THE PLAYERS SERIES : S.M. {book 2}

XXIX

FT: USA 3-1 Spain, goals from Smith (54'), Horan (76'), K. Mewis (90') and A. del Castillo (65').

Leaving the pitch felt quite odd today: indeed, as 15 of Spain's brightest players were absent, there was an unspoken tension on the field, wether it was on Jorge Vilda's side, or on the players' side, but something definitely felt wrong. The whole game - as I played 45 minutes only - I kept on wondering how the Spanish federation could allow one guy with a big ego to keep his job while 15 athletes had to sacrifice their international careers to report abuses from that same guy?

With everything going on within the NWSL, with Becky speaking out and getting some big heads fired and some others added to the long list of abuse perpetrator in women's top tier football, it felt like now had come a time for terrible things like that to stop happening to women athletes. And don't get me started about the gymnastic federation...

After thanking the fans by signing some autographs - getting a lot of praises on my performance and my come back from hamstring injury that kept me out for months - and getting showered, I join Rose, Lynn, Kristie and Abby, who were waiting for me to go to some bar in order to celebrate the end of our training camp and international friendlies. Then, we'd go back to our respective clubs before playing England next month, as the friendly we were supposed to play against each other got postponed due to many injuries in the British squad, as well as players' exhaustion.

We get to this cool bar where some people recognized us and immediately got us one of the best table, thanking us for 'being the only U.S. soccer team able to be world champions' (*wink wink*), and start drinking a few glasses, joined little by little by some of our teammates. By midnight, most of the team is here, dancing to the scrappy yet amusing music that the barman was playing.

When my feet start hurting, I sit down on my own, getting my phone out, re-reading Alexia's text received this morning over and over again. I should respond something, I initially think to myself, before realizing: no, you're drunk, and it's midnight. Shaking my head, I just sigh loudly, before staring at my screen once more.

"Hey stranger" a voice says behind me.

I jump a little, turning around in a heartbeat, only to see Abby's mocking eyes.

"Jeez, you scared me"

"It showed, yes" Abby lets out, way sober than I am. "Everything okay?"

I nod my head, knowingly bad at lying.

"Okay, promise me you won't laugh."

Abby stares at me in both confusion and fear, as she knows my life choices sometimes are questionable.

"Um... sure?"

Taking a deep breath - and helped by alcohol, thank God - I finally put some words on what I had been feeling for the past few months:

"I think I'm in love with Alexia Putellas."

The loud silence that welcomes my words could mean a million things: I could see some kind of regret inside Abby's eyes, while there also was happiness going through her beautiful gaze. She cracks a smile, that was also full of ambiguity.

At least, she only nods and says:

"You shouldn't be telling me this. Did you know she attended the game, tonight?"

My eyes go wide.

"What?"

"Yeah, she traveled all the way from Barcelona to see the Spain national team play tonight" Abby says in a slower voice, raising her eyebrows. "Haven't you seen the pictures of her arguing with Jorge Vilda after the game?"

She's here.

"B-but how am I not aware of that?" I ask, panicked.

"I don't know - even during the game they showed her on the big screen. I guess you were too focused to notice..."

"But she just... left ? She didn't even come and say hi to us?"

Abby shrugs.

"I don't know? Maybe she's got stuff to deal with?"

I shake my head no.

"No, she's just avoiding me 'cause I've been a bitch" I realize, willing to beat myself up from the inside. "I pushed her away so harshly and now-"

"Sarm, breathe" Abby orders, grabbing both my shoulders. As I just close my eyes, feeling my anxiety take over, as my best friend says: "I know you, Sarm: you're getting very intense when you care about someone. It's not too late for you and Alexia: if she was at the game tonight, then it means she's still in Sacramento. All you gotta do is find her."

Setting my jaw, I just let out:

"And how do I do that?"

"I don't know" Abby admits, thoughtful. After a few seconds, she then looks over my shoulder and says: "Well, maybe you won't have to actually get out of this place to do just so..."

Turning around, my breath is cut short when I see some familiar faces entering the bar: Ona and Aitana immediately come to me, while Mapi just looks around the bar, smirking, before saluting some of my U.S. teammates she's come across a few times already.

After talking with my Barça teammates a little, I make my way to Mapi, who seems quite happy to see me: from what I gathered from drunken conversations, the 15 players that are on strike decided to travel together in order to support their Spain teammates - and this included Alexia on the trip.

After a warm embrace, Mapi stares at me and asks:

"You look disappointed?" she asks, raising her eyebrow.

"What? No, no" I lie, looking around the room.

Alexia was nowhere to be found.

Smirking, Mapi just gets closer to my ear and grabs my arms, visibly mocking me for how obvious I was being, before whispering so the only I could hear:

"If you're looking for Ale, she's gone back to the hotel already" and, grabbing a pen on the bar, she starts writing an address on my hand, before adding: "You better go now, otherwise she'll just be asleep already - our flight leaves early tomorrow morning."

"Gracias" I just say in an hesitant accent, before warning Abby and leaving the bar without telling anybody else.

I literally run to the hotel Alexia and the rest of the Spanish girls were staying, now sure of what I wanted... or who.

Only, when I get here, Alexia isn't in her room. You know exactly where she is, I think to myself, rolling my eyes.

When I get to the rooftop, I see her, leaning against the safety barrier, looking at the view of Sacramento. Her brown hair were free in the wind, as she did not hear me arrive.

My breath is deep when I say in a low voice - loud enough for her to hear:

"Alexia."