My eyes went wide, and I had to suck in a breath to rein in my anger. “What the hell do you think we weredoing?” I asked slowly.
Kulti bared his teeth at me. “I have no idea because you didn’t fucking tell me!”
Patience. Holy shit, I needed a whole bunch of patience.
I didn’t find it.
I lost it.
“We were practicing, you jackass! What the hell is wrong with that?” I screamed at him. Holy shit.
“Then why were you were both being secretive?” he growled, fury lighting up his light-colored eyes.
My eye started twitching. “We went to the field by my house. He showed me some exercises I could do to work on my left foot ball handling, you fucking,fuckingjackass. He said I should think about playing in Europe, okay? That’s the big conspiracy, the big secret, you idiot. He said I should go to Europe and join a club there so I could play for their national team…”
I couldn’t let go of the volcanic-like anger seeping out of him. It became a beacon for my anger and my damn curiosity. “What the hell do you think we were doing? Sleeping together?”
He stared at me for so long, I had my answer.
Oh my God.
Me sleeping with Franz. I couldn’t get over that wild assumption. What was he thinking? “I can’t believe you. Who the hell do you think I am? Easy? You think I’m going to sleep with any guy who pays attention to me? I already told you I don’t do that,” I yelled at him. I didn’t care if one of the Pipers could come out of the stadium and hear us, or worse, someone in the media. “Fuck!”
“Europe?” He looked about ready to blow a gasket. “You could have asked me to practice with you at any time!”
“Asked you? When? You already play favoritism with me according to eighty percent of the Pipers because we spend so much time together. If you were coaching me on the side that would come back on you, wouldn’t it, Kulti?”
“I told you not to call me that,” he gritted out.
“That’s what you are, isn’t it? Coach Kulti?” My jaw felt hard and tight. I could not get over what he’d said. “I can’t believe you would think I was messing around with Franz, Jesus Christ. I really,” I put my fist up to my mouth and blew a deep breath into it. “I really,reallywant to punch you in the face right now.”
“I can’t believe you would think about going to Europe without talking to me.”
I took a step back letting his words sink in to my gut. Europe was a better opportunity, and we both knew that. There was no doubt. Before the WPL existed, Americans went overseas because it was the only place to go. But if it came down to it, most athletes would rather stay close to home. I was one of them.
More importantly, Kulti had always told me that there was only one person in the world I needed to watch out for, and that was me. Yet, here he was telling me otherwise. He was making me feel bad for even thinking about going to Europe without mentioning it to him first.
“I didn’t say I would go, he just brought it up. It’d be a great opportunity if I wanted to leave my family, which I don’t think I want to, but…” I felt unsure. “Why are you being like this? I don’t badger you over stuff you don’t want to talk about, which is just about everything. Plus, you’re my friend; I figured you’d be happy someone was trying to work with me on improving my skills. You of all people should understand.”
The German seemed to be trying to bore a hole straight into the center of my face. “I would have worked with you any time, any day you wanted, Sal. I could care less what management or the coaching staff think. You of all people shouldn’t think twice about what your teammates say about you. They’re nobody.”
God, this man. “I’m sorry, Rey, am I a mind reader? Am I supposed to know you’d want to practice with me?”
“No. You’re stubborn and a pain in my ass.”
“I’m a pain in your ass? You’re a pain in my ass. I try and I try with you, and for what? For you to be an asshole when you’re frustrated or upset? Maybe other people will deal with your shit when you act like that, but I can only take so much. I like you. I like how well we get along sometimes, but I don’t know anything about you really, when it comes down to it. All you do is give me these bits and pieces when you’re in the mood. When you’re not in the mood, you don’t say anything at all. Or you go through this fucking phase where you give me dirty looks and ignore me for no apparent reason. How is that supposed to make me feel?
“I’ve already put enough on the line being your friend. I’ve shared my family with you, my home; I’ve told you things I haven’t told other people. I’ve put my career at risk for this—us. You have nothing to lose, and I have everything I care about in jeopardy. I’ve given and I’ve given to everyone, and for what? To have what I valued the most in my life taken away? I’ve been trying, and I’m fine with that, but you need to meet me at least a quarter of the way. There’s only so much I can take from you and your freaking mood swings.”
I palmed the back of my head as I watched him, waiting. Waiting for something. For some assurance, some promise that he would try to keep his crap under control, or at least try harder.
Instead his face took on a hard expression, the tendon in his neck straining. “I’m too old to change, Sal. I am the way I am,” he finally offered to me in a crisp voice.
“I don’t want you to change. All I want is for you to trust me a little. I’m not going to screw you over, and I don’t like giving up on things,” I told him in an exasperated voice.
And what did he say? Nothing. Not a single thing.
I’d never been a fan of people who talked a lot. I thought it was a person’s actions that really said what mattered. That was until I met Reiner Kulti, and I suddenly felt like stabbing myself in the eye.