Furia(72)

“It’s all or nothing for you, Diego—that’s why you’re el Titán. For you, it’s only black or white. But in my life, things aren’t so simple. I have to compromise. I can’t separate the parts that make me who I am: a daughter, a sister, a captain, your girlfriend. La Furia. You can’t ask me to choose between you and my dreams. Don’t. Please don’t.”

Diego’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I left everything for you.”

I hugged him. I could feel his heart racing. “I didn’t want you to. We can still fix this, mi amor. We can make it work.” I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him.

He didn’t kiss me.

I stepped back, and he said, “This can never work.”

“Diegui.” My voice wavered as my world came crashing down on me. “Don’t ask me to leave everything for you, please.”

He shook his head. “You never had to ask. I never hesitated. I’m sorry that what we had didn’t mean the same to you.”

And before I could fight back, make him understand, the love of my life walked out the door.





31





By the time my mom came back from the store, I was in bed, willing myself to sleep so I wouldn’t have to think about Diego and the life he’d offered me, the life I’d turned down. But all night long, I heard his broken voice, saw the tears in his eyes. Every time I woke up, I wondered if it had all been a nightmare. But I still smelled his cologne on my skin, tasted the sugar of his lips, and sadness roiled deep in my belly.

I had lost so much, and I had hurt him so much. Coach Alicia had told me to get rest before the tournament, but when the sun came up and the benteveos started singing, I was exhausted.

My life was in shambles. All I could do was get my uniform ready for the day. Tidying up my room, I breathed deeply, reminding myself that I was still la Furia. That I wasn’t the first girl with a broken heart, and I wouldn’t be the last. I’d sacrificed so much for this tournament. The least I could do was give my all to make it count.

Outside, the air smelled of jasmine. Spring had painted Rosario purple and red with blooming jacarandas and ceibos.

El Sudamericano would take place over the next three days. Two games on Saturday, one on Sunday. The semifinal was on Sunday afternoon, and the final was on Monday. Five games that could change our lives forever. A win counted for three tournament points. A tie was one, a loss zero. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to sweep the whole thing.

The bus left me just a block away from the pitch, and when I arrived, Rufina and Milagros were already stretching on the sidelines.

There was no way they didn’t know about my dad, so I saved us all the awkward conversation by staying on the other edge of the pitch. When Coach arrived, she acknowledged me with a simple nod and studied her clipboard while we got ready with Luciano.

The girls from Praia Grande FC were giants compared to us. Coach reminded us to keep our eyes to ourselves, but it was difficult. The Brazilian girls had won the Sudamericano multiple times. They walked and behaved like professionals, going through their warm-up like rehearsed choreography, smiling for the cameras, ignoring the curious looks from the sidelines.

“Are you okay?” Roxana asked, her face already gleaming with sweat. “I heard that Diego came to see you.”

“Did you talk to him?” I looked around, hoping to see him on the sidelines. Maybe if he saw me play, really play, he’d understand.

Roxana shook her head. “He already left.”

My throat tightened, and I clenched my jaw.

It was a testament to her unconditional love that she let me be.

When the ref called the captains, Roxana and I trotted onto the field. Maybe because I oozed bad vibes, we lost the coin toss. We’d have to play facing east, and the sun would be in Roxana’s face for the crucial first half.

The field was full of recently filled holes and bald spots, but the lines were freshly painted, bright white. Before the ref called the teams in, a little girl ran along our lineup, handing out black mourning bands. “For Eda.” They gave us the incentive we needed to vanquish our fears.

Praia Grande was famous for playing an expansive game full of long aerial passes we had no chance of stopping. If we wanted to control the game, we needed to shrink the field and force them to play on the ground.

Coach Alicia said, “Play smart. Play hard. But above all, have fun.”

We all ran to our places.

The ref whistled, and the game started. I tried to summon la Furia, but she didn’t answer the call.

My jaw, still bruised where my dad had hit me, throbbed when I clenched my teeth. My mind flashed to Diego’s wounded eyes before he walked away.

“Loosen up,” Coach Alicia yelled, and even without looking, I knew her words were directed at me.

I unclenched my jaw and stopped fighting the memories.





I ran like the warrior princess in Diego’s stories. I’d turned my back on him, but our history was part of me. He was imprinted in every memory, every dream.

The sad, the difficult, the beautiful.

La Furia took charge of my legs and my mind. I muted my heart for now.

The game was locked at 0–0. I let it consume me, blocking every distraction. Here and there I heard a cheer, but when the ref whistled for halftime, I felt like I was coming out of a trance.