Forging Glory

My only dream was going pro...until she blazed back into my life.

Cara Moreno - my biggest regret - just signed with the women's soccer team in my city. I tell myself to keep my distance...but I can't stay away.

She says the most powerful man in the sport is set on destroying her career. That behind closed doors, he's hurting her and everything she's worked for.

I doubted her once before and rejected her. Now, I'll do anything to make things right and protect what’s ours. 

Exposing the truth means risking my career. But how can I chase my dreams knowing hers are slipping away? 

With both our futures on the line, I’m ready to risk it all and expose the truth. Losing her once was devastating enough. I won't let her down a second time. 

What we share is electric, and protecting her feels worth any sacrifice. This time, I'll fight for her trust…and hopefully her heart.

I’m alone. 

I’m aware of that reality before I’m fully awake in a room where I should have the gorgeous body of Cara Moreno draped over my chest.

I can’t fight the disappointment that simmers, even though I know what last night was to both of us. It was a celebration. Releasing a pressure valve. We both have a lot riding on the camp from this weekend and riding each other was a celebration and a release. 

Except, it didn’t feel that way to me. 

I did things with Cara that I’ve never done before, never wanted to do. I felt like we had a connection and a lump forms in my throat realizing that was clearly a one-sided assumption. She didn’t even leave a note. I reach for my phone to see if maybe she texted me, and it starts ringing in my hand. 

Unknown number. 

I have to answer it, in case it’s an offer, but I’m not prepared for the volume that comes bellowing at me at … I glance at the alarm clock … 6:30.

“Wes! Baby!” 

“Hello?”

“Don’t you know my voice, kid? That’s okay. Listen, your Uncle Hawk told me to give you a ring, said you’re going to need me today.”

I comb my memories, trying to place the too-chipper voice on the other end of the phone. “Brian?” 

“The one and only.” My uncle’s sports agent starts praising my game, comparing me to the family legacy, whatever that means. I wake up more fully and start to process the meaning of his call. 

“Wait. My uncle called you?”

“Damn right he did, and not a minute too soon. The sharks are swimming outside your door, baby.”

I glance toward the hotel door and see a bunch of slips of paper on the carpet. Huh. 

“Listen,” Brian continues. “I’m not going to dance around. You know I was a good partner for your Uncle Hawky and made him a shit-ton of money over the years. I can guarantee you the same treatment and the second you sign an agreement I can text you. I can be on the phone with those sharks in the lobby of your hotel. Where do you want to land, Wesley? Name your team.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “Name my team? Seriously?”

He sighs. “Okay, not quite that awesome. But give me a ranked list. Word on the street is your debut will be electric.”

If my uncle called his agent, that means Aunt Lucy wasn’t kidding when she hinted that my “subterfuge” worked in my favor. I snuck out here to California against the advice of my parents and without their support. I gave up my college scholarship for this try-out and I almost can’t believe the gamble paid off. My stomach flutters and I stand up, pacing the floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, with obvious sex-tousled hair, swollen lips, and scratch marks on my chest. 

Cara sticking around to celebrate would have been too good to be true. 

Last night she made me feel like I can do anything, achieve anything I want. 

This morning, it’s all happening … but she’s not here. And neither is my family.

I sigh as Brian talks about numbers and sponsorship plans. It all sounds great, actually. So maybe it was better to have one perfect night than keep things going and grow frustrated with one another. We both will be diving headfirst into intense schedules and camera shoots and too much travel. That’s no way to kick off a relationship. 

“Sounds perfect, Brian. Text me the thing to sign.”

I feel a pang of sadness that my dad isn’t here with me when I sign my first contract with an agent, that I’ll most likely be signing with a pro team in a few hours without my family celebrating. My Aunt Alice would have made a grain-free cake out of vegetables or some shit. My cousins would have gotten kazoos and done a damn parade around the Highland Park fountain if I’d looped them in.

Or they wouldn’t have done anything. My mom would have cried and my dad would have glowered at me, and I would have stayed in school another year. If I’d stayed in school, who even knows what would have happened. I probably would have blown my ACL. I can’t grieve what didn’t happen any more than I can regret my choices.

Brian texts me an agreement and I sign it with my finger on my cell phone, alone in a dark hotel room.

A few seconds later, Brian texts me instructions to head down to the lobby in twenty minutes, and he’ll video chat in while I have a conference with an offer. And there it is: my new life … the one I worked hard for. The one I set in motion. 

I should want to call my cousins, or the guys from my college team, but the first person I think of is Cara. Did she get a similar offer this morning? Should I find her room and go another round with her to celebrate, possibly real quick before we both fly out? Does she have an agent? Maybe I should send her Brian’s contact info…

These thoughts swirl in my mind as I brush my teeth and slip into the only clean clothes I have left, sweats and an old Pittsburgh Forge t-shirt of my Uncle’s. 

I step out of the elevator on the ground floor and turn the corner, toward the conference rooms. I’m about to video call Brian when I see something that halts me in my tracks. 

Lou Rubeo, president of Soccer USA, has a hand on Cara’s shoulder, his lips a centimeter from her ear. I watch as his other hand moves to brush a hair back from her face, the same face I had my lips all over just hours before. 

I feel nauseated, watching this man put his hands on the woman of my dreams. I guess if she can sneak out of my bed and into his arms an hour later, she’s not the woman I thought she was. 

I don’t know why she is going for a high-powered soccer executive, and I don’t have time to care. She’s on her path and I’m on mine. I’m glad she’s not looking toward me. I am glad she doesn’t see my face as I stab the call button for my agent.

I turn on my heel and walk toward the conference room.