Goalie (Texas Mutiny Book 3)
Page 22
Mari laughs in disbelief and launches into my arms, hugging me tight. “That’s amazing, Santos! Oh, I’m so excited! You’ll just be down the street!”
I squeeze her back, loving that we’re building enough trust for some basic affection again. “I know. I could come have dinner with you and the kids at night and help you get them in bed. I might even be able to sneak away to come to some of Myra’s school functions, too, since it’s five minutes away.”
“Wow. I’m so excited for you.” She pulls back and I want to kiss her again, but know the kids don’t need to see more than one make-out session today.
“Yeah. This is going to be good,” I agree. “You have a new house. I have a new job. I feel like we’re moving in the right direction. Does that sound crazy?”
“Not at all.”
We look at each other, smiling like cheesy fools. But I don’t care. I finally feel like I can breathe again. I have my life back. Even if it’s not the way I envisioned it, it’s a start.
“Eeek!” the girls squeal, and we look over in time to see them pulling away from each other.
“Your tongue is smooshy.” Myra giggles.
“Yow tongue is smooshy.” Lina giggles back.
I can’t help it. I laugh. I giant belly-laugh.
“Were they just…?” Mari asks. I can’t catch my breath long enough to answer her. “Well,” she puts her hands on her hips. “I think they may be old enough now that we need to keep kissing to a minimum,” she declares, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“It’s a good thing I’m working for the nearest school,” I say, as I take the kids down from their stools so they can go play. “I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to need to get to know my fellow teachers at the elementary school so we have some extra eyes on these two.”
Mari laughs and the girls run down the hall to the stairs, Theo toddling behind them.
“EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!”
Myra’s scream can be heard from at least a block away. But who can blame her? When Santos launches her into the air, he doesn’t hold back. She lands in the water with a splash and comes back up giggling.
Lina’s up next. She’s even more funny because she’s the exact opposite of Myra. When Santos throws Lina into the air, her eyes get huge and her mouth opens wide, but no sound comes out. At all. She’s literally scared silent. It’s hilarious.
Theo’s turn. Santos doesn’t throw him nearly as high, thank goodness. But that doesn’t keep Theo thinking he’s just as cool as his sisters. His deep voice comes out more like a “Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh” than a scream. My boy still hasn’t figured out how to baby giggle. Being almost two, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.
The whistles sound and the lifeguards all yell, “Adult swim!” to the chagrin of all the kids in the pool. Not that there are many. Just ours and a few others.
Santos quickly plucks our brood out of the water, and they take off for the baby pool, which means I have to spin my lounge chair around to monitor them. It’s only twelve inches deep, but stranger things have happened than a child drowning in a puddle.
Suddenly, I’m being showered with cold droplets.
“Eek!” I squeal, knowing exactly who’s doing it. “Quit it, Santos. You’re getting my Kindle wet,” I say with a laugh.
He comes around my chair, gives me a quick smooch on the lips and settles in the lounge chair next to mine.
“I thought you needed to cool off.” He’s not fooling anyone and he knows it. “You were looking kind of hot over here.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes and grin at him. “I’m digging that bathing suit.”
“It’s a one-piece.”
“It looks hot on you.”
“You think any bathing suit looks hot on me.”
“What can I say,” he shrugs, “I just think you’re hot in general.”
Since the kids and I moved into the house a month ago, Santos has been over every day. He hasn’t just spent time with them, he’s spent time with me, and I can see huge changes, not only in our relationship, but in him as a person.
He’s always been confident and self-assured, but in a weird way, it almost comes off more genuine now. Like he was pretending to be cocky before the fall out, but now he really does believe in himself.
It’s a subtle shift and I’m sure most people who know him can’t tell the difference, but I can. And I like it. It makes me feel confident that we have a real future as a family, which is the only reason I have enough lady balls to bring up a certain conversation.
“How’s the apartment working out?” I ask him, as we watch the kids playing in the small fountain shooting out from the middle of the baby pool. They have so much fun every time we come here. “Did the maintenance guy finally fix that leak under your sink?”
“Nope. I’ve talked to him twice and left three messages now. I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me.”
I crinkle my nose at the thought of him emptying out the bucket under his sink several times a day. “Isn’t it illegal to not fix something like that?”
“Probably,” he admits, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. I glance down at his abs. Even after quitting soccer, he’s still maintaining his physique. Sure, he’s gotten more soft in the middle and has more of a “dad bod”, but he still runs every morning and I know he goes to the gym a few times a week. Besides, the dad bod is all the rage. Looking at him now, I can see why. “But I live month-to-month in an efficiency apartment for almost nothing. You get what you pay for, ya know?”
I nod and look back up at the kids, gathering my courage. Last time I dropped a bombshell, I did it in therapy. I don’t feel like I need Justin as a buffer anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.
