Page 79 of Winning Match
League Valencia Player Alejandro García Misses Goal to Tie Game Against League Madrid. Valencia Loses First Game of the Season, 3–2.
@SoccerSux33 Didn’t everyone see this coming? @AleGarcia9 is too caught up in his pretty girlfriend to hold a competitive edge.
@CallMeMrsGarciaRelax! It was one game.
@SoccerSux33 Yeah, that’s called the beginning of the end.
@LeagueValenciaGirlie Every player has bad days.
@FutbolGuru True. But players like @AleGarcia9 can’t afford bad days. Not when he wants to be named team captain…
@CarrieSins12 Maybe his priorities are different now??
@FútbolVida No. El fútbol es su vida. Este juego lo lleva en la sangre.
@CarrieSins12 Maybe his dad feels like the game is in his blood and @AleGarcia9 wants a different path?
@CallMeMrsGarcia Oh my God. It was ONE game.
23
Ale
I’m in over my fucking head.
Thoughts of Marlowe consume me. I crave her, need her, miss her even when we’re together.
And yet, I can’t think about anything other than the fact that with each passing day, she might leave. Will she leave after our ten weeks together?
How the hell is she going to stay?
Not with Prescott Sail awaiting her leadership, not with her family counting on her, not with her father slipping away.
I won’t let you go.
But how the hell can I keep her? Claim her?
I fucking can’t and deep down, I know it. I know it and it terrorizes me. Fucks with my head. And pulses in my mind every minute of every day—a warning, a reminder, a fucking fact.
I love you.
Words I can’t say. A truth I’m too scared to admit.
As another week slips by, I spend every night exploring Marlowe’s body, savoring each moan that drops from her lips, and losing myself in her kisses and touches.
Every day breaking my ass on the field—running drills, conditioning, watching tape.
And yet, we lose the next two games, and I know it’s my fault. My inability to mentally commit, my distraction, the fucking fear that consumes me when I think about next week and the week after that and…Marlowe leaving.
“What the fuck is going on?” Papá explodes from the sidelines after League Valencia’s fourth straight loss.
I shake my head, averting my gaze as I duck into the locker room.
The space is quiet, my teammates offering a mix of frustrated, apologetic, and pitying looks.
“Shake it off,” Andrés advises.
I grunt in response, pulling open my locker door.
