Crossing Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

Had she really just sobbed a wet patch onto the T-shirt of her not-even-boyfriend who also happened to be a millionaire professional athlete?

  Humiliation fisted in her stomach. Rio didn’t want a hysterical mess of a girlfriend. He’d be kind to her tonight, because he was a kind man. Then he’d leave her. Just like so many other men before him. Like her dad. And now, like her mom.

  This is why she’d spent so long avoiding commitment. It never ended well.

  He opened a drawer, pulled out a T-shirt, and tossed it on the bed.

  “You can sleep in that, if you want. I’ll be right back.”

  Her throat tightened with fresh sorrow as he left the room, certain she’d just screwed up the best thing that’d happened to her in a long time. She undressed and pulled on the T-shirt, which was the same flat gray as her mood. Then she climbed into the bed, pausing briefly to savor his scent in the sheets before sliding over to the other side, where the pillows were smooth and untouched.

  Rio reappeared carrying a glass of water, which he set on the bedside table next to her. He shut the door, yanked off his shorts to reveal the red boxers he wore beneath, and slipped under the covers.

  She rolled onto her side, unable to look at him. Then the mattress dipped and the sheets whispered and he tugged her into his half, spooning her, looping his arm around her waist and sliding one leg between her knees.

  “Everything will look brighter in the morning, querida,” he murmured. “It always does.”

  She couldn’t even find the energy to thank him. She slid her arms over his, snuggled back against his body and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  Rio jerked awake as a sharp pain shot through his knee. He half-sat up, then sank back into the pillows as he shifted his leg and it subsided.

  Someone was breathing next to him. There was a woman in his bed.

  Eva, he recalled with a sigh, folding one arm behind his head and running his other hand down her spine.

  He’d never felt as helpless as when she’d told him about her mother. He’d cursed his lack of education, his lack of language, his lack of anything that might help him make her feel better. There were probably a thousand things he should’ve said, clever words of comfort and understanding, but like an idiot he’d just held her in silence.

  He rolled his eyes at the memory. He had plenty of lines when he wanted to seduce her, but when she really needed him? Nothing.

  She stirred in her sleep, rolling over to face him. He slid his arm beneath her head and scooped her onto his chest, stroking his thumb over her temple.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you won’t see your mom again, and I’m sorry I can’t do anything about it.”

  Her lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  “Go back to sleep,” he urged, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Five o’clock in the morning. His alarm would go off in an hour so he could train at home before training with Skyline.

  When he looked back Eva stared up at him, eyes big and round and mysterious in the semi-darkness.

  “Rio,” she murmured, and leaned up to kiss him.

  He kissed her back—he couldn’t help himself. She was so soft and warm, her scent a welcome disruption in his familiar surroundings.

  She turned onto her side and he followed her, already so hard he hurt. He touched her bare legs, followed the curve of her thigh, traced the edge of her panties and swept his palm over her stomach.

  Her hands were beneath his T-shirt and he echoed the movement, trailing his fingers up her abdomen to the space between her breasts.

  He hadn’t touched her breasts yet, he realized with a throb of arousal. He waited a second longer, savoring the anticipation, then covered her breast with his palm.

  She moaned into his mouth and he pressed his erection against her hip, teasing her taut nipple with the pad of his thumb. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand off her breast, guiding it between her legs.

  He swept his fingers over her panties, already wet to the touch. She took his wrist again and shoved his hand beneath the silky garment, bucking against his palm.

  She was soaked, so hot and ready for him that he almost stopped breathing.

  Which is why he pulled back from her with a tremendous force of effort, tugging down the shirt she wore and pulling the duvet back up to her waist.

  “We can’t, Eva, not now,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re grieving, it wouldn’t be right for me to—”

  She sat bolt upright, scowling at him through the pre-dawn gloom.

  “I’m perfectly capable of consenting,” she snapped.

  “Slow down,” he urged, raising a steadying palm. “It’s not that, I just don’t want the first time between us to be—”

  “Then I should leave.”

  “What? Why?”

  But she was already out of the bed, yanking on her jeans and stuffing her bra into her purse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  For several seconds all he could do was watch her, so bewildered he had no idea what to say. Only when she had shoved her feet into her shoes and was on her way to the door did he realize he had to do something.

  “Wait, stop.” He rushed to his feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee as he put weight on it. He beat her to the door and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to turn toward him. “What’s going on? What did I do?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her gaze fixed on the carpet. “You didn’t do anything. It’s my fault. I should’ve dealt with this like an adult, not dumped all my shit on you.”

  She pushed past him into the hallway and he hurried after her. “You didn’t dump anything on me, and there’s no right way to deal with the news you just got. Please,” he pleaded, chasing her down the stairs. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  But her stiff shoulders and determined chin told him the woman he’d worked so hard to catch was already slipping out of his grasp.

  He caught her by the arm as she reached the front door. When she turned to him her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “Don’t do this,” he urged. “Stay with me. I want you to.”