“So I’ve been thinking,” I say, not daring to take my eyes off the kids while I spill my guts. I’m too nervous about his reaction. “The girls share a bedroom so there’s an empty one right now. And you’re always at the house anyway spending time with all of us, which we all love. Especially the kids. Well, and your work is just down the street…”
I’m trying to make sense, but I know I’m rambling. I’m so nervous. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Santos swivel so he’s facing me completely, but I still can’t look at him. I just keep jabbering.
“I mean, we’re dating and we have kids together and people do it all the time. We still have the same last name and everything…”
“Mari,” he tries to interrupt me, but I can’t seem to stop talking.
“…and my mom won’t be thrilled but people do this all the time and eventually the mothers get over it…”
“Mariana,” he blurts out more forcefully and I clamp my mouth shut. “Spit it out, baby. What are you trying to say?”
I take a deep breath and turn to look at him. “I miss you. I miss waking up to you in the morning and going to bed with you at night. You are still the same man I was married to, but somehow, different. You’ve made these massive changes and… well, we’re still building trust and all. But I want us to be a full-time family again.”
His breath hitches.
“I’m not ready for us to be in the same room again, or anything. That much physical…” I pause as I gather my thoughts some more. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
He nods frantically, tears glistening in his eyes.
“But I’m asking if you want to move into the guest room so you can live with me. With us.”
He drops his head between his arms, his shoulders shaking. We sit there silently as he’s overcome with emotion. I know this is what he wants more than anything. It’s what I want more than anything, too.
It’s funny how everything had to completely fall apart, our family had to hit rock bottom, just so we could figure out how to pull things back together.
Finally, he looks up, sniffs, and wipes his eyes. “I know we have a lot of work to do, and I’m committed to that. But I love you, I love our family more than anything in this world. Yes. Yes, I
will move in with you.”
He leans over, grabs my face and kisses me, hard. I run my fingers into his hair and grab on, holding him tight to me without our bodies even touching.
As he slips his tongue in my mouth, he tastes of chlorine, and sun, and Santos. And in some weird way, he tastes of happiness.
It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for since we said “I do” all those years ago.
Six months later
Dishes. I swear I’m always doing dishes. Only now I’m doing them while looking out my window into our backyard.
I watch Santos and the kids kick a soccer ball back and forth. For the umpteenth time, the ball goes right between Theo’s legs and I find myself laughing. Looks like our boy didn’t get the athletic gene. Lina, however, seems to be a natural.
I quickly dry my hands and grab my camera, taking shot after shot of them in their colorful winter coats, eyes bright with excitement, cheeks red with the chill in the air. It’s not cold for the rest of the world, but for my kids, February in Houston is chilly.
I was worried when we moved in that I would lose my friendship with Marcus. But since we got here about six months ago, the opposite seems to be true. He’s here all the time. He says it’s because his new neighbors make way more noise in the bedroom than even the people who lived there before us. I don’t believe him. I think he just misses us.
After our conversation at the pool, Santos moved in less than a week later. He took over the guest room, like I had requested, which was no big deal since the girls wanted to room together anyway. Maybe someday they’ll need their own space, but for now, I’m grateful that they’re still best friends. It keeps me from having to figure out if I want Santos to move in completely. As in, in the master bedroom with me.
I admit, despite my desire to be with Santos again, I was nervous about living together. I should have known better. We fell into a good routine almost immediately. Santos is up at about five in the morning during the week so he has time to get in a run. When he gets back, he gets ready for work while I get Myra ready for school. After dropping her off at school, he heads to work while I spend my day doing what stay-at-home moms do… Dishes. Laundry. Groceries. Cleaning. It’s not much different than before we moved. Except for one major thing.
I don’t feel that bone-deep loneliness anymore. Now that my best friend is back home, everything I was missing, the connection, the conversation, the love… it’s all back.
I know it sounds crazy. I shouldn’t rely so much on another person for my happiness, but I can’t help it. I know I can do it on my own. I know I can keep a household running and be a mother and build friendships without relying on anyone else. I just don’t want to. I want Santos in my life permanently. There are still issues we have to work on every single day, but we do it. And we don’t do it for each other, we do it for ourselves. For our individual happiness. I think we both learned in therapy that this will never work out if we are so focused on putting each other on a pedestal because we will lose sight of our own happiness. Not to mention, that pedestal isn’t real. All it does is put unnecessary expectations on us. Instead of trying to protect each other from the dirty side of life, we need to each trust that the other can handle it, and push through it all together.
Maybe, just maybe, if Santos hadn’t been so focused on keeping me out of the “dirty side” of his life, and I hadn’t been so focused on avoiding anything that might cause confrontation or had emotions, things wouldn’t have gotten so far out of hand to begin with.
The back door flings open and my little family comes running in the house.
“If you want some hot chocolate, sit down at the table.” Santos’ booming voice carries through the house. The kids all clamor to the table, little voices chattering and giggling as they do.
“Need a hand with the dishes, baby?” Santos asks, as he kisses me on the cheek and grabs the milk to make the cocoa.
