The Line Between Us - Alejandro Balde Love Story

Chapter 15: Divided Loyalties

Berta's excitement was infectious, but as I sat beside her in the packed stadium, a sense of unease lingered beneath the surface. I had agreed to come to the Barcelona vs. Real Madrid game with her, mostly because she'd insisted that it would be a fun distraction. But as the players warmed up on the pitch, my stomach churned with a mix of emotions I wasn't prepared to confront.

The last time I'd been in the stands, I was wearing red and white, fiercely supporting my brothers and Athletic Bilbao. I remembered the sting of that match all too well—Barcelona's victory over Bilbao had been a tough pill to swallow, and it had hurt even more seeing the disappointment on Nico and Iñaki's faces. Now, here I was, draped in a Barcelona jersey, feeling like a traitor in enemy territory.

"Thanks for coming with me, babes," Berta said, nudging me playfully as she waved her Barça flag with enthusiasm. "I knew you'd have fun once you got here!"

I forced a smile, trying to match her energy. "Yeah, I mean, it's a huge game. Who wouldn't want to be here?"

But even as I spoke, my eyes kept drifting back to Alejandro, who was warming up on the field with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. The way he moved, so confident and focused, was captivating. I couldn't tear my gaze away, and I hated myself a little for it. This wasn't supposed to happen—not here, not now.

"I see you," Berta teased, following my line of sight. "You're totally into him."

I scoffed, trying to deflect. "I'm just watching the game. And besides, I'm supposed to be mad at him."

"Uh-huh," she replied with a knowing smirk. "But you're not, are you? Not really."

I looked down, fiddling with the edge of my scarf. Berta was right. No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, the truth was undeniable. I cared about Alejandro more than I wanted to admit, and being here, seeing him play, only made those feelings stronger.

"You know, the last time Barça played, they beat my brothers. I shouldn't even be here," I confessed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "It feels wrong."

Berta rolled her eyes, leaning closer. "Oh, please. This isn't about your brothers. It's about you and Alejandro. You're here because you want to be. And it's okay to feel that way."

I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn't find the right words. I was caught in the middle, torn between my loyalty to my family and the growing attachment I felt toward Alejandro. It was a confusing, messy tangle of emotions, and I had no idea how to sort through them.

The match began, and the tension in the stadium was palpable. Every cheer, every groan from the crowd amplified the knot in my chest. I watched Alejandro closely, my gaze following his every move. He was brilliant on the field, each play more impressive than the last, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride with every successful pass and tackle.

As the minutes ticked by, I found myself caught up in the game, cheering when I should have stayed quiet, wincing at every near-miss. Berta shot me amused glances, but I couldn't help it. I was rooting for him, and the more I tried to deny it, the more obvious it became.

"Look at you," Berta laughed, nudging me. "You're practically his number one fan."

"Stop," I muttered, though I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as Alejandro made a daring run down the field. "I'm just... caught up in the moment."

"Sure you are," she said, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. "But you're here, wearing a Barça jersey, screaming your lungs out for the guy you're supposed to hate. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is."

I fell silent, her words sinking in. She was right—about everything. No matter how much I tried to resist, Alejandro had become more than just an annoyance, more than just a complication. I was drawn to him, and it scared me to think of what that could mean.

The game wore on, with both teams battling fiercely for control. My emotions ebbed and flowed with every play, torn between loyalty to my brothers and my undeniable connection to Alejandro. It was like being caught in a storm, pulled in opposite directions by forces I couldn't control.

Then, in the final moments of the match, Alejandro made his move. He weaved through defenders with the kind of skill that took my breath away, his eyes locked on the goal. The stadium held its collective breath as he lined up his shot, and when the ball found the back of the net, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

I leapt to my feet, caught in the rush of the moment, my cheers blending with the thousands of others around me. I was elated, proud, and utterly conflicted. Alejandro had won the game for Barcelona, and though my head told me I should be upset, my heart was celebrating right alongside him.

As the final whistle blew and the players celebrated on the field, I couldn't help but steal one last glance at him. Alejandro was surrounded by his teammates, his smile bright and triumphant. He looked up into the stands, and for a fleeting second, his eyes met mine. The connection was undeniable, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

I knew then that this wasn't just about football or rivalries. It was about us—about the unspoken bond we shared, and the walls we were both too scared to tear down.

Berta was right. I needed to stop hiding from what I felt. But as I sat back down, the weight of my conflicting loyalties settled over me once more. I wasn't sure how to navigate this new reality, but one thing was clear: pretending wasn't going to work much longer.