The money, the travel, the success—none of it means a damn thing without Rachel. Everything has its place when she’s around; everything makes sense in a way it never has before. No wonder I feel so lost.
Maybe playing football for Madrid isn’t my dream.
Maybe experiencing life with Rachel by my side is.
I thought the thing I couldn’t live without was my football contract. I thought choosing my career was the smart choice.
But it’s Rachel I can’t live without. As long as I have her—as long as we’re together—everything else will fall into place.
I hope.
Holy fuck, I need to leave Spain. I think I’ve known I’d have to do this all along, but I’ve just been so bloody scared. Scared to stay. Scared to go. But thinking about being with Rachel tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…
It cuts the fear in half and replaces it with joy.
Rachel was right about David Beckham moving to Los Angeles to play for the football club there for several years. I know they’re opening a new football—sorry, soccer—franchise in Charlotte, North Carolina. How far is Charlotte from Durham, I wonder?
My heart—well, what’s left of it—skips around inside my chest.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck, this just might work. I’d be giving the club here the shaft, but I technically have the power to do that, if I wanted. Granted, the club is going to go bonkers; I may lose some money in the deal, and probably never play for another Spanish squad again. I’d also be taking a pretty significant pay cut. It’s definitely not the smart move, not at this point in my career.
But it’s the move I’ve got to make nonetheless. Plus, the summer transfer window opens up in a couple weeks.
I can’t be with Rachel again soon enough.
The thought of holding her again, watching a show with boobs in it with her again, getting our French toast mojo back again—I can’t breathe it makes me so fucking happy.
“Jesus Christ, Sophie,” I scoff, even as my eyes blur with tears. “Why do you always have to be right?”
“I am your sister,” she replies with a shrug. “Of course I am right. Also, I know you.”
It’s a gift, to be known like that. A gift my family gave me. A gift Rachel gave me, too.
I wonder what other parts of life—parts of the world—Rachel and I discover together. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia.
I’ve always wanted a family, too. Of course, that’s years down the road. But I hope to take that road one day with Rachel.
Lilli screams, happily, at a seagull that squawks overhead, punching out her arms and legs like a tiny lunatic. I have to hold on to her for dear life, tucking my pelvis away just before her little foot can nail me in the bollocks.
“So,” Sophie says. “When do you go to Rachel?”
“I’ve got to call my agent first—he’s certainly not going to be happy. After that...I haven’t seen her for months. I’m bloody dying, but this could take a bit of time to work out. I don’t want to go to her until all the details are in place. I’ll put a call into Rhys. He’ll know how to get to Rachel. Then, when everything is finalized, I’ll fly to North Carolina…”
“Very good! I come with you,” Sophie says.
I start. “What? No—”
“Lilli is very much wanting to meet Rachel, remember? So Lilli and me, we go with you to the Carolina.”
“I think I should do the groveling part on my own, don’t you?” I say, running a hand up the back of my head.
Sophie shakes her head. “I have the faith that Rachel will take you back. But if she does not, a cute baby does not hurt your cause, yes?”
I look down at Lilli. She looks back at me and smiles.
“She is cute,” I say, smiling because how could I not?
“The cutest. Yes! We go with you.”
Chapter 23
Rachel
August—The Day Before Classes Start
Mertyon University, Durham, NC
I lean a little closer to the bathroom mirror, eyes focused on my bright red earlobe as I try for the tenth time to put on the dangliest, glitteriest earring I could find. Nothing like sparkles and a hell of a lot of champagne to cure a broken heart, right?
I suck in a breath when I finally manage to poke the earring through my ear. I remember having so much rough, delicious, physical sex with Fred that I couldn’t wear earrings. I worried Fred and I would end up ripping them right out of my ears, so I didn’t wear any. I continued the trend when I got back to Meryton, too depressed to eat, much less wear jewelry. I think the holes are partially closed up now.
Even as a pulse of heat moves between my legs, my heart curls in on itself. Classes start in two days. I’m a senior. A freaking senior. I thought I’d know my way around life by now.
I feel more lost than ever. Mom and I have talked, at length, about how Fred and I could make it work. But so far, we’ve come up empty.
Besides, I’m wiped. What if I go back to Spain and Fred rejects me? That’s the most likely scenario; it’s been eight, nine months now since we broke up. He’s probably moved on. I don’t have the emotional wherewithal to go through all that again.
I don’t think I could survive another heartbreak.
So here I am, treading water, hoping that one day I’ll feel better.
I wonder what Fred’s doing tonight; his season starts this week. Is he excited? Nervous?
As heartbroken and unhappy as I am? I doubt it. How could he be? He’s absolutely killing it in a sport he loves. He’s making his dreams come true.
Then again, so am I. And I’m still miserable.
I wonder what we would have done together over the summer if I’d gotten the internship and we were still together. Would we jet off to Italy, where we’d lay by a pool in Tuscany after eating pasta all day? Or would we head for the Maldives, where we’d sunbathe naked on the beach or have dirty floor sex for hours, never leaving our hotel room?
