Vale lifts his head up, his eyes getting a little watery. And his thumb traces down my nose, over that same scar he noticed way back then too. “Because you’re strong enough. You have the heart for it. And you have so many people in your corner. Maybe it is you, but, I’m here too, Gabi. You’re never alone in this.”
My own thumb traces his cheek, his lips. “I’m really glad I’ve got you.”
“You do. Whether or not you see me in the stands, you’ve got me. Okay? Remember that.”
I let out a happy moan feeling his lips kiss my chest, right over my heart. And I sit up, making him sit on my lap, and I nod, telling him, “I will,” before kissing him slowly and deeply.
“And you play the best game you’ve ever played, okay? And I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
“Naked?”
He chuckles, and then starts actually laughing when I peck more at his neck until his hands hold on to my head and force me away and to look right into his beautiful brown eyes.
“Go win and I’ll think about it.”
29
“YOU REALLY DIDN’T HAVEto do this.”
“I know,” Vale says, watching me. “I wanted to. Especially if I can’t be at the game today. I mean, I would’ve done this regardless, but it felt more necessary now.”
Next to me on my mattress is a big, oval-shaped metal bucket, PIÑA written on one side in blue paint marker with a white outline, and, on the other side, a #1 inside a ball. Vale’s filled it with a throw blanket, an Adidas hoodie in the perfect Islander green that smells like his cologne (“I might’ve worn it around the house for a few days”), a plush soccer ball, a six-pack of blue Powerades, bags of my favorite chips and candies, a little bi pride flag, and a framed picture: a clip from an X-Men comic, the one where we get introduced to Roberto Da Costa and he, mid-championship match, realizes he’s a mutant. The art’s of him in his kit, running with the ball, in two rectangles that say “Meanwhile, on the field, play resumes” and “and Roberto Da Costaraces once more toward the Dynamo goal.” A championship basket, he calls it, all for me.
“If I didn’t already see you and Sunspot having some similarities, him in these shorts that look like all of yours would’ve been an obvious connection.”
“I was about to say,” I tell him, looking at the picture, “I need a pair like he’s wearing. But thank you, baby. I—this means a lot. And I’m going to thank you so hard when I get back.”
“I’ll be right here,” he tells me, biting his bottom lip.
I try to not let that bother me. I can’t let Barrera get in my head minutes before I’ve got to be at the locker room. So, instead, I give Vale a deep, lingering kiss; one that convinces my own brain that it’ll be alright, that my boyfriend will be right here waiting for me and, until then, knowing how good it is to kiss him, how addicted I am to his lips, is going to drive me to give my all like always.
“First block of the game is all yours, baby.”
“Go be great, corazón.”
Barrera seems to have put our conversation behind him. Sure, he was letting out more frustration on me than usual the rest of the week during practice. The number of times I had to hold in a “Fuck you” when he’d yell, “C’mon, Piña. Don’t half-ass on us now, little bro,” when we were on the pitch or weight training or even just during warmups or conditioning has been what I—a whole-ass math major—can only quantify asa lot.
But today he’s acting like the guy I believed actually cared about me. The guy that felt like the older brother I never had. When I walk in, he’s all smiles, patting my shoulder, telling me how “That jacket looks good on you, little bro.” If there’s anyresentment or bad blood between us coming from him, I can’t sense it now.
And maybe it’s all pretend, but I’ll take it. If I don’t have to navigate playing the gameandstaying on the not-shitty side of my team captain, I will play along, and we can focus on how close we are to a championship. I can cheer along with the rest of the squad as Barrera starts talking about how hard we’ve all worked to be here, right now, the number one ranked team in the NCAA. And I can almost believe it when he points to me, his arm going behind my shoulders and bringing me in close as he says, “And let’s hear it for the number one keeper in the NCAA and how hard this guy’s been working to help us stay at the front of the pack.”
The roar of my squad fills the room, vibrating off walls and lockers. My roommates smile at me and cheer me on alongside all the teammates that have helped us get this far. And Barrera slaps my chest, painting this picture of so much of what I dreamed of walking into this room for the first time.
It’ll all be worth it.
“Alright, boys. Let’s go out there and get this championship.” He lets me go and takes a step forward, putting his hand palm-down in the center of all of us. “Pérez, how about you lead us in ana huevo, yeah?”
“It’d be both a privilege and an honor, Capitán.” Pérez’s hand lands on top of Barrera’s, and the rest of the team huddles in closer, arms out, hands close. “Three, two, one—”
“¡A huevo, Pérez!”I yell from my side of the pitch, my hands circled around my mouth after watching a nasty two-touch goal; one of our juniors putting the ball back into play after these Rio Grande boys sent it out of bounds, and my boy wasting no time kicking it straight into the net. Some beautiful work. Four–nothing right now and the game’s not even halfway over. We’re playing like a team that knows how good we are.
And these boys from the Valley are starting to let it get under their skin. This used to be a lot easier for them. The University of Texas–Rio Grande Valley versus A&M–Corpus Christi game was the annual meet up of a South Texas rivalry—not nearly as big as the main UT and A&M but way browner—and was, for a long time, more like a yearly ass whooping and an easy W for them. Then they’d go back home ready to do it all again next year. The last couple years the older guys on my squad have started to find their footing and have been making it harder on these RGV boys. And then, for the first time in the regular season, we left Brownsville with a win of our own.
Now they’re back for round two.
I’m on the balls of my feet, holding in my words while I watch them get frisky on the defense, nearly tripping my teammates more than a few times, obviously going for ankles instead of the ball. A couple of them already earned yellow cards for some foul play. One of the four points we’ve got on the board was because of a free kick. At some point after we landed our first two goals, their aggressive playing turned into pure pendejismo. It’s like they’re more concerned with starting a fight than they are with taking home the conference title.
Another whistle and a red flag from the ref when one of RGV’s players runs into Barrera like guy’s playing rugby instead of football, nearly knocking him to the ground. They’re close enough that I can see Barrera’s face scrunching and fuming. He takes a breath and looks my way as I mouth “Stay cool,” my hands doing a downward motion likeKeep it under control, please. Yeah, I might be counting down the minutes until I can stop pretending like the two of us are bros, but nothing good happens if our captain acts up and gets himself carded.
