Page 79 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

I realized I needed to move, that if I remained where I was still standing, the ball was going to clobber me in the face, and I’d be eliminated. Which wasn’t ideal, because the aim was to win, wasn’t it? The aim wasn’t to get intimately acquainted with a bright-red rubber ball, or worse, developing a bruise on my face because of high-impact contact with said ball.

But it took longer than a few seconds for my brain to thaw and the gears to properly turn, because I was still rooted at the same spot, even though the ball was less than three feet away from my face. I had probably two, maybe three seconds to jump into action, to move my feet and avoid becoming the next eliminated player. To avoid sustaining serious injuries to my nose, my jaw, and my eyes.

That was when a blur of black suddenly flew in front of me, shielding me from the incoming onslaught of the ball. The next second, a loudthwackreverberated in the air, and four things happened at once:

A raucous cheer from the opposing team,

A loud roar from Rob, followed by his angry, “What the fuck?!”,

A long whistle to signal the temporary pause of the game, and

Alec going down like a sack of potatoes.

I gaped at him, his body slumping at my feet, his face firmly planted in the sand, as my brain raced to catch up with the latest events.

Alec jumped in front of me and got clobbered in the face with the ball.

Because he was trying to save me.

Sure, it wasn’t a life-or-death situation, but this man had made a split-second decision to intentionally place himself in harm’s way to stop me from getting hurt. He was willing to be hit in the face, which could potentially break his nose, or his jaw, or split his lip,for me.

Rob and Marisa rushed over, snapping me out of my daze, and I quickly crouched down to check on him.

“Alec?” He hadn’t moved, and a sliver of panic gripped me. “Are you okay?”

A few seconds passed, and my panic was about to skyrocket when he finally groaned. Relief washed over me when he rolled over. There was an angry red spot on his left cheek where the ball must have made impact, but other than that, he seemed fine. No blood, his nose wasn’t broken, and his eyes weren’t swollen. I made a move to sit him up, but Rob stopped me.

“Don’t move him yet,” Rob said. “Just in case he has a concussion or a neck injury.”

The panic came back, more urgent than before. A concussion? What if Alec sustained a life-threatening concussion because hewas trying to save me?

“I’m okay,” Alec said. “It’s just my cheek. My head’s fine.”

Another shrill whistle pierced the air, and Carmel announced that Big Guy in White was out of the game for hitting an opponent in the face. She ignored his protests, as Rob and I helped Alec to stand up.

I peered into his eyes, worry gnawing at my insides. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really.” He gave me a smile. “He didn’t hit you, and that’s all that matters.”

And that was when it struck me. A realization so overwhelming, as if I were about to drown in the ocean behind me, the splashing waves refusing to let go until I gave in and acknowledged it.

That I was in love with this man.

One of the women in the blue shirts came and handed Alec a bag of ice and ushered him to the side of the makeshift court. She was talking to him in a low voice, checking that he was okay, asking whether he wanted to see a doctor.

“He’s okay,” Rob said, as Carmel blew her whistle again, resuming the game. “All the more reason we need to win this. For him.”

I nodded and got into a ready position, adrenaline rushingthrough my body. Rob pitched the ball across the court to our last opponent, missing him by an inch. He picked it up and hurled it back at us, too fast and too hard, hitting Rob in the foot.

He gave me a fist bump. “Do us proud, E. No pressure, but remember, five thousand dollars. Do it for Alec.”

And then it was just me against a tall, fit, towering monster of a man on the opposite court. I glanced at Alec, who was sitting courtside next to Rob and Marisa, the ice pack still on his cheek. He flashed me a thumbs-up and mouthed,“Go get him.”

The ball suddenly came flying at me, and I ducked just in time. I grabbed it and made a deliberate gesture of aiming it at my opponent, but missed him by mere inches.

The ball was now in his court.

He was taking his time, being dramatic about aiming it at me. I did a little jog on the spot, priming myself for a quick dodge. My opponent suddenly raised his hand and pitched the ball across the court. It whizzed straight toward my legs, and I dodged it within an inch of my life. Grabbing the ball, I walked to the middle and narrowed my eyes at him. He grinned at me, making taunting “come on” gestures with his hands.

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