POV Lucian

The moment I step into the coffee shop, I spot my agent sitting at a table near a window. He waves me over. I'm kind of surprised that he instantly recognized me despite the cap and sunglasses I'm wearing. I had to sneak out of the stadium nearby, where my teammates are waiting to begin a press conference. I have fifteen minutes at most before someone notices that I'm gone.

"Morning, Kev, looking good," I greet him as he stands up to give me a friendly dab. 

Me?" He laughs. "You're practically glowing under that cap. How do you think I noticed you?"

Kevin is dressed simply in a pristine white button-down shirt and gray slacks, but there's something about the quiet confidence that he exudes that makes more than one woman look toward our table. Not gonna lie, his vague resemblance to Michael B. Jordan also helps.

I place an order to get the same coffee as him. Then we chat politely for a short moment about family before getting down to business. 

"I've compiled a file on Patrick Juste about his recent research on you, and this is what I've gathered so far." Kevin turns his laptop my way, allowing me to scroll through the file on my own. 

Over the next couple of minutes, he catches me up to date with the Patrick Juste situation. 

"I've succeeded at getting in touch with one of his colleagues in the sports programming of the TV station where he works. Based on what they told me, Patrick's endeavors are not tied to the network, which confirms my initial hunch that whatever he's putting together must be for his YouTube show."

"Now, I've taken the time to study his channel, and based on his content, I've pointed out similarities. He's started interviewing people from your former university and neighborhood, so I think he's planning to do a series that starts with your upbringing and just who you are as a person. However, his series won't cover only that." 

"I've also talked to some of your old university friends about what kind of questions they were asked. And oddly enough, Patrick Juste seemed to be thoroughly interested about the reason why you dropped out of university. This topic came up in all of their interviews. He also seemed curious about a fall-out you had with one of your former classmates. But since both of you left school around the same time, he couldn't gather any information about what happened between you two."

While Kevin continues to speak about his theories of Patrick Juste's possible angles of attack, any shred of optimism that I might have saved evaporates into thin air. This journalist has obviously done his investigation, and based on what I'm looking at, it seems that he's found what he was looking for. 

"That's pretty much all I've gotten so far," Kevin concludes when I'm done scrolling through the transcript of conversation he's had with the people he contacted.

"You did a good job, Kev. At least now we know what to be on the lookout for."

"Yes but... Look, I know you might not hear this, but at this point in your career, it's important to have your enemies on your side. What if he's trying to stir up shit just to get our attention? If I get in contact with him, we could-"

"That's not an option," I cut him off as politely as I can. "I'm not sitting down with this man. Ever." 

Kevin nods as if he had expected this answer.

"Fine. Just wanted to put the idea out there in case you change your mind. But at the very least, if you won't talk to Patrick Juste, try and get in touch with this ex-friend of yours that he's digging about. If he's willing to talk, do your best to figure out how much he might have told this journalist."

"Sure. I'll try to do that," I answer while standing up to shake his hand goodbye. 

If Kevin can tell that I'm lying. He doesn't call me out on it.

***

The media coordinator of our team decides to go over the list of potential questions one last time as we wait to be called into the press conference room of the stadium where we will play our final match of the competition.

This will be our first official meeting with American sports journalists following our qualifications to the finals. The guys and I are perfectly aware that our future opponents have had many opportunities to get media coverage after their own semi-finals win. However, we're not surprised to have been overlooked once again. The other thing that the United States has in common with El Salvador aside from being both hosting countries of the Gold Cup competition is their bias toward teams from more prosperous countries, which explains why we've been snubbed from the press except for quick sidelines interviews right after a match.

This press conference will be our last opportunity to leave our mark on the American media and hopefully captivate the attention of other countries. Well, that and if we win the Gold Cup.

Only four of us from the team will be on the panel: Hector, Roger, Samuel, and I. Coach Morel will also be seating with us. 

When it's time for us to go out there into the Lion's den, our media coordinator reminds one last time to be cautious of questions that attempt to provoke controversy or elicit negative comments about our future opponents.

"Stay composed and focused on your team's strengths and game plan," she heeds a final piece of advice before we're called to the press conference room.

Five seats are awaiting us on the panel with microphones and bottles of water. I didn't expect Akhyra to be present. But when I make way to the stage with other players, they all send playful glances my way before pointing to her position. She's sitting far in the back, and yet she's the only presence that illuminates this entire room. I notice that many seats are, in fact, empty. Seems like most of the sports press didn't think it important to show up for us.

As the conference begins, I try to focus on the questions that are being asked, but so far, the other guys seem to be handling it well. 

"Some critics have suggested that with your team's severe lack of experience, it will be a herculean task to play against Mexico, a country that has the most Gold Cup wins till date. How do you respond to that?"

