles when she sees me.

“Jules,” she cries, high as a kite. The wrapping on her foot has upgraded to gauze and tape.

“Hey, sis, how you feeling?”

“Fan-freaking-tastic.”

“I bet.” I turn to my mom. “What did the doctor say?”

“It’s the ACL. Like we were afraid of.”

Boom. In that one statement, Allie’s future in soccer is wrecked. I fight back a wave of emotion.

I glance at my sister, afraid of what I’ll see on her face, but she’s staring at Mendez with a goofy, fucked up grin like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Jesus.

I swallow back the emotions rising. Mendez knows better than to look me in the eye, because just last night he was screwing some girl in the empty suite in our building. This isn’t the time for games, other than the one we’ve got in the morning.

“I’m so sorry, Al,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“No way! Stop! Did you see that game today, Julian? I helped us win the Gold.” She holds up the medal still hanging around her neck. “I earned this. Not by sitting on the sidelines, but by helping Melina get that goal.”