My eyes well. I aim my gaze at the ceiling and blink, fast. I just did my eye make-up; I don’t want to ruin it. I’ve cried enough over the past months.
When am I ever going to stop crying over Fred?
Clearly the sparkles aren’t working. Maybe the champagne will? My friends should be bringing some over soon. They insisted on taking me out tonight to celebrate our last “first day of classes”. They know I still need a little, er, help readjusting to life without Fred.
There’s a knock at my apartment door. Taking one last look in the mirror, I turn and scoot through the living room.
Paige, a mutual friend of mine and Laura’s, smiles at me when I open the door. She is barefoot in a robe, but her hair and make-up are done.
“Hey,” she says, eyes glittering strangely. “You almost ready?”
“Yeah. What do you think of these jeans? I wasn’t really in the mood to wear a dress—”
“You have to wear a dress,” she says, pushing past me into my apartment. “What about that sexy beaded number you stole from me last semester? You should rock that.”
I close the door and follow her into my bedroom, where she proceeds to start digging through the cluttered mess of my closet.
“Do you not like the jeans?” I ask. “I thought they’d look cute with a pair of strappy heels.”
Emily waves me away. “Trust me. You want to wear a dress.”
“Why?” I ask. “Paige, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. It’s just your first night back, and you need to look like the sexy, worldly woman that you are.”
I plop onto my unmade bed with a sigh. “I’m really not in the mood tonight.”
“Aha!” Paige pulls a short—very short—black dress out of the closet. “This is what you should wear. It’s perfect.”
It is the perfect going out dress. It’s festive and sexy, embroidered with strands of tiny, glittery beads that sway when Em gives the hanger a shake.
Only I don’t feel very festive or sexy at the moment
, and I also haven’t shaved my legs in about, oh, a week.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Paige, but I think I’m just going to stick to jeans,” I say. “I want to be comfortable.”
“Oh, come on, Rachel,” she says, pouting. “Please wear it? For me? It’s impossible not to have a good time in this dress.”
I peer at her. It’s not like Paige to be so pushy, especially about a dress.
“You’re being weird,” I say.
“No I’m not,” she says, averting her eyes. “I just want you to have fun tonight, Rach. It’s our first night out as seniors, it’s the first time we’re together in, like, three months…”
I sigh again. “Fine,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’ll wear the dress, if only so you’ll stop bugging me and finish getting dressed. I’ve been ready for a glass of champs for an hour now.”
Paige jumps in excitement and hands me the dress. “I’m excited.”
“Me too,” I lie.
“All right. I’ll be ready in five. What about you?”
“I just need to change.”
She claps her hands. “Perfect! Everything is going to be perfect.”
“Here, I’ll let you out,” I say, and we start walking back toward the front door.
“Oh!” She lunges for a box of tampons on the coffee table. “Put these away.”
“Why?” I ask, watching her shove the box underneath the sink in the bathroom. “You really think I’m going to bring a dude home with me tonight?”
“You never know,” she sniffs, making her way out of the bathroom.
She takes me by the arms, giving me a once over.
“You look gorgeous,” she says. “Now go put on that dress!”
And then she lets herself out.
The door shuts. I blink.
What the hell was that? I mean, yeah, I haven’t seen Paige since spring semester ended back in May. But she was…I don’t know, jittery almost. Nervous. Excited.
We all love to go out, but not that much. Huh. Maybe she’s excited to see the guy she’s been crushing on tonight?
Whatever.
I put on the damn dress, but then I realize I need to wear a strapless bra with it. Damn it, I hate strapless bras with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. They slip, they hurt, they’re a pain in the ass. But Paige insisted I wear this dress, so…ugh, a strapless bra it is. I just need to find one.
I’m tearing through my underwear drawer, trying to find a strapless bra that won’t torment me all night, when there’s another knock on my door.
Jesus mother, it’s been two minutes. I love Paige, but she can really be needy sometimes.
“Come in!” I shout. “I’m in the bedroom.”
I wait for the door to open, but it doesn’t.
The knock comes again.
“Paige! For God’s sake! You can come in. It’s unlocked!”
She replies with another knock.
With a hiss of frustration, I quickly put on the least awful of all my strapless bra choices and stalk toward the door, pulling the straps of my dress over my shoulders.
“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” I say. “First, you make me put on a strapless bra. Do you know how uncomfortable this thing—”
The words stall in my throat when I open the door.
Fred looks up at me, his eyes—they’re blue tonight—shimmering in the dim light from my living room. He looks at me like he always does. With honesty and heat.
My insides clench all at once. I freeze. Blink, to make sure it’s really him. To make sure I’m awake and alive and this is really happening. Right here, right now, it’s freaking happening.
I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.
“Hello, love,” he says. The sound of his voice—familiar, deep—sends a rush of warmth through me that settles behind my eyes. He holds up a tall brown bottle, wrapped in a green koozie with a donkey’s butt on it. “Here. Drink this, and then you won’t give a damn about how uncomfortable your bra is.”
I reach out and take the bottle, wordlessly, staring at him.
“Fred,” I say.
“Rachel,” he says, grinning. His eyes get squinty.
“Fred,” I say again, too stunned and happy and confused to actually think.
His gaze moves over my body. His eyes darken, just a little.
He clears his throat. “You look lovely.”
“Fred,” I say. He looks—he looks better than lovely. He’s so fucking handsome. How did I forget how handsome he is? He’s wearing jeans and a sharply cut blazer; his white collared shirt is pristine. His hair—I love it when it’s still wet from the shower—is combed and neat. He’s sweating a little, his forehead damp.
He smells good enough to eat, like sandalwood and soap.
Oh my God. Fred is here.
And he brought me a beer. In the koozie I gave him the night we met!
I have no idea what to think. Why is he here? Just to visit?
It’s been such a long time since we spoke last. There’s so much I want to ask him.
So much I want to say.
“Might I come in?” he asks. His British-German accent seems stronger now that I’ve been surrounded by Americans for so long.
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door a bit more. “Of course.”
He steps inside my apartment and I close the door behind him. I can’t help but stare. He seems to take up the whole room, his head mere inches from the low ceiling. He’s huge.
Longing strangles my heart and leaves me reeling.
I take a long, fast pull from the bottle. I recognize the malty, slightly bitter taste; it’s one of his Bavarian beers. The kind we’d always drink together.
“God that’s good,” I manage.
“Glad you like it,” I say.
“How did you—”
“Had it shipped overnight to your friend Paige’s house. She said she’d bring it up when she drove from Charlotte.”
“Paige? But you don’t know her—”
“I got her number from Laura. I spoke to Rhys, who put me in touch with her.”
“Oh.”
Putting his hands in his pockets, he looks at me.
I look back. I want to touch him. Devour him for five days straight, then spend the next five days catching up on sports and Harry Potter and the new season of Tournament of Kings.
“Fred,” I say. “I miss you. So freaking much. But what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to…you know. Not do this.”
He takes a shaky breath. I’m so nervous I might vomit.
I try to drink the beer instead.
“I’m here because I can’t bloody live without you,” he says. “I thought I was doing the right thing, choosing my career. I thought football was enough, yeah? Because football’s always been enough to keep me content. I thought I could go back to being the bloke I was before I met you. But I can’t. I tried, but I can’t fucking do it. No one can talk Quidditch quite like you.”
I laugh, the pressure in my chest releasing, just the tiniest bit. “I wish I could say I’m not proud of that fact, but I am.”
“You should be,” he says. “My passions have never lined up with someone else’s the way mine line up with yours. We’re not the same person, Rachel. But we love the same things. We want the same things. Being with you—it made me fall in love with my life for the first time ever. And when you left—when you left, I got everything I thought I ever wanted. I got the contract—”
“I know,” I say, shyly. “I’ve been following your career. Exciting times for you, Fred.”
He spears a hand through his hair. A lump forms in my throat.
“That’s just it. It wasn’t exciting. It should’ve been. I should’ve been on cloud nine. The money, the awards, the praise I got for playing well—I had it all. And I’ve never been unhappier, because I don’t have you. Rachel, I’m in love with you. I miss you so fucking badly, it—” he draws a sharp breath throug
h his teeth. His voice wavers. “It’s killing me.”
Tears slip down my face, quiet and hot. My heart is beating hard, like it wants to be heard.
“Jesus, Fred, I’m in love with you, too,” I say. “But what can we do? We’re miserable, yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that we can’t be together.”
He takes a step toward me. I go still. “No, it doesn’t. But me transferring to the new football franchise in Charlotte—that does, yeah?”
“What?” I blurt. “Wait, you’re transferring? To a new team? Here, in the United States of America?”
“I am indeed.” Fred nods, grinning again. “The news should be hitting the wires now. My agent brokered the whole thing. Granted, I almost gave him a heart attack when I told him what I wanted to do. But it’s done. The papers are signed, the fees are paid, and I am the Charlotte Flight’s fourth signing and first major acquisition.”
I stare at him. “This is insane.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going to spend another bloody day with you,” he says. “So I need to find a flat. I was hoping you’d drive down there with me this weekend, perhaps help me pick something out? I hear Charlotte’s only a two-hour drive from here. Which reminds me—I’ve also got to buy a new car…”
My heart beats louder, harder. Faster. Holy shit.
Holy shit, is this really happening? Is Fred giving up everything he’s worked for to be with me?
“But what about your contract?” I ask. “The big one you just signed with the club in Madrid? You can’t give all that money up, Fred. You’re doing so well there.”
He shrugs. “Madrid is going to hate me for a while, sure. They’ve a right to. But I convinced them this was a move I had to make. And the club in Charlotte is paying me more than I ever thought they would. Way more. I’ll be their star player, so I’ll have a chance to really make an impact. With things so new, I can help put together a solid squad, hone my leadership skills, maybe learn a bit about managing, too. It really is an exciting opportunity, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”
Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4) Page 22