"Every team has its strengths and weaknesses," Hector answers. "We're confident in our abilities. Some might see us as underdogs, but we take their skepticism as an opportunity to prove ourselves on the field."

I'm doing my best to remain concentrated, but my eyes keep coming back to Akhyra. She's wearing a white strapless corset that fits snugly around her upper body, exposing some of her waist and belly. The contrast of her top with her black leather skirt is enticing. My eyes don't know what to focus on here. I probably would've stayed fixated on her if a journalist hadn't addressed me directly.

"A question for Lucian Moreno."

Hector bumps my knee under the table to get my attention.

"Yes, what's your question?"

"After your team's semi-final win, the cameras caught you exchanging a kiss with someone who appeared to be renowned Haitian ballerina, Akhyra Morel, your coach's daughter."

I glance toward our media coordinator, who looks back at me with a helpless expression on her face. She clearly didn't expect my dating life to be of interest to the journalists. 

"I'm still waiting for the question," I reiterate, turning my attention to the woman who spoke up. 

"Well, since no official statement has been released. I think it's fair to ask if you're a couple."

Before I give an answer, Akhyra's voice resonates throughout the room. 

"Yes, he's my man. Next question. Try sticking to the sport this time."

The entire room erupts in laughter, and my teammates take the opportunity to tease me.

"If you see him distracted on the field, that's because he's busy throwing heart kisses at the technical area," Roger chimes in.

They continue to poke at me for a while before the press conference regains its previous serious tone. Our last question of the day is undoubtedly one of those baits that we've been warned against. The condescending tone of the man who speaks isn't lost on me either.

"It's impressive that you've made it to the finals of the Gold Cup, but let's address the elephant in the room. Your team hails from a country that doesn't allocate any significant funding to soccer. How do you expect to sustain any success beyond the Gold Cup? Is this just a flash in the pan?"

There are a few seconds of tense silence at the table as the boys exchange a glance to decide who's gonna take this one. This American journalist is probably bitter about the fact that the USA team lost in semifinals against Mexico. They would've been our opponents in finals if they'd won this match. Clearly, this guy doesn't expect us to succeed where his home team has failed. Coach Morel seems like he's about to answer, but I decide to speak up.

"While it's true that our country may not have the same level of financial support in football as some others, I believe that's precisely what makes our journey so remarkable. We've come this far against all odds, defying expectations every step of the way. Our success is a testament to the dedication and talent of our team and coach, as well as the unwavering support from our fans back home. As for sustainability, we're focused on the present moment and giving our all in the upcoming final match. Beyond that, we'll continue to work hard and prove that passion and determination can overcome any obstacle. So, to answer your question, our journey is far from over, and we'll keep surprising those who doubt us."

When I look back at my classmates after answering, they all radiate approval, and even Coach Morel nods in a way to indicate that he's satisfied with my answer.

After the press conference, Akhyra stops by the training base to hang out with me and the guys for a while. They decide to go for a round of pool that I sit out at the bar because I think it will be more fun to watch my girlfriend kick their ass. 

"So how does it feel to date the ugly man of the team?" Samuel asks probably to get on my nerves.

"Last time I checked, I'm not dating you, Sammy," Akhyra retorts with a smirk. "You must be confused."

The guys bark in laughter, and I wink at my girl with a proud smile. 

As the game continues, I watch with fondness as Akhyra interacts with everyone. It's almost like she's a part of the team, and I can't help feeling my heart swell with emotion at witnessing how well they seem to hit it off. When Akhyra finally gets tired of wiping the floor with them, she joins me at the bar and steals my drink to take a sip.

"You've been quiet for a while," she says. "Something on your mind?"

I take her hand above the counter and bring it to my lips. Akhyra looks at me curiously as if trying to decipher what's weighing on me. She lifts her hand to place it against my jaw.

"Talk to me. What's occupying that sexy head of yours?"

I cover her palm with my own and lean downward to plant a kiss inside her wrist.

"I was thinking that you seem to have taken control of my body in a way that's beyond my understanding," I confess with a knot tied in my throat. "You laugh, and my heart does a standing ovation. My hands are mourning your touch whenever we're apart. And when you're near, my mind can't decide whether to breathe on my own or let your fresh air fill me instead. You mess up every rational function of my body, and yet it feels as if they're finally accomplishing their purpose. What I'm trying to say is: I love you, Akhyra."

Her lips part slightly in a silent gasp. I lean forward to kiss her, partly because I want to and also because I don't want her to feel that she has to say anything in return.

I couldn't go another second without telling her how I truly feel. Now more than ever, time might not be on our side. At least if things go wrong, I won't have to live with the regret of not telling her that she's the best unexpected thing to happen to me no matter how short our story lasted.