Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3)

by Caleigh Hernandez

  “I have to go,” she quickly chases the fear from her eyes before I finish, “but I’m coming right back.”

  I place a kiss at my spot on Izzy, the spot part temple and part corner of her eye. I feel her cheeks push up on her eyes when she smiles at the tender gesture.

  I finish grabbing my things from my dresser when my phone rings. “It’s Ken,” I comfort Izzy when I see her face droop with what I presume is the possibility of the caller being Sasha. Her face visibly relaxes with that information. “I’m assuming he’s calling because he’s here. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back with lunch.”

  She nods sleepily. I love her sleepy look almost as much as her just been fucked look.

  “Hey, bella?”

  She looks up at me from her spot in our bed.

  “Have I told you how much I love you?” I ask her. The words almost sound foreign to me. It feels like forever since I asked this question and knew she was going to answer.

  She shakes her head no and asks, “How much?”

  “So much, so much.”

  I see a pink flush sweep across her cheeks as she snuggles into her pillow and closes her eyes with the most perfect smile in place. “Te quiero mucho, mi Santo Feo,” she says in turn. I love it when she speaks Spanish, but I have to turn and leave before I get swept up in Izzy and stuck dealing with Sasha any longer than necessary.

  My phone rings again and I quickly silence it before it can disturb Izzy. It’s Ken again. Once I’m out of our room with the door closed behind me, I answer and let him know I’m on my way out.

  With my thoughts on Izzy and coming home, I hardly notice the time and distance that passes before I’m at the stadium. I don’t hesitate with parking by the locker room, I direct Ken to go to the front entrance where the main office buildings are located.

  I’m through the doors and up the stairs in a matter of seconds from arriving. The whole place seems off. It’s unusually empty for a Saturday, but I suppose the players and coaches are not the only ones afforded the time to mourn.

  Sasha’s office door is wide open giving me a clear sight of her once I reach the lobby area of the executive offices. Her secretary’s desk is empty which explains the open door.

  Time to get this over with…

  “Diego,” Sasha patronizes, “so nice of you to decide to show up. I was beginning to think your future meant nothing to you.”

  “Honestly, Sasha,” I don’t back down at the tone she’s taken or her not so subtle threat, “with the contract I’ve signed and my performance on the field despite the personal tragedy and whatever mess you’ve made for me, my future is pretty set. Unless, of course, you think you’re going to trade me somewhere I wouldn’t want to be.” I raise my eyebrow, daring her to argue. “We both know that my role within this team is far too valuable for you to be able to make that decision without it going to the board for a vote.”

  Shock passes over her features before she schools her expression into one devoid of anything. But that expression quickly morphs into one of mirth. “You know,” she chirps, “you’re absolutely right, but I wasn’t talking about your future with the London United.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Sasha?” The spite in my voice straightens my spine and I’m ready to bite the fucking hand that feeds me because I’m pretty sure she’s threatening Izzy.

  “It seems that you’re just a naughty boy, Diego.” She pulls an envelope from the pencil drawer of her desk. “And here I thought you were Mr. Honorable,” she chastises.

  I don’t want to open the envelope, but I have to. I have to know what she’s threatening and figure out her angle. What the fuck is her end game? I unwrap the string closure on the envelope and pull the contents from—

  “Oh, FUCK YOU!” I shout tossing the stack of pictures from the envelope Sasha handed me. It’s an understatement to say these pictures were intimate. These images look like a scene right out of Izzy’s nightmare. There in a bed with what appears to be a redhead and a blonde. Holy déjà vu! “THIS IS BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!”

  “I know,” she shrugs, not cluing me in on her game. “Doesn’t have to be true,” she gives me the look that says she knows something I don’t.

  “What’s your fucking end game, Sasha? What the fuck are you hoping to accomplish with this trash?” I shove the envelope across her desk.

  Sasha just chuckles. “Well,” she drivels, “I want something only you can give me, Diego. And I’m prepared to go pretty far to get what I want.”

  She’s purposefully drawing this out to rile me up. It’s definitely working. She’s also just admitted that this—right here, right now—is blackmail. Visions flash in my head of my hands around her neck before I check back into reality.

  “I see you’re connecting the dots,” the bitch taunts. “Here’s the deal, Diego. It doesn’t have to be true, because just the idea of this,” she pats the envelope in front of her with a smug smile, “could destroy your marriage. Add to that the fact that these ladies closely resemble the wives of Levi Thoen and Robert Connolly, I’d say that you can’t even afford to let these images come out even if your wife believed you. What would this do for team morale?” She gasps in mock horror, “What would it do to the bonds you’ve made with your mates?”

  The fucking whore! “What is it that you want, Sasha?” I grit out the question I was reluctant to ask, her name a curse.

  Amusement plays in the irises of her eyes like children at a playground, devilment plays with the corners. Her sly smile spells trouble. “Oh, Diego,” she says with feigned concern, “I think the question you’re looking for is, ‘How high, Sasha?’” She lets out a sweet evil laugh that bounces off the walls back at me and straightens my spine. She’s a devil in disguise, the image of the monster within ghosting her usually pretty face.

  I’m too pissed to say anything. I really don’t know what has me internally raging more. Is it the fact that she’s got me between the devil and the sea? Or is it because had I listened to Izzy all those months ago, I wouldn’t be finding myself bargaining with the devil in a dress?

  When I don’t say anything, Sasha continues, rather pleased with herself, “Oh, Santo Feo,” she clucks. “No comeback? No threats?”

  Her taunts snap me from tongue-tied silence. “Hardly, Sasha, but we’re at the point where I find myself referencing the age old adage: ‘If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say nothing at all.’ Someone such as you probably has little regard for such niceties.” My words chip away at her cool demeanor. Looks like Sasha was expecting a different kind of fight.

  I’ve got a mile-long to-do list once I’m through with this bullshit. Let her start barking her demands and be done with this. I’ve things to do and people to see.

  “Ha!” she interrupts my conspiratorial ruminations. “I see you thinking, Diego.” Fuck her! If she says my name again, I might actually wring her neck. “What’s the American saying?” She’s tapping her claw on her chin. “Ah, yes. This ain’t my first rodeo,” she chuckles at her own attempt at a drawl. “It’s amazing what you get when you put your mind to it.” She continues to look thoroughly bemused. “I knew you were a good guy when I planted one on you the night my dad landed in the hospital.”

  My eyes go wide at her confessions. She’s just admitted that this isn’t the first time blackmailing someone. One could assume another player. Then, she mentioned the kiss. The one I forgave her for because it was trauma and alcohol clouding her mind.

  “That’s cute. You really thought it was a moment of weakness.”

  I taste the blood from my teeth digging into my cheek.

  Don’t take the bait.

  It’s Izzy’s voice in my head. She used to say that to me after a game where I was hacked until I reacