The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

28. Gabriel

gabriel

. . .

The second I step out of the locker room, I’m surrounded by people. First to approach is Cecilia, her arms wrapping around my waist like a lifeline, her cheek pressing against my chest.

“I’m sorry you lost,” she whispers, her voice soft but steady.

I tighten my arms around her, holding on just a little longer than I need to. “All good,” I reply, though the words feel hollow. What I don’t say—what I can’t say out loud—is how we just threw away our shot at the NCAA selection committee even glancing our way. We would’ve needed a perfect record for that, and today’s loss? It shattered that possibility. I force out a breath, reminding myself to let it go. Shit happens. Today just wasn’t our day.

Pulling back, my hands find Cecilia’s waist as I look down at her. Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to read me, but I’m too tired, too disappointed, to let her in right now. I kiss the top of her head and glance up, spotting my dad standing a few feet away.

He told me he’d come, but I hadn’t been sure if he’d actually show. Didn’t want to get my hopes up. But there he is, looking a little out of place amongst the college crowd in his dark blue Levi jeans and button-down shirt, but he’s here all the same.

His eyes light up when they meet mine, and he strides over, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

“Gabriel,” he starts, his accent more pronounced than usual as a grin stretches across his face. “Your speed out there? Maldita sea, hijo.” — Damn, son. — “Como una bala.” — Like a bullet .— “And that goal …” He pauses, shaking his head in awe. “I haven’t felt this alive in years, watching you play like that.”

I nod, trying to let his praise sink in, but it feels like it’s floating just out of reach. “Thanks, Pops. I appreciate you coming.” It’s too bad I couldn’t have shown him a win.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” he says, his chest puffing out a little. “Can’t wait to see you on the field again.”

He gives me a quick pat on the back before stepping away, and as soon as he does, I see Asher and Adam lingering nearby. They approach with the same awkward energy they always carry, especially Adam, who looks unsure if he should even be here.

“We didn’t know if we should stick around after the game,” Adam starts, his voice a little hesitant. “But, uh, I just wanted to say—you were great out there, man. This was my first soccer match, and, damn …” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize how savage you guys could get.”

“Yeah,” Asher chimes in, giving me a nod. “You killed it, bro. You guys play almost as dirty on the field as we do on the ice.” He chuckles. “We still on for the gym later this week?”

I smirk, appreciating the compliment. “Yeah, we’re still on. Thanks for coming, guys.”

“Of course,” Asher says, a small smile on his face. “We’ll catch you later, then.”

They give me a final nod before turning to leave. My dad offers a quick goodbye too, telling me once again how proud he is, and then it’s just Cecilia and me. Atticus and Deacon pass by us, both of them looking exhausted but in decent spirits.

“We’re heading out for a drink,” Atticus calls over his shoulder. “You coming?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, “I’ll catch you guys later at the house. You both played a good game.”

They wave me off and head out, leaving the two of us in the growing quiet. I glance back down at Cecilia, her hand still loosely gripping mine.

“Where’d Adriana go?” I ask, my eyes scanning the parking lot one last time.

Cecilia gives me an apologetic look. “I might have convinced her and Kenji to leave before the game ended,” she tells me. “Julio kept looking out at the stands during the game. I think she was the reason he was out of sorts today, and I wasn’t sure if her sticking around would make things worse between them.” She shrugs. “Thought it was best to play it safe.”

I nod, the tension of the day still coiling in my chest. “Yeah, good call.”

We walk in silence across the parking lot to her white Jeep Wrangler. I toss my bag into the backseat, the thud of it punctuating the quiet. The drive starts the same way—quiet, Cecilia’s hands gripping the wheel, and my mind replaying every single moment of the match, every mistake, every missed opportunity.

I can’t stop thinking about our loss, so I look for a distraction. “What’s the plan on Monday?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can see Cecilia tense up beside me. She knows what I’m asking, knows Monday is the day Austin gets sentenced. “What time do I need to be ready?” I add, trying to make the question as casual as I can.

She exhales slowly, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I … I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she says, and I don’t miss the apprehensive tone in her voice.

“I … uh.” She swallows hard before clearing her throat. “I was thinking maybe you’d sit Monday out.”

