For the Win (10 page)

Chapter 25

(2012)

Meeting up with Marcus and Melina at Waffle House during winter break was tradition, so when Allie told me Melina was skipping it this year, I knew it was time to man up and go see her. She still had yet to answer even one of my texts.

Or calls.

It wasn’t easy, between Melina’s active avoidance and the frenzy of the holidays. Mom had Allie and me on lockdown with gift wrapping and baking, and Melina’s family was big on cultural events and church—like midnight mass on Christmas Eve. In the past, we’d always sneaked out late at night, intent on having time together, but this year I’d have to be even more inventive.

“No.” Allie shook her head. She flopped down on to her bed, texting busily. Marcus, probably.

“Al…”

“I’m not getting in the middle of it.”

“You’re already in the middle,” I said. “Just get her away from the house. The last thing I need is her dad mad dogging me when I’m trying to apologize.”

“Haven’t you already apologized? Just give her time.”

I stared at her until she noticed the silence. Sighing dramatically, Allie sat up. “Fine. I’ll ask her to meet me at Starbucks. She knows you hate that place.”

“I don’t hate it; it’s just overpriced.”

“Whatever.” She jabbed at her phone, waited for a minute, and then looked up. “Okay. She’ll be there in a half hour.”

“Shit. Which Starbucks?”

“The one downtown. In the Square.”

Nodding, I pocketed my wallet and phone. “Thanks. I owe you.”

She smiled wryly. “Good luck, Jules. You’re going to need it.”

*

As usual, Starbucks was packed, people lined up out the door for their daily dose of five dollar caffeine. I squeezed inside, brushing snow from my jacket. We’d been having flurries all afternoon, which was rare.

Melina was squashed into a window seat, hands wrapped around her drink. Not wanting coffee, I went straight to her, ignoring the nasty feeling in my gut when she met my gaze with a glare.

“You wouldn’t talk to me,” I said by way of greeting, holding my hands out in supplication.

She got to her feet, edging past me. “I can’t believe Allie…”

“I asked her to,” I said, following her outside. “Mel, please.”

“Well, what?” she asked, setting off down the sidewalk. “You got me here, so talk.”

“Can we at least sit down?” I asked, slowing beside a bench. It seemed dry enough.

She sat, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “I can’t stay long; we have family coming in today.”

“Okay. Just, look. I’m sorry.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Sorry for what?”

“Those pictures. They made things look way worse than they actually were.”

Scoffing, she put her cup down and looked at me. “Are you serious right now? Your apology is to bullshit your way out?”

Melina was a good Catholic girl who rarely cursed, so I knew I was on rocky ground. “No. I mean...no.” Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hook up with any of those girls. I promise.”

Her eyes widened the slightest bit, and I froze, wondering if she knew more than she’d let on. I’d thought a lot about the night of the party, trying to figure out when things had gone south. After finishing off my trusty flask of vodka, I took a couple shots with a couple of guys from the team. It wasn’t that big a deal; I’d partied my way through freshman year without incident, and so far sophomore year was looking like more of the same. I’d never blacked out or anything and I’d managed to keep my blood sugar in check.

I kind of wished I had, though. Because no matter how I spun it, I’d been aware enough to allow Slutty Santa’s to play musical chairs with my lap. And to let Brenna Miller kiss me. It hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds, but there was tongue.

I’d never kissed anyone but Melina, and it wasn’t easy. Girls threw themselves at me all the time—it was all part of being a college athlete. I’d never had problems saying no. I wasn’t sure why I’d let things go so far at the KD party...but I had. And, because karma, there was photographic evidence.

The silence grew between Melina and me. I hated the distance between us. We’d been friends on and off the field, and then a lot more than friends, forever. Fighting felt weird, foreign.

“I mean it,” I said, feeling as lame as I probably sounded. “It was just a party.”

“Even if that was the case, and it’s not, how would you feel if I was all over some guy at a party? Giving drunken lap dances?” She shot me a glance so scathing it probably gave me third degree burns. “You were the one who wanted to be exclusive, Julian.”

Yeah, she was right about that. Frustrated, I raked my hands through my hair. It was getting too long. Mom had already hinted I needed to cut it. “Melina— ”

“I don’t know what’s worse: the cheating or the lying.” Her eyes welled up. Melina
never
cried. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

“I’m not lying,” I said, but I was. I didn’t want to lose Melina to something so stupid.

              “You should check out Brenna Miller’s Instagram. It’s enlightening.”

