The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

by Mariana Zapata

  Those large fingers eased their grip on my hand just slightly, and in a smaller voice than he usually used, he asked, “She’s your real sister?”

  Real sister. I’d mentioned my foster parents, hadn’t I? “Yes.” I messed with my glasses. “We’ve never gotten along. She’s about as far from what a sister should be as you can get.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “You’re the youngest?”

  “Youngest girl.”

  “They were there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And none of them did anything? Said anything?”

  Why did I feel so ashamed? My eyes started to sting, and that made me force my gaze upward. I wasn’t going to feel bad. I wasn’t going to hide. “No.”

  His gaze switched from one of my eyes to the other. “They live in El Paso?”

  “I think.”

  His nostrils flared and he gently let go of my hand, my skin immediately missing the warm touch of his fingers. “Okay.” He took a step back and turned his head over his shoulder. “Zac!”

  What the hell? “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t look at me before yelling Zac’s name again. “I need to borrow his car. If I fly, there will be proof I was there.”

  Holy shit.

  “You—?” I choked. “You—?” I coughed that time, floundering. “What the hell are you planning on doing?”

  “You kneeing him isn’t doing it for me.” Aiden didn’t even grace me with a glance as he made his way toward my door. “Zac!”

  Yeah, those tears pooling in my eyes decided screw it. They went for it. One, two, and three. “You’ve lost your mind, big guy.”

  “No. That asshole lost his mind. Your family lost their mind. I know what I’m doing.”

  This psycho was going to try and beat someone up, wasn’t he? Holy shit. “You’d do that for me?”

  Crap, my expectations were low if that made me teary.

  The big guy stopped in front of the door and spun on his heel with a lot more grace than a man that large should be capable of. He blinked, piercing me with a glare. “We’re partners. We’re a team. You said it.”

  I nodded dumbly, earning me that ‘you’re an idiot’ look from him. His eyebrows went up just a little, his head just slightly forward enough to be confrontational. “If someone messes with you, they’re going to mess with me, Van. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I might not be good with this friend crap, but I’m not about to let somebody get away with hurting you. Ever. Do you understand me?”

  My heart. My poor, weak pathetic heart.

  I swallowed and tried to nod away the clump of emotions plugging up every vein in my body. As much as I would love Aiden to go kick Susie’s husband’s ass… “The guard would see you driving his car, and there’s a camera at the gate.”

  Aiden tilted his head and pinned me with another look that might have been a surprised one. “You’ve put some thought into this,” he said slowly.

  “Of course I have.” He didn’t need to know I’d been plotting his murder then. “That’s why I know we have to wait.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. I’m not going to let you go beat him up alone. I’d like to get a couple stomps in too.” I raised my eyebrows and smiled faintly, letting the tension slide off my shoulders. “I’m joking.” Sort of. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again, and even if I do, their lives suck. Mine doesn’t. That’s enough vengeance for me. Trust me.”

  Well, at least most of the time it was enough.

  “Vanessa…” He trailed off with a frown.

  The next three sentences we shared between the two of us were going to be the last thing I thought about when I went to bed later that night.

  “You’ve been with me for two years, but I figure I’m barely beginning to understand,” the big guy claimed, his expression solemn.

  “Understand what?”

  “I should probably be scared of you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My eyes were crossing from staring at stock images for so long when my phone beeped with a text message. Sliding my glasses up over my forehead into my hair, I yawned and picked up my smartphone.

  Text Message

  Miranda P.

  Curious—more than curious because this was the first time I’d ever gotten a text from him—I pulled up the message and read it. Then I read it again. And again. And then I just stared blankly at my desktop computer screen.

  They had found out.

  Before I could panic, I made myself stretch my fingers wide and take a calming breath. You already knew this was bound to happen. At least that’s what I told myself.

  The more I thought about it, the more I should have been appreciative that the people at the chapel in Las Vegas hadn’t recognized him. Or that people on the street had been oblivious and hadn’t seen us going in and out of there. Or that the receptionist at the acupuncturist hadn’t snapped a picture on her phone and posted it online.

  Because I might not understand all people, much less most of them, but I understood nosey folks. And nosey folks would do something like that without a second thought. Yet, I reminded myself that there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

  It would be fine. So, one gossip site posted about us getting married. Whoop-de-do. There was probably a thousand sites just like it.

  I briefly thought about Diana hearing about it, but I’d deal with that later. There was no use in getting scared now. She was the only one whose reaction I cared about. My mom and sisters’ opinions and feelings weren’t exactly registering at the top of my list now… or ever. I made myself shove them to the back of my thoughts. I was tired of being mad and upset; it affected my work. Plus, they’d made me sad and mad enough times in my life. I wasn’t going to let them ruin another day.

  Picking my phone up again, I quickly texted Aiden back, swallowing my nausea at the same time.

  Me: Who told you?

  Not even two minutes passed before my phone dinged with a response.

  Miranda: Trevor’s blowing up my phone.

  Eww. Trevor.

  Me: We knew it was going to happen eventually, right? Good luck with Trev. I’m glad he doesn’t have my number.

  And I was even gladder there wasn’t a home phone; otherwise, I’m positive he would have been blowing it up too.

  I managed to get back to looking at images on the screen for a few more minutes—a bit more distracted than usual—when the phone beeped again.

  It was Aiden/Miranda. I should really change his contact name.

  Miranda: Good luck? I’m not answering his calls.

  What?

  Me: That psycho will come visit if you don’t.

  Was that me being selfish? Yes. Did I care? No.

  Aiden: I know.

  Uh.

  Me: You’re always at practice…

  Aiden: Have fun.

  This asshole! I almost laughed, but before I could, he sent me another message.

  Aiden: I’ll get back to him in a couple days. Don’t worry.

  Snorting, I texted back.

  Me: I’m not worried. If he drops by, I’ll set him up in your room.

  Aiden: You genuinely scare me.

  Me: You don’t know how many times you barely made it through the day alive, for the record.

  He didn’t text me back after that.

  * * *

  I was in the middle of eating lunch the next day when my phone beeped. So far, I hadn’t gotten any threatening calls or texts from Diana, but I was still a little scared to look at the screen. I actually hadn’t heard from her at all since I’d left her house. That wasn’t unusual, but it still left me feeling a little anxious and a little mad. Luckily, it was Aiden’s name that popped onto the display. I had finally gotten around to changing his contact information.

  Aiden: Are you free this Sunday?

  I was never free on any day, technically, but his question made me pause
.

  Me: It depends. Why?

  Aiden: Come to my game.

  Uh. Was I imagining this? Was he really inviting me to one of his games for the first time in the history of the universe?

  Me: I’ve gone to a few of your games.

  Aiden: You’ve met me after a game five times.

  He remembered that?

  Me: I met you after a game five times, but I’ve gone to more than those, thank you.

  Aiden: When?

  Me: Last season I went to five. The season before that, I went to three. I haven’t gone to any this year though.

  Obviously.

  Aiden: Why

  Me: Because the guy who usually gets me tickets doesn’t play for your team anymore…

  Aiden: Zac got you tickets?

  Me: Who else would?

  Aiden: I could have.

  The same person who couldn’t tell me ‘good morning?’ Riiiight.

  My phone beeped again.

  Aiden: I could get you tickets now. All you have to do is tell me.

  There was something about the fact he said ‘tell me’ and not ‘ask’ that made me grin.

  Me: I didn’t know that. You usually only get tickets for Leslie and that’s it. Zac always just gave them to me.

  Aiden: Come this Sunday.

  Me: I sort of had plans.

  I lied. My plans were to get a little work done in the morning and watch a couple of football games to make sure my fantasy football quarterback and favorite wide receiver got the job done.

  Aiden: Do you want Trevor or Rob to come visit?

  Me: Is that a threat?

  Aiden: It’s a fact. I talked to both of them. They brought up how you haven’t been to my games.

  I decided right then that I didn’t want to know what they had talked about. I didn’t need to know either. If Aiden was threatening me with visits from one or both of them, and they were aware that we’d signed paperwork… that was enough for me. I could take one for Team Graves if I had to, especially if it didn’t involve those two jackasses.

  Me: Fine. Get me two tickets, please.

  Aiden: In the family box?

  Hello no.

  Me: In the bleachers, if you can, big guy.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Zac whispered as we got out of line at the concession stand located by the club level.

  Honestly, I couldn’t believe I had either. When I’d thought about whom I could ask to go with me, I knew my options were limited. There was Diana, who I hadn’t talked to, was still frustrated with, and didn’t want to lie to again especially since my marriage to Aiden had been reported. There were a couple of people I’d met through her that I hung out with every once in a while. Then there was Zac. I hadn’t exactly had a whole bunch of time to make friends since moving to Dallas. So I’d gone on a limb and asked Zac if he’d like to go.

  What I hadn’t been surprised about was his reluctance.

  But I usually got what I wanted as long as I wanted it bad enough, and this was no difference.

  That didn’t mean I had to be smug about it. Patting his arm, I steered him in the direction of the section our seats were in. He’d never been in the stadium as anything but a player before, and he’d been eyeing everything like it was new. There might have also been half a sneer on his face, but I was going to pretend to ignore it.

  “Are you sure you’re okay being here?”

  “Yes,” he insisted.

  I wasn’t sure if I entirely believed him, but he’d said the same thing to me all eight times I’d asked. Still, I felt a little guilty to be putting him through a game when he’d been released a little over a month ago. He’d come back with, “I guess I’m gonna watch a game at home anyway.”

