just before it looks like he’s about to take a shot, he’s blocked and I’m running like mad to make it there in time for me to get hold of the ball.
It’s under my foot for half a second before I take the shot at the goal.
I have no idea if it’s going to go in. I often have no idea. You just have to take all the shots you can and score by any means necessary.
The speed of this shot means I’m barely on one leg and falling as it soars through the air. My shins slide along the grass and I can’t take my eyes off the ball as their goalie makes a leap for it.
The ball just squeezes past him and tucks into the back of the net.
“Gooooooaaaaaaaaaal!”
“Goooal!
“Gooooal!”
“Hala Madrid!”
The stadium explodes with cheers, and I’m getting to my feet as Rene comes over to me, giving me a rambunctious hug, jumping up and down.
I can’t stop smiling.
I did it.
Every goal feels like a dream, like the best feeling in the world, but the first goal is something really special.
This is the moment I live for and will continue to live for.
My purpose and my calling.
I make the sign of the cross and kiss the RMCF badge on my shirt and then I’m back into the game, the goal pushed to the back of my mind while the adrenaline is still surging through me, looking for a place to go.
I’m running, watching the ball as it goes down to the other end.
I’m trying to catch up, to help get it away from their possession.
Luciano steals the ball but he’s in a tough spot.
It comes toward me but I’m in a tough spot too.
I’m running for it but so is Gual.
I almost have it.
Almost there.
I block out the thundering sound of cleats and the heavy breathing and the roars of the crowd.
I only see the ball.
The world fades away.
I go for it.
Then I’m hit.
Hard.
Gual has gone into a sliding tackle a step too early so it’s not his feet that knocks me off balance, it’s his shoulder slamming into my shin at full force.
I feel my leg bend inward and hear an inner pop as pain wallops me from the side.
I’m down.
My leg is on fire and I can’t move it.
I bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming.
Chapter 7
Thalia
At first I thought I was hallucinating. I had been so overjoyed when Alejo scored the first goal that my head and heart were in another place entirely.
And then it happened so fast.
Felipe Gual went into a sliding tackle and his shoulder slammed right into Alejo’s left knee just as he was running for the ball.
Alejo went down and immediately started trying to touch his knee.
I knew from the games that I had been watching on YouTube and the times I’d seen him play against Man United, in person, that he’s not the type to throw dramatics and cry. This was real pain, and this was a real, serious injury.
I wait for a moment, watching Mateo stalk off across the field while yelling at the ref, then I see Dr. Costa going for it, so I follow along with my medical bag.
Even with my focus one hundred percent on Alejo, there’s no feeling like walking out onto a football pitch in the middle of a game. I’d never had to do that here in this stadium, and the energy is quite indescribable, even if it’s only a fraction of what the players experience.
I go to his side and our eyes meet, and I realize how much pain he is in and how hard he is trying to hold it together.
Thankfully it’s easy to see the problem right away.
His left patella has been dislocated laterally, to the outside.
It’s visible to an untrained eye, let alone me.
And he’s in a tremendous amount of pain because until we get that kneecap back in place, his leg is locked.
Dr. Costa as well as another physician, Dr. Suez, are examining him, while I kneel beside Alejo’s head, just to let him know I’m here, to hold him because I know what we have to do. We have to gradually reposition the leg and get the patella back in place, and we’re going to have to do it now.
Dr. Costa gives the orders and Alejo grabs onto my hand.
He gazes up at me with such pain it nearly breaks my heart, but there’s something else in his eyes that I don’t expect to see. A