              I paled. I didn’t follow Brenna; I barely knew her. I hadn’t even thought to look at her page, but Melina sure had. “Just tell me what you saw,” I blurted, panicked at how badly this was going. I’d have done anything to reverse this,
anything.

              “You should see your face,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t even fess up, can you? How can I trust you Julian?”

Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Save it.”

“Mel, I’m sorry. I fucked up. I was pretty gone that night.”

“Yeah,” she said, more quietly, “I know. That’s the problem.”

Frowning, I shook my head. “What?”

“You’re like...changing.” Her cheeks reddened, and she looked down.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re changing, making really bad decisions.”

I bristled, not wanting to hear what she was saying.  “You make it sound like I’m out of control.”

“Maybe you are. Drinking like that?” she continued. “I thought it was a phase, you know, the whole rebellion thing, but people usually get that out of their system freshman year.”

“Having a couple of drinks isn’t going to kill me.” But the second I said it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. “I know what I’m doing.”

Melina raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life. I’m killing it up there with the team, you know that. You also know that I know my limits.”

“You sure about that? Because those nasty pictures weren’t my first clue. Don’t forget I know people at Clemson. People on the team. They say you’re acting like a jerk. Acting all…erratic and angry all the time.”

“So, what, you’re gossiping now?” I was being an asshole, but shame made me feel defensive. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed Melina was talking behind my back or embarrassed she knew more than I thought she did.

She stood, dumping her cup into a nearby trashcan. “I gotta go.”

“Please don’t run away,” I said, exasperated. “You were never like this before.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us then,” she shot back. “We’re done. I’m not going to wait around and watch you ruin your life, Julian.”

She strode away, hands tucked into her jacket, disappearing into the Christmas shoppers crowding the sidewalks. It was devastating, watching her leave like this. We were usually on the same page, but right now, it was like we didn’t even know each other.

And the crappy thing about that was, besides my sister, Melina Diaz was the girl who knew me best. I wasn’t just losing my girlfriend, I was losing my best friend.

Chapter 26

“Can I ask you something?” I’ve just finished my fifth mile. Finishing my water, I drop down next to Veronica where she’s stretching on the grass.

“A little role reversal? Sure.”

“What did you hear about me and Melina?”

She bends, reaching to touch her toes. “Ah, so now you want in on the gossip?”

I restrain an irritated sigh. “Only what they’re saying about me.”

“Not much, if you really want to know. Just some murmuring about you two dating in school, and how you broke up around the time you started struggling in school and on the field. Mostly it’s just a lot of questions about Melina’s dating status.” She uses her hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun. “And yours.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah? Who’s asking that?”

She flashes a brilliant grin. “A reporter never shares her sources.” Her grin is replaced by a grimace and she rubs the back of her calf. “My leg is killing me.”

“Let me see.” Scooting forward, I run my fingers over the back of her leg, just below the knee. She yelps when I press down. “Yikes. That’s a pretty big knot.”

“Yeah, it feels like it.”

“Stretch your leg out.”

She does as directed and I massage up and down her leg, trying to work the knot out. Leaning back on two hands Veronica says, “Another gift of the amazing Julian Anderson? Physical therapy?”

I smile. “You pick up things here and there. Between me, Allie and Melina, everyone was always in some kind of pain.” I reach for both her hands and tug her gently forward to help her stretch her hamstrings.  “You probably just need to stretch better. Make sure you warm up and cool down with a walk before and after you run.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once I’m done, I jump to my feet and offer her a hand. We walk slowly around the track, chatting, until I swipe my hand through my hair. “You want to know what happened to me at Clemson?”

“If you’re ready to tell me.”

“Off the record?”

She hesitates but nods.

Taking a deep breath, I go for it. “I blew it. I mean, I fucked up big time. I walked into that school as a pretty good goalie, and within two years I was being invited to play on the national team. People talk about the issues that come from success with football or basketball players but not the smaller sports, like soccer.” I pause, remembering. “I mean, the coaches and athletic department keep an eye on us, but the media doesn’t care because we’re not making any money. No one’s going pro and making ten million on signing day, so we fly under the radar.”

“That makes sense.”

“The lifestyle is the same, though—there’s temptation everywhere. Girls, alcohol, drugs. You know the doctors give us Oxycontin like Tic-Tacs, right? Whatever we need to get on the field, fulfill our scholarship. Antibiotics for a STD? Sure, make sure the girl comes in, too. Oh and by the way, here’s a pregnancy test while you’re at it.”

