I had to let it go. My stomach started cramping from how hard my dad was making me laugh. I didn’t bring up Eric, it wasn’t like any of us would forget his experience, but that was true love for you—blind and unconditional. “Dad, stop.” I couldn’t quit laughing because knowing him, he was being totally honest.

He wasn’t much of a crier. He’d cried when I’d been called to the U-17 team, the national team for girls under seventeen, and again when I moved up to the U-20 team. The only other time I could remember seeing him with tears in his eyes was the day his father died. By the time I got drafted into the professional league, he’d just beamed, more comfortable in my position than I was. I’m pretty sure I was so nervous I had sweat stains on my butt.

“He’s going to be your coach,” he squeaked, and I mean really squeaked.

“I know.” I laughed that time. “I’ve gotten like ten emails from people I know asking me to confirm. You’re all insane.”

Dad simply repeated himself, “He’s going to be your coach.”

That time, I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep from making a sound. “I’ll tell you when the open practice will be so you can meet him.”

Then he did it, he crossed the line again. “Sal—Sal, don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.”

Oh my God. “Dad—“

There was a shout in the background that sounded suspiciously like my younger sister and was followed by what I could only assume was Dad holding the phone away from his face as he yelled back, “I was joking!...You told me you hated me yesterday, te acuerdas? Why are you going to be my favorite when you say you wish I wasn’t your dad?” Then he started yelling some more. Eventually he came back on the line with a resigned sigh. “That girl, mija. I don’t know what to do with her.”

“I’m sorry.” I was, at least partially. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was for my little sister to be so different from Eric and I. She didn’t like the same things we did—sports—but mostly, she didn’t seem to really like anything. My parents had tried putting her in different activities, but she never lasted and never put in any effort. Like I’d told my parents, she needed to figure things out for herself.

“Ay. I guess I can’t complain too much. Hold on a second—Ceci, que quieres?” And then he was off, yelling at my sister a little more.

I just sat there with the phone still to my face, lying in my bed two hundred miles away from where I’d grown up, soaking in the idea that Reiner Kulti—the Reiner Kulti—

was going to be my coach. I swallowed the nerves and anticipation down.

No big deal.

Right.

What I needed to do was get it together and focus on making it through preseason training to ensure my spot as a starter. I’d have to fuck up royally to not start the season, but sometimes the unexpected was known to happen. I didn’t like to play around with chance anyway.

And with that thought, I finished up my conversation with my dad, lay in bed, and talked myself out of going for a late, last-minute, five-mile run. My body needed the rest. It only took me ten minutes of staring off blankly at the wall, to really decide I could save a run for the morning and it would be fine.

One of my favorite coaches when I was younger would always say when motivating us to practice: To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace.

There’d be no peace in my life if I didn’t do well when practices began, with or without The King being there.

Chapter Three

“The meeting is on the fifth floor today, Sal, conference room 3C.” The guard winked at me as he slid my visitor’s pass across the granite desk.