The match began, and I had already lost to Mayo.

Footsteps could be heard over the sand, approaching my ear without permission, whispering something that my brain blocked out long ago, ending with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over my head. And his clear, childish laugh had a point.

A victory against the poor monster who only wanted better lands for his son.

"What are you saying?" Mayo asked, pouring extra sauce onto his bacon chips. "Move your ass, the match is about to start." He grabbed Nolan by the arm. "The big guy and I are heading ahead, you keep going with your meticulous decisions."

I didn’t answer. Nolan didn’t contradict him either.

I opened my eyes, trying to maintain my balance as Ryne returned. I smiled, feeling the chill of a lemonade that Nolan had bought me. "My chips without curritos or sauce, please," I instructed the vendor, squeezing the bandages beneath Nolan’s jacket.

The vendor sliced the lemon with a cut so precise and beautiful that I envied the size of his pocketknife. "Would you like lemon, young lady?"

I didn’t answer. I stared at his weapon for a couple more seconds, feeling my fingers clench it tightly, cutting something that wasn’t a lemon. Meanwhile, a smile began to form on my face.

"Young lady?" he offered again.

I just tilted my head to the side, feeling my fingers tear open the wounds on my arms. "I’m sorry, what did you say?"

"If you want lemon and sauce."

"Sure. Do you have black sauce?"

He nodded, pulling out a jar. "Help yourself."

I started walking again, searching with my eyes. They weren’t waiting for me on the paths, nor on the benches of the park where the match was being held.

I pulled out my phone with the intention of calling him, before spotting him next to Mayo, enjoying one of his beers while eating french fries with lots of sauce. I took a step back, feeling the air leave my lungs as I heard his voice.

"Get up," my father told me, tensioning his bow with another arrow. "It’s a training bow, it doesn’t even weigh two kilos."

I held it tightly, trying not to let go, because I knew his face when I did. "I don’t understand why you want me to know this," I answered. "I don’t like hunting."

With one eye closed, he released the arrow. Only the screech of a goose echoed in the distance—its last cry before saying goodbye. "It’s to build character, Clear," he stated. "You don’t fight fire with fire, you fight it with a fire extinguisher." He tensioned another arrow, adjusting his stance.

"But I don’t want that!" I told him, squeezing the bow.

Carefully, he slackened the bow, dropping it onto the dirt with a dull thud that made me take a step back. "Who gave you permission to yell?" he asked. "I’ve heard enough of your crying today. Either you do what I tell you, or your little schoolmates will be the least of your problems."

I took a step back, watching his gaze tighten by the second. "Pick up the bow," he ordered. I nodded, pulling back the string without a projectile. He extended a small practice arrow next to me, a smile resting beneath his hideous mustache. "See that target over there?" he pointed. "Think of them. Think of the ones who hurt you. Shoot them."

My fingers trembled while he aimed at the target with an authority I remember as cruel. "I-I don’t want to," I said, holding the full weight of the string.

"Don’t you care about the damage they did to you?"

"I don’t care," I reaffirmed. "I don’t want to."

"You think that too," he smiled, grabbing his bow. "You’re just like me, daughter," he began, tensioning the arrow with terrifying force. "Don’t shoot if it’s to protect yourself," he said, firing with a force that pierced straight through the exit sign of the hunting grounds. "Shoot to protect what is yours."

My arms burned, my mind ached. He wouldn’t let me loosen my grip. "Shoot," he ordered. "If you don’t..." he paused, looking into my closed eyes. "I will burn your sweater."

In that instant, my eyes flew open. I shot, but not at the target.

"Don’t you find it beautiful, Clear?" he said, starting to pull the arrow out of his own arm. "Enough to protect..." he smiled, removing the arrow, looking at its vivid red coated in his flesh and blood. "But too small to kill."

"Dad, are you okay?!" I screamed, watching the blood pour out uncontrollably.

With his good arm, he grabbed my sweater and threw it at me carelessly. "You’ve earned it, daughter. You are capable of protecting what is yours." But he stopped for a second, looking at the ground where his blood was dripping. "Many think obsession is a disease. Do you think the same?"

"Dad," I whispered, squeezing the bow until my knuckles turned white. "I think that is the most sincere way to love."

"Obsession is the most sincere way to love," I whispered, tightening the bandages on my hands just like that bow, feeling the pain of the marks from that night, just to remember the physicality of my loyalty.

I took a step back, knocking over a couple of fries in the process, before feeling a gentle hand touch my shoulder. It was Mr. Arrit, who found me before I found them.

"Are you looking for them, daughter?" he asked me, pointing toward them. "They’re over there. Shall we go?"

I turned to look at them. I already knew their position, but my feet wouldn’t move on their own. "I had already seen them," I told Mr. Arrit with my eyes closed. "But I don’t want to go."

"I understand why you say that, daughter," he nodded, adjusting his untied tie. "I felt it several times myself when I saw her with her friends." He sighed. "Jealousy, insecurity, fear. A lot of things all at once."

I looked away, staring at my lemonade. "I don’t think you understand," I let slip, biting my lip. "What I feel isn’t something that can be understood."

"But it is a feeling," he agreed. "Something you think, and it exists." He let out a small laugh, starting to walk toward them. "Don’t be afraid to feel that. Just trust Nolan, just like I trust that Tomás will block every goal."

I smiled, letting out a soft laugh. "You’re right. I don’t know why I’ve been feeling this way." I joined him, walking at his side and at his pace. "I think we’re both going to see a defensive match. Do you agree with that?"

"I trust what I want," he concluded. "It’s that easy."

With those words we reached the bleachers, taking a seat. Me next to him, with the natural ease of a daughter accompanying her father.

Mr. Arrit sat down with that usual calm of his, placing his hat on his knees. I pulled down my skirt, covering myself a bit more.

Nolan stood up and sat next to me out of instinct. Abandoning, with that single action, a cold can and a hot woman. Mayo lost his smile for a moment. The first point scored by my team.

The field was small for a stadium—more of a park than a professional arena—with lines painted recently and goals with new nets that hadn’t yet conceded enough goals to lose their shape. The bleachers were made of concrete, without backrests, the kind that reminds you after an hour that you have a spine.

Tomás was under the crossbar with his gloves on and the concentration of a child. He had one eye on the pitch and the other on Mayo. A goalkeeper who was still very amateur.

But even so, I trusted Mr. Arrit, and if Mr. Arrit trusted Tomás, I would too.

And at that moment, I understood it immediately.

The goalkeeper protects the goal. He doesn’t go out looking for anything. He stays in his area, defends his territory with the same methodology with which I cleaned the bar—from left to right, without skipping a single crease.

His job is to let no one in. Just like mine.

With my fingers, I walked over to Nolan’s arms, snuggling closer until he rested his head on top of mine. This was my first barrier, Mayo. I will protect my goal like a goalkeeper.

"Do you want some lemonade, Nolan?" I said, holding out my cup. "And some gum?"

He nodded, smiling with my smile, to the rhythm of his heart which belonged to me.

"Tomaaas!" Mayo shouted from my right, with that voice of his that filled the space that didn’t belong to him. "Show me what you’re made of, blondie!"

From the field, Tomás raised his thumb, nodding with a joy that was superhuman for his age. Meanwhile, Mayo sat next to Nolan, wanting to occupy my territory.

"They’re going to lose," he said in a professional voice. "He’s too immature."

"Maybe you should trust him," I said, hugging Nolan tighter. "I do."

"I’ll take that as a bet," Mayo smiled, his eyes gleaming against the white light.

I turned to look at Mr. Arrit, who only smiled, trusting in my words.