I put my camera down and pull the plastic cups out of the cabinet. “Nah. I was just finishing up. You know how much I hate leaving dishes in the sink after lunch. Did you guys have fun out there? Looks like Lina’s a natural.”
He snorts a laugh. “I was hoping my son would follow in my footsteps, but it looks like he’s taking more after you in the athletic department.”
I slap the towel at him playfully while he dodges me. Yet, he doesn’t spill a drop of the milk.
“There is nothing wrong with my athletic abilities. Just because I’m not a professional, doesn’t mean I can’t play sports.”
“You look like a baby gazelle when you run. All uncoordinated and shit.”
I scoff.
“I’m just kidding, baby. You can’t help having legs that go for miles and miles. And miles,” he growls, giving me the once-over with that familiar gleam in his eyes. I bite my lip in response. “When do the kids go down for a nap?”
“In about twenty minutes.”
“Good. I wanna work on some toning exercises for those long legs of yours.” He smacks me on the ass, making me yelp, and dumping some Nestles in the cups before the natives get restless.
I watch as he walks away, marveling at how my life has turned out. When we got divorced, I never expected we would end up back together. But I’m so grateful we did.
We still haven’t taken that “final” step physically. We make out. A lot. But emotionally, I’m just not ready. I know I’m getting there, but I’m still too afraid of knocking down that final wall between us. Santos, waits patiently. He’s never given me one reason to doubt him. He goes to work at the same time every day. He comes home at the same time every day. I have the same schedule on the fridge that all his players have, the one sent home by the department so when he’s late, I know why. But that doesn’t mean the ugly thoughts don’t still creep in some times. The “what is he doing? Who is he with? Is he doing it again?” thoughts. When they do, he meets me where I’m at until my rational thoughts take over again.
A couple of months after he moved in, I had a major meltdown. The team had an away game and the drive was over an hour away in a regular car. In a school bus, it was longer. So he didn’t get home until almost eleven. Rationally, I knew where he was and what he was doing. Hell, the score of the game came up on the school’s website before he even got home. But that didn’t stop me from freaking out.
As soon as he got in the shower, I grabbed his phone, snuck into the dark kitchen, and began searching. I looked through everything. Texts, calls, emails.
When he flipped on the light to get a drink of water and caught me with his phone, I thought for sure he’d go ballistic about me invading his privacy. Instead, we both froze and stared at each other for a full thirty seconds before he slowly moved toward me. I knew my eyes were wide.
Finally, he stood behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and put his forehead on my shoulder. “It’s ok that you’re looking,” he said, sounding muffled. “Just let me hold you. Let me hold you while you get the answers you need. It’s ok.”
Just like that, I started crying. “I’m sorry, Santos. I hate doubting you. I just… I can’t help it sometimes. It’s just like a wave that crashes over me.”
He spun me in his arms and grabbed me tighter. “Mari, the kind of trust I broke doesn’t take weeks or months to rebuild. It takes years. Years. You have every right to doubt me. I can promise all day long, but in the end, the only way to help you feel better is to show you. Never be sorry for looking. Never be sorry for reminding me not to let my guard down. This is how we’re going to rebuild what was broken. Together.”
I haven’t had another meltdown like that since then. I’m not convinced it won’t happen again, but a little more trust builds up every single day.
I look over at my family as Santos hands them each a mug of hot chocolate and shows them how to blow on it so it’s not so hot. I’m still amazed how far we’ve come since I walked out on Santos so long ago. We’ve still got a long way to go, and I know we’ll never stop going to therapy.
For now.
The End
Jessica Prince – This book is your fault. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. But this one is for you. I owe you some green sauce, but I’m totally cheap so you know I’ll never pay up. Let’s go dutch.
Andrea Johnston – I am so grateful you slept with me in Boise. You have been my biggest cheerleader about this book and this series in general. I am so grateful you came into my life. Every author should have a supporter as strong as you, and every person should have a friend as strong as you. Tell your husband, I still promise not to kill you in the middle of the night at the next event. I need you too much.
Murphy Rae – I think more than my appreciation for the cover is my appreciation for you letting me freak out before I finally greenlight a cover… every. Single. Time. Thank you for never being freaked out by my crazy. You’re the greatest friend a nutso author could ever ask for.
Brenda Rothert – I really don’t think you’ll ever understand how much your encouragement and feedback mean to me. It’s just not possible. When I start to question myself and if I should even bother to keep going, you always make me feel like I need to continue. For that, I am forever grateful.
Allison Janes – Here is your obligatory shout out. Because you made me.
John Marshall – Once again, your insight into the world of soccer is invaluable. Thanks for becoming a romance reader just for me. And for babysitting so your wife can be my wing woman.
Christine Kuttnauer and Megan Kapusta – You two couldn’t be more opposite ends of the spectrum, and it works to my advantage every single time. You’re stuck with me for the long haul. I hope you’re ready because you never know what kind of craziness is gonna come from this head of mine.