  The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt. He could have said no to coming, but he hadn’t. “We can go have Mexican food afterward, how about that?” I nudged him.

  His only answer was a grumble and something that resembled a nod.

  Our seats were excellent. So excellent that I wasn’t sure who the hell Aiden had to bribe to get them just days before the game. We were right at the fifty-yard line, third row. Surrounding the seats were a river of jerseys and Three Hundreds trademarked gear, and I could sense Zac’s tension as we took our spots.

  Setting our drinks down, the big Texan leaned into me. “Are you gonna tell me why we’re sittin’ here instead of in the box?”

  I slid him a look. “I don’t like the people there.”

  That had the nosey ass interested. “Who?” He even whispered the question, his eyes alight with interest. “Tell me.”

  Good grief. I couldn’t help how much of an asshole I was about to sound like. “All of them?”

  Zac burst out laughing. “Why?”

  I had to take a sip out of the beer I’d bought before I could muster enough mental strength to recollect that day. “Remember that time you got me tickets for there? The first time you invited me?” He didn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. “Well, I went… it was like Mean Girls with women who have been out of high school a long time. They were talking about each other nonstop; who had gained weight, who was using a purse from last season, and who was cheating on who… it gave me a headache. Now I’m one of them.”

  “You’re one of you, Van.”

  That made me feel nice. I might have preened as I took another sip of my beer and then touched my shoulder against his. “I like you, you know that, don’t you?”

  He snorted and grabbed his own beer bottle, taking a swig out of it. We settled in and watched the players come on to the field, the fans in the stadium getting to their feet and screaming all eighty thousand of their lungs out. The Three Hundreds were playing one of their top competitors, the Houston Fire, and it was packed. I was planning on sending my foster dad a picture message later.

  Unzipping my jacket so I could have free range of my arms and hands later in the game, I pulled my arms out of my sleeves and adjusted the bottom hem of the jersey I’d put on.

  Beer shot out of Zac’s mouth and right into his lap. “Van. Van. Why would you do that?” he cried, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind even as his hands wiped at his face.

  I sat back in my seat and grinned. “Because you’re my friend, and if anyone’s watching, I don’t want them to forget about you.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Zac and I had gone to eat Mexican food—and squeezed in a margarita each—after the game, and were back at the house when Aiden finally showed up. Those huge legs dragged across the floor as he dropped his bag, looking every bit as tired and thoughtful as he usually did after a win. I didn’t know why he got so thoughtful after a win instead of rejoicing, but I kind of liked it. When the team didn’t win a game, he usually just looked revved up and downright pissed in that quiet, brooding way of his. Like clockwork, he’d eat something then disappear into his room.

  Stirring the boiling pot of quinoa noodles, I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. “Good game, big guy.” He’d gotten three sacks, which wasn’t a bad day at all.

  “Thanks.” He stopped in place. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  With the spoon still in the pot, I shrugged. “Clothes.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “A jersey?” I offered with a one-shoulder shrug.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him moving around. I felt him inspecting me. His voice was low and careful as he said, “You’re wearing Zac’s jersey.”

  “Yep.”

  “You… went to the game wearing Zac’s jersey?” Still sober, still tiptoeing.

  “Uh-huh.” I glanced at him finally standing directly behind me, his back to the kitchen island. His arms crossed over that wide expanse of a chest. “I don’t want anyone forgetting he’s a quarterback,” I explained before turning back around.

  He moved then. He didn’t say anything for so long, I thought maybe he’d walked out of the kitchen, but I found him sitting a
t the breakfast nook table with his elbows on his thighs. I realized his cheek was twitching, but he didn’t necessarily look mad. He just looked… contemplative all over again.

  “Are you okay?”

  Only his eyes swept across the room before they landed on me and he tipped his chin down. “Fine.”

  “All right.” The timer for the noodles went off, and I turned to the stove. Straining the noodles and placing them in a big bowl, I dumped the pecan seasoning and the vegetables I’d prepared earlier over them, giving them a stir. Setting the pot and the cutting board into the sink with one hand, I carried the bowl over to where Aiden was sitting and set it front of him. “I figured you’d be hungry. Just wash the dishes or put them in the washer, okay?”

  That dark gaze tipped up to meet mine, surprise written all over those serious features.

  I didn’t know where the hell it came from, but I winked at him. “Thank you for the tickets, by the way. They were great.”

  “Thank you for the food,” he said as he stood up, literally a foot and a half away from me.

  The last time we’d been so close together had been when we were in Vegas and I gave him that peck on his mouth in the chapel, but I’d been so distracted at that point with everything going on, I hadn’t been able to appreciate just how freaking huge he was up close. Because big, he was. Tall and broad at the shoulders and chest, that trim waist only made everything else about him more imposing. He was radiating this insane amount of heat and the slight scent of coconut oil he put on his face every time he showered.