Chapter 32

Aurora

The airport in Barcelona was a war zone. As soon as I stepped through the sliding glass doors of the terminal, the flashing lights were so bright I could see them through my eyelids. Shouted questions in Spanish and Italian blurred into a terrifying wall of noise.

“Aurora! Is it true?” “De Luca, what does this mean for the club?” “Are you and Putellas a couple?”

I kept my head down, my heart hammering against my ribs, until a sharp, familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“Back off! Give her space or I’ll give you a reason to visit the infirmary!”

Elena.

She looked like a goddess of vengeance in her leather jacket, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. She stepped in front of me, her athletic frame creating a barrier that the photographers actually seemed to fear. In one hand, she held the hand of a very confused but excited Lessi.

” Zia! Look at the lights! It’s like a party!” Lessi chirped, waving at a cameraman who looked like he’d just been struck by lightning.

“It’s not a party, Lessi. It’s a circus,” Elena muttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the parking garage.

Once we were inside the car and the doors locked, the silence was deafening. I leaned my head against the cool seat, my chest heaving. Elena didn’t say anything for a long time. She just maneuvered the car out of the airport, her hands steady on the wheel.

“The whole world saw it, Elena,” I whispered, staring at my trembling hands. “They’re calling me a traitor in Rome. They’re calling Alexia reckless in Madrid. I’ve ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, Ora,” Elena said, her voice unusually soft. “You just stopped pretending. The ocean doesn’t care about headlines, and neither should you.”

I expected her to drive toward my apartment. I wanted my bed. I wanted to hide under my covers and delete every social media app on my phone. But as we turned into a familiar, upscale neighborhood, my breath hitched.

“Elena? This isn’t my street.”

“I know,” Elena said, pulling the car to a stop in front of the modern, glass-fronted building I knew all too well. Alexia’s home.

I looked at her, panicked. “I can’t go in there. There are probably photographers waiting around the corner, and I look like a mess, and—”

Elena turned in her seat, looking me straight in the eyes. The pragmatic, big-sister protective wall was gone, replaced by a deep, unwavering perspective.

“Aurora. You can go home and cry, or you can go up there and find the only person who actually understands what today felt like. You two have spent months building walls. Now they’ve fallen down.”

She leaned over and unbuckled my seatbelt.

“You need to talk,” she said firmly. “Not as players. Not as a Captain and a Rookie. Just as yourselves. Go.”

Lessi leaned forward from the backseat, patting my shoulder with a sticky hand. “Go see the Capitana, Zia. Give her my ball!”

I looked at the building, then back at my sister. Elena gave me a small, encouraging nod. With a shaking hand, I opened the car door.

“I’ll take Lessi for ice cream,” Elena called out as I stepped onto the pavement. “Don’t come out until the storm stops.”

I watched the taillights of Elena’s car disappear around the corner. Then, taking a breath that tasted like salt and courage, I walked toward the entrance. It was time to stop running. It was time to see Alexia.

Alexia

The underground garage was silent, the hum of my car’s engine cutting out like a final sigh of relief. I didn’t take the elevator. I needed the stairs. I needed the physical exertion to burn off the residual adrenaline.

By the time I reached my floor, I was rehearsing the “Press Strategy” in my head—words like professionalism, mutual respect, and team spirit. I was ready to build the fortress again.

But as I rounded the corner to my front door, the fortress didn’t just crumble. It evaporated.

Aurora was there.

She wasn’t standing. She was sitting on the cold, polished floor, her back against the wall right next to my door. She was still wearing her Italy travel tracksuit, her hood pulled halfway over her head, her knees tucked tightly into her chest. She looked small—so much smaller than the warrior who had tried to take my ankles out in Rome.

“Ora?”

She jumped, her head snapping up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the sight of her like that, huddled outside my sanctuary, hit me harder than any tackle ever could.

I didn’t reach for my keys. I didn’t ask how she got past the lobby or why she wasn’t at her own place. I just let my gym bag slide off my shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, and I sank down beside her.

I let my back hit the wall, my shoulder brushing against hers. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. We just sat there on the floor of a luxury hallway, two of the most famous athletes in the world, looking like two kids who had lost their way home.

“Elena dropped me off,” she whispered, her voice thick. “She said we needed to talk. But then I realized I didn’t have a key, and I… I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” I said, my voice low. I looked at the ceiling, trying to find the words. “The internet is burning, Aurora, but it always does. The Federation has already asked me if we want to issue a statement or if we want to leave it the way it is…”

Aurora sighs. She sounds tired. “Do you know what to do?”

“No,” I said softly. “Not really.” But I know I lied the moment I said those words.

I turned my head to look at her. Then I reached into my pocket, but I didn’t pull out my phone or my keys.

I pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper.

“What is that?” she asked, a little curious.

“It’s the tactical sheet from the halftime locker room,” I said, unfolding it. On the back of the complicated diagrams of corner kicks and zone marking, I had scribbled something in the heat of the game.

It wasn’t a play. It wasn’t a reminder to watch the left channel.

It was a list. 1. The way she turns. 2. The way she breathes when she’s tired. 3. The way I can’t breathe when she looks at me.

I handed it to her. “I wrote this right before the game. I realized halfway through the match that I wasn’t playing against Italy. I was playing against the only person who makes the game actually mean something to me.”

Aurora took the paper, her fingers trembling as she read my messy handwriting. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the faint smudge of Rome’s pitch-dirt still on her cheek.

“Alexia…”

“I’m done with hiding, Ora,” I said, reaching out to finally, finally pull her into my lap. I didn’t care if a neighbor walked out. I didn’t care about the cameras. “If they want a scandal, let’s give them a masterpiece. I’m not going to let them call you my ‘friend’ in a press release.”

She buried her face in my neck, her breath warm against my skin, exactly like the photo the whole world was staring at. But this time, there was no whistle waiting to blow.

“Stay,” I whispered. “Not just for tonight. Stay in the house I’m building. No walls this time.”

She gripped my shirt, nodding against my collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere, Capitana.”