Page 114 of A Game of Deception
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his sweaty hand. “So, Miguel, what do you love most about playing forward?”
The question broke the ice, and soon Miguel was explaining his team’s formation. These kids knew the game inside out, studied it like scholars.
“You should come watch one of our games,” Isabella said. “Miguel scored two goals last week.”
“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it. “Text Leo your schedule, and we’ll see what works.”
Miguel’s jaw dropped. “You’d really come watch us play?”
“Why not? Good soccer is good soccer, no matter what level.”
As they walked away, probably telling every friend about talking with a pro player, I felt something click into place. This waswhat mattered—not trophies or headlines or money, but how the game connected people, built communities, gave kids something to dream about.
“You’re going to have to actually show up now,” Tara said, appearing with two champagne glasses. “You know that, right?”
“I know. And I will.” I took the champagne gratefully. “Might be good for me. Keep things in perspective.”
“You don’t need help with perspective anymore.” She clinked her glass against mine. “You’ve got that figured out.”
Did I? Some days I still felt like I was discovering who I was without the guilt and shame that had defined me for so long. But Tara had a point—something fundamental had changed. The anger that used to eat me alive was gone, replaced by something steadier, more focused. I played the best soccer of my career, but more importantly, I enjoyed it again.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Vicente’s voice boomed over the speakers. “If I could have your attention one more time!”
The crowd quieted, turning toward the stage where Vicente stood with his arm around Isabella. She glowed with happiness, her tiara catching light from the crystal chandeliers.
“I want to thank everyone for celebrating my daughter’s quinceañera,” Vicente continued. “But special thanks to our guest of honor, Mr. Xander McCrae, who kept his promise even when he had every reason not to.”
Applause rippled through the room, and I felt my face heat up. I wasn’t used to praise for basic decency, but in Vicente’s world, keeping your word probably was rarer than it should be.
“Mr. McCrae showed my family what real character looks like,” Vicente said, finding me in the crowd. “And that’s a lesson worth more than all the money in the world.”
More applause, with whistles and shouts of approval. I raised my glass in acknowledgment, trying not to dwell on the irony. Here I was, praised for character by a man who probably ordered hits for breakfast.
But life was full of contradictions, wasn’t it? Vicente was a criminal and a devoted father. Diego had been my enemy before becoming an ally. Hank claimed to love his children while destroying them both.
Maybe what defined a person wasn’t their contradictions, but how they resolved them when it mattered.
“And now,” Vicente announced, “let’s dance!”
The band launched into something with a driving beat that sent younger guests flooding the dance floor. I watched Isabella spin with her friends, her dress a pink blur as she laughed with pure joy. Fifteen years old with her whole life ahead. I hoped she’d make better choices than I had at that age.
“Want to dance?” Tara asked, already pulling me toward the couples.
“Oh no, I suck at this,” I protested, but let her drag me along anyway.
“You’re just self-conscious. Don’t worry about it.”
She was right, as usual. On the field, I could read the game perfectly, anticipate movements, place the ball exactly where needed. But put me on a dance floor, and I turned into a collection of awkward limbs with zero rhythm.
Tara moved like she was born dancing. She guided me through the steps with patient amusement, her body warm against mine as we swayed.
“See?” she said, her breath tickling my ear. “You’re not so bad after all.”
“I’m stepping on your feet.”
“Only occasionally. And I have good insurance.”
I laughed despite myself, pulling her closer. This was happiness—not the wild, desperate high I’d chased in clubs, but something more sustainable. The simple pleasure of holding the woman I loved while mariachi played and fairy lights twinkled overhead.