Her statement hits me harder than I expect it to. “What?” I glance at her, trying to get a read on her face. “Why would I do that?”

Cecilia worries her bottom lip. “It’s not a big deal,” she tells me, though whether she’s trying to convince me or herself, I’m not entirely sure. “It’s just that Mr. Ayala will be there. Along with my parents, too. I just … I think it’s better if I take care of this on my own.” She can’t be serious right now. “Besides, you have classes that day, and we don’t know how long we’ll be in court. It could wind up being an all day thing, and you have practice you’ll need to be at.”

It’s not the words themselves—it’s the way she says them, like she’s keeping me at arm’s length. Hurt flares deep in my chest. And despite my efforts, my next words come out sharp and edged with anger. “You don’t want me there.”

She lets out a breath, one that screams frustration. Her fingers flex around the steering wheel. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure as hell feels like that, Cecilia.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and the rest of the drive to my place is thick with tension. When we finally pull up, I’m still simmering. As soon as we step out of the Jeep, I can’t help but confront her.

“I don’t get why you don’t want me there,” I say, my voice louder than I intend. “It’s like as soon as shit is good between us we’re right back on the hamster wheel and you’re shutting me out of your life again.”

Cecilia slams her door and steps around the SUV to face me. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” she tells me.

“I don’t think I am,” I snap. “But explain it to me, then. Huh? If it’s not a big deal, explain why you don't want me there?”

“It’s not that simple. I just don’t want you getting dragged into?—”

“I’m already in this, Cecilia!” My hands are shaking, and I rake a frustrated hand through my hair. “Why are you acting like me being there for you is a sudden inconvenience?”

“I’m not,” she snaps, her voice rising to match mine. “But this isn’t about you.”

I take a step back, her words slamming into me, and suddenly, I feel like I’m losing more than just the argument. Shaking my head, I force myself to take a steadying breath. Now isn’t the time. I just lost my game. I’m pissed about that. About the NCAA bullshit. And now she tells me this. I’m not in a good head space to have this conversation.

“Fine,” I mutter. “You do you.” I’ll let it go for now but we sure as hell are picking this conversation back up tomorrow. “I’m going to make us some food. I’m fucking beat.”

I walk toward the porch, but when I realize she isn’t following me, I turn around. “You coming?”

Cecilia bites her lip before shaking her head. “I, um … I actually have to go.”

“What? Why?” I ask, unable to hide the confusion in my voice. I watch her closely, waiting for her to look at me, to give me some sort of hint into what she’s thinking, but Cecilia refuses to meet my gaze.

She hesitates, just for a second, then says, “I promised my mom I’d help her tonight. She’s um, making arrangements for one of those dinner things my dad’s always hosting for work.” Her words come out too fast, and the smile on her face feels forced.

And she still isn’t looking at me.

She’s lying, and I know it. All of her usual tells are right there—the way she avoids my gaze. How she fidgets, wringing her hands together. I can even hear it in the way her voice goes up a notch at the end of her sentence. She’s a terrible liar, and it drives me insane that she thinks I’m stupid enough to fall for it. I don’t know what’s going on with her right now, and I don’t have the energy to push her for answers.

Not tonight. Not when I know it’ll only lead to a fight.

Whatever is swirling in that pretty little head of hers, it’s making her too guarded to be honest with me. Maybe even too guarded to be honest with herself. Fuck if I know. I don’t want to leave shit like this but I know better than to push Cecilia when her walls go up like this.

“Whatever,” I mutter, turning away, my chest tight with frustration. I force myself to climb the last of the porch steps before heading inside, not waiting for her response. The door clicks shut behind me with a soft snick, the sound louder in the silence it leaves behind.

I stand just inside the entryway. My back pressing against the solid wood of the door until I hear the sound of her engine roar back to life. With a sigh, I shake my head. Disappointment weighs heavy across my shoulders as I head for the kitchen, but as soon as I open the fridge, my appetite disappears and I find myself slamming the door.

“Fuck.” Breathing heavy, I hang my head. I hate giving her space. I hate when she shuts down and pushes me away like this.

Tomorrow. I remind myself. Right now, I just need to drag myself upstairs to my bed and get some sleep. We’ll talk and figure all of our shit out tomorrow.