  She shook her head, the sadness in her expression like a knife in his heart. “I can’t be with you or anyone right now. I have a lot to think about, and I need space to do it.”

  She shouldered her purse and opened the door, and when she looked back at him she was all business. All of her warmth and softness had gone, replaced by the cool detachment he’d seen on his first day in the country.

  “I’m going to take some time off from work, but I’ll call a friend of mine to fill in. She’s American, but she lived in Nicaragua for years with her ex-boyfriend. She just moved back to Atlanta after finishing a job translating for a baseball player in New York. You’ll like her.”

  “No, I won’t,” he insisted. “Not like I like you.”

  She didn’t speak, didn’t look at him as she slipped outside and shut the door behind her. He heard her car door slam, and then the whine of its small engine as she drove away.

  His knee throbbed and he shifted his weight onto his right foot. He took in the house’s grandiose entryway, the chandelier hanging from the double-height ceiling. He thought about his sports car in the garage, the money he’d wired to his mother last month, the zeroes in his bank account.

  Why did it all feel meaningless in comparison to the woman who’d just walked out the door?

  He wandered into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the fridge. Outside the pre-dawn sky was still dark, but he knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep.

  Should he call her? Text her? Get in his car and go after her?

  She said she needed space. Should he let her have it?

  “Huevón,” he muttered harshly, cursing his own stupidity. He thought he knew a thing or two about women, but damn if Eva hadn’t taught
him otherwise.

  At least there was one thing he was good at. He grabbed a second bottle of water and headed toward the gym.

  Chapter 13

  The sound of the doorbell roused Eva from her half-sleep. She rolled over and squinted at the clock. Who could be at her door at six o’clock on a Sunday evening?

  Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses. She shut her eyes and pulled the duvet over her shoulder.

  It had been ten days since she’d fled from Rio’s house in the early hours of the morning, and they’d been ten of the worst she could remember.

  At first she felt justified in taking time off to grieve, even though the loss occurred more than ten years ago. Skyline’s HR manager gushed her sympathy, encouraging her to take as long as she needed. Her fellow church volunteers had also fallen over themselves with condolences, and assured her they could handle the drop-in program until she felt ready to return.

  She’d had long, tearful phone calls with Lulu and Juana, and a much briefer but equally comforting one with Eriberto. Olivia sent her flowers and Father Diego made a personal visit to remind her he always had time if she wanted to talk.

  Rio called and texted and e-mailed and called again, but she didn’t respond. She couldn’t face him yet, not until her head cleared and she figured out how to let him know it was okay for him to move on in a way that preserved both their dignities. After all, she still wanted to keep her job. She just didn’t want him to think she expected anything more.

  The weekend passed. She didn’t watch Skyline’s home game on Saturday night, but she saw on the news that they lost. She wasn’t surprised—they were playing one of the top teams in the league.

  Then came Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and she grew restless. She drafted e-mails to a few of her closest friends about her mom, then discarded them, feeling sheepish about what felt like looking for sympathy for something that happened a long time ago—and which she probably should’ve guessed anyway.

  She began to regret asking for time off and making a fuss about such an old tragedy. She phoned the HR manager at Skyline and offered to come back early but was kindly shushed as the woman assured her Chelsea—her replacement—was doing just fine translating for Rio.

  Then she phoned her co-coordinators at the drop-in center and got a similar answer. Everything was great, they were managing with no problems, and there was no need for her to rush back to help.

  At a loss, she called Juana and suggested flying down for a visit, maybe even timing it to be present at Eriberto’s court appointment. Juana had been grateful but firm in her refusal. She encouraged Eva to focus on all the successes she’d had with her career and the good work she was doing at the drop-in center, and not to get bogged down by the past. She and Eriberto would be all right, she insisted, and she’d see Eva when Skyline next brought her to West Texas. As Eva put down the phone she wondered whether on some level Juana had known all along that her mom wasn’t coming back, that the friend whose child she’d raised was gone forever.

  And so she’d gone to bed. No one needed her, apparently, so what was the point in getting up?

  She’d spent the last three days in a bizarre nocturnal suspension, sleeping through most of the day, then watching television through the long nighttime hours when her brain refused to quiet down. She’d left the house for groceries and little else, eventually succumbing to the temptation of pizza delivery more often than not.

  Saturday afternoon Skyline played in Miami. The Miami away fixture was one of her favorites. In years past Hector had dismissed her early so he could enjoy a Floridian bacchanal. She used the free time to walk on the beach, meet her old grad-school friend for dinner and many drinks, and once she’d even gotten lucky with a hot Cuban-American sales executive.

  This year she didn’t watch the match on TV, and she didn’t wait for the score to flash up on the news. She didn’t reply to the late-night text from her friend, who’d just realized Skyline was in town and wanted to know whether she was with them.

  She did, however, spend most of that night imagining Rio in one of the city’s famed salsa clubs, twirling women who were prettier and sexier and much better dancers than she would ever be.

  Sunday morning she forced herself up and into the shower, vaguely contemplating a trip to church. But as soon as she’d gotten out and realized how much effort would be required to blow dry her hair she gave up, pulled on clean pajamas, and crawled back between the sheets.

  Now, eight hours later, the doorbell rang again. It was so long after the last ring that she decided it couldn’t be Jehovah’s Witnesses—they wouldn’t bother waiting for an answer.

  She got up with an exasperated sigh and pulled on a hoodie to hide that she wore no bra beneath her cotton T-shirt. Maybe the women from church had brought her dinner. Or, even better, maybe the pizza delivery guy was so accustomed to her order he’d brought her one for free without her having to call.

  She grabbed her wallet before she answered the door. Even if the pizza was free, she owed the guy a tip. She pulled out a couple of single-dollar bills and swung open the door.

  Atlanta Skyline’s multi-million-dollar Chilean winger stood on the threshold.

  He grinned.

  She panicked.

  “Rio, oh my God,” she gushed, running her fingers through her hair and realizing unhappily that she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath her size-too-big running shorts.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess, but—”

  He stepped inside and shut the door behind him before she could object. His smile, his perfect teeth, his voice, the narrow length of him in jeans and a thin black sweater—it was almost too much to bear.

  She’d missed him so Goddamn much.

  He held up his palms. “I know you don’t want to see me, but there’s something I wanted to show you in person.”

  She hesitated, unsure how to play this. She should probably demand that he leave, but she wanted to see him, too. “Can I run upstairs and change my clothes first?”

  “Why? You look great.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You do,” he insisted.

  What was it she’d told herself she wanted? A man who appreciated the real her, un-brushed hair and all. She had to at least give Rio his chance.

  She sat down on the couch and gestured for him to join her. “All right, what do you want to show me?”

  He cleared his throat, his expression suddenly shy. Then in thickly accented, halting English he said, “Hi. My name is Rio Vidal. I am from Antofagasta, Chile. I come to Skyline. I will want to win many title. Today we have a good match. I receive well from my teammates. Thank you.”

  He beamed proudly.

  She was speechless.

  Reverting to Spanish, he said, “Chelsea taught me that. Pretty good, right? I’ve been working hard on my lessons this week and I think I’m finally getting somewhere.”

  She stared at him.

  Skyline didn’t need her, because they had Chelsea.

  The drop-in center didn’t need her, because they had other volunteers.

  Juana didn’t need her, because she had Lulu.

  Her mother didn’t need her, because she was dead.

  Now even Rio didn’t need her.

  She burst into tears.

  Rio’s eyes widened in horror as he slid closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “What did I do? I’m sorry, Eva, I keep trying to make you happy but I seem to screw it up every time.”

  She shook her head, inhaling slowly to calm her emotions. “You do make me happy.”

  “You’re crying, so apparently I don’t.”

  She sighed, swiping at the wet trails on her cheeks. “I’m not, and you do. And I’m very impressed by your English. That was excellent.”

  “Then what made you upset? Remember I’m not smart like you are, so spell it out clearly, because I’m lost.”

  “You are smart,” she assu
red him, taking his hand in both of hers. “So smart that you’ll crack this English thing in no time. Then you won’t need me at all.”

  Comprehension dawned on his handsome face. “Is that the problem? You think I don’t need you?”

  She nodded.

  He clucked his tongue in disapproval. “The only reason I worked so hard this week was to show you that soon you won’t have to be my interpreter, you can work for someone else, and then you won’t need to worry about whether you can be my translator and my polola.”

  Her heart softened with his words, and his distinct slang for girlfriend. He put his index finger under her chin to raise her gaze to his.

  “I’ll do anything to be with you. Don’t need me. Want me.”

  “I do. More than anything,” she confessed.

  “So what happened last week?”

  She exhaled. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to see that side of me.”

  He frowned. “Which side?”

  “Emotional. Irrational. Weak.”

  “I haven’t seen any of that yet. I saw a strong woman who’s survived a hell of a lot get the devastating news that a long journey had ended, and ended badly. That’s all.”

  She managed a shaky smile, her heart tripping over itself as she absorbed his words. He wanted her. He cared about her. Whether he still would tomorrow, or next week—it didn’t matter. Tonight he was hers.

  “Dammit, you’re going to make me cry again.”

  “Please don’t.”

  She laced her fingers through his. “Does this mean I’m not getting fired and replaced by Chelsea?”

  “Only if you get fired for sleeping with me. Should we test it and see?”

  She couldn’t help but return his cheeky grin. “Does that mean I’m allowed to change my clothes now?”

  He shook his head. “No point. I’m planning to take them all off in a minute.”

  She rolled her eyes teasingly but his expression was dead serious. When he spoke again the intent in his voice sent shivers across her back.

  “Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Show me.”

  She led him up the stairs and into her bedroom, wondering if her house seemed tiny in comparison to his, trying to remember when she’d last shaved her legs, hoping he didn’t ask her to turn on the light because this would be so much easier if—