My heart races as the confession rolls off my tongue.

“We skate our way through classes and charm our way into sorority girl’s pants. We’ve got bodies that compete with superheroes in movies, and we’ve got a fan club, small but loyal, that make us feel we may actually
be
superheroes.” I keep my gaze ahead, and not on Veronica. “Especially when you come from a two bedroom apartment on the wrong side of the highway, and worked your ass off to get there in the first place.”

To her credit, Veronica doesn’t seem too scandalized. I guess that’s what makes her a good reporter. “So you were an entitled, spoiled brat? Like a lot of other jocks?”

“Yeah, except unlike the other guys on the team, I have this pesky thing called diabetes. No matter how popular or successful I am, no matter how free the alcohol is or late the party goes, my body lets me know when I’ve gone too far.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“When I ignore it, hell yeah.”

“So you ignored it and what?” she asks. “Got sick?”

“I played it off as long as I could my senior year, doing the bare minimum to keep up the fun while managing on the field. We made it to the playoffs mostly due to an amazing offense. Plus, my sweeper knew I was struggling and did a lot of the heavy work back in defense.”

We’re making our second loop around. Trainers and coaches are starting to appear, setting up practice.  

“In round three I got sloppy. Lazy. I wasn’t consistent in measuring my insulin doses. I didn’t want to be bothered with the tediousness anymore. Why should I? I’d conquered it—or so I wanted to think. My sugar started running high and that, well, it’s kind of like the Hulk.” I laugh. “You don’t want to see me angry.”

“Probably not,” she agrees. “But tell me about it. What happened?”

“I wouldn’t listen to anyone. I was erratic and irritable. My coach and the team captain cornered me to try to talk some sense into me but I was too far gone. My mom. Allie. I wouldn’t hear any of it. I was convinced I was fine, even after Coach benched me for getting in a fight with another player. I was anything but okay. My system was totally crashing—going into ketoacidosis.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when a diabetic’s body doesn’t produce enough insulin. Basically a ticket to death.”

“How does that happen?”

“That time? I had a shitty cold in the middle of being an irresponsible prick and my body just shut down.
”

“So that’s why you didn’t play the final games in the playoffs,” she says, having an obvious a-ha moment. “The papers said you were ill but…”

“Yeah, I wrecked my body all by myself. I let down the team. I left the team without a goalie. Without a leader.” I look to the ground, still feeling shitty despite the time that’s passed. “It was a pretty big betrayal.”

“And then what?”

“And then I left school and went home. It took me a while to recover, and by the time I did my college athletic career was over. I got permission to finish my classes online, which was good, but I’d lost my position on the National Men’s team after graduation...not that I was in any sort of physical or mental condition to play anyway. I stayed home for a long time, recovering, until I got tired of staring at the same four walls and watching TV.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “And seeing the look of disappointment on my mother’s face.”

“So you took off in a van?” Veronica asks.

“Yep.”

We’re walking back to where we started, near the entrance of the field. The sun rises brightly over the east, prompting Veronica to slide her sunglasses on. “And Melina?” she asks. “How did she fit into all that?”

“She didn’t.” I lift the hem of my shirt and wipe the sweat off my face. “Melina is a rock, solid and stable. I didn’t want that. I was charging toward destruction and had no time for anything or anyone that might hinder that. To be fair, she didn’t want to have anything to do with a trainwreck like me either.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I was a dick. An absolute dick.” Finally, a reaction: Veronica stares as though seeing me in a different light. “Which is why I didn’t tell you any of this before. It’s not the heartfelt, feel good story McDowell and the IOC want to share to boost ratings. It’s a fucking wrecking ball of self-destruction that shows the dirty, dark side of competitive, high-level athletics. And that doesn’t even…”

I snap my jaw shut. I’ve said too much already.

She places her hand on her hips. “What? Doesn’t even what?”

“Nothing. I’m just frustrated.”

Sighing, she places her hand on my arm, squeezing tight. “Look, I get why you don’t advertise what happened, but honestly...knowing all this helps me more than you realize. Having more information is good—I can structure the story better and anticipate any fall out.”

“You think there’s going to be fall out?”

She shakes her head briskly. “Not if we handle it right.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means you’re here to do a job and so am I. You focus on helping your team win the gold, and I’ll figure out how to make you look like the comeback kid McDowell wants you to be.”