Page 46 of Last Line of Defense

“Oh, I certainly do decide that. That’s why I’m the head physical therapist at this club. And above all, I decide it because you’re completely incapable of making a single smart decision on your own. Or are you going to keep pretending in front of the coach that you can run and shoot on goal with a knee that looks like a beach ball?”

I watch her face tighten. Anger and arrogance have always been her favorite defense mechanisms for hiding anything that truly hurts her soul.

“Oh, really? So now you’re suddenly worried about my health and my career again?” she asks in a tone brimming with reproach that cuts right through me. “You’re so timely, really. The savior-doctor role suits you so well.”

The words pierce my heart like a dagger. After telling her yesterday that it was best to just let it go, seeing her break down and suffer like this is tearing down, one by one, all the damn barriers I’d tried to build around myself to protect myself from the scandal.

“Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is, please…” I whisper, losing my professional tone and revealing my vulnerability.

She lets out another bitter laugh that makes my stomach clench and my insides churn.

“You’re a tad late to be asking that, Clara. We’ve been making everything so damn difficult for days now.”

I have to make an enormous effort to hold back the wild urge to pounce on her lips right there, to pull her into my arms, devour her mouth, and confess that I’ve been a total idiot. But common sense holds me back: we’re in the middle of the locker room, and at any damn moment Hugo, Lucía, or any of the girls could walk in through the very same door we came in through. So I do the only thing my mind still knows how to do well: control myself and put on my icy facade.

Outside, on the field, Ravenhill FC’s practice is in full swing; the muffled sound of balls hitting cleats and the coaching staff’s whistles filter through the metal partitions to us. Inside the locker room, it’s just the two of us, the smell of Reflex, and all the pent-up rage that threatens to make me snap.

“I’m really tired of having to repeat the same thing to you over and over, Alicia.”

“And I’m sick and tired of you talking to me and looking at me like I’m some fucking time bomb about to explode in your hands!” she retorts, turning abruptly toward me and fixing me with a glare that’s practically shooting sparks.

“Because you are, damn it!” I snap back, finally losing my cool and unable to hold back any longer. “You’re destroying yourself out there on the field out of sheer pride, and you expect the rest of us to just sit on the sidelines and watch the show in silence. Well, you’re in for a surprise with me.”

“I don’t need you to come save my life, Clara. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, start acting like someone who wants to still have a soccer career a year from now, for God’s sake!” I blurt out, raising my voice more than I should and waving my hands in the air, completely beside myself. “Or would you rather end up watching the games from the stands before you even turn thirty because you’re too damn stubborn?”

The tension in the room becomes so thick you could almost cut it with a scalpel. Alicia jumps to her feet, ignoring the pain in her leg, and stands just a few centimeters away from me, blatantly invading my personal space.

“And since when do you care about my career and my professional future?” she asks, staring me straight in the eyes. The question has too many hidden meanings, too many subtexts, and we both know it all too well.

I clench my teeth so hard that I feel the tension in my temples.

“From the very moment you started to matter to me far more than logic would dictate.”

Silence falls suddenly, brutal and crushing, between the two of us. Her breathing changes instantly, becoming faster, more labored. Mine mirrors hers before I can stop it. But the anger and pride are still there, burning in the middle of the locker room like a pyre.

“Well, that’s a pretty weird way to show it,” she murmurs with her lips parted. “First you’re scared shitless and tell me we should maybe put our relationship on hold for the club’s sake, and five minutes later you show up on the field looking like you want to kill anyone who so much as touches a hair on my head. Can you just tell me what the hell you want from me, Clara?”

“I can’t stand seeing you get hurt because of me, Alicia,” I finally confess, my voice coming out hoarse, thick, and heavy with emotion. “I swear, I can’t stand it.”

“And you think I can stand being cut out of your life overnight as if what we had was some damn mistake?” Her voice—always so firm and cool—cracks slightly as she utters the last word, letting me see the pain I’ve caused her.

That “what we had” pierces straight through my chest. I try to form a coherent response, but I’m left speechless because the naked truth is unbearable: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with our relationship, and precisely because it’s the most real thing I’ve felt in years, I’m so terrified of losing control.

Alicia lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head with a hint of pity.

“You know what the worst part of all this is, Clara? That you’re still clinging to the absurd delusion that you can control what happens here with your medical protocols.” She takes another step closer, closing the little distance that remains between us. Now there’s barely a couple of millimeters of air between her chest and mine. “But wake up: you can’t control a damn thing anymore.”

The distinctive scent of her skin mixed with the sweat from her workout hits my senses full force, clouding my judgment. She’s right. I can’t feign indifference when I see her suffering on the grass. I can’t act as if kissing her in my living room hadn’t changed something irreversible and definitive inside me. I can’t keep hiding like a coward behind my fear while my own body reacts to her closeness even in the middle of a monumental argument.

Alicia lowers her gaze directly to my mouth, lingering on my lips with a voracious hunger. Then she fixes her eyes on mine again, and that small gesture—that provocation—is more than enough to make me lose my damn balance and send my sanity packing.

“You’re absolutely impossible, Alicia Puertas,” I whisper, my face almost touching hers.

She flashes a small half smile, both sad and furious at the same time.

“And you’re a coward, Dr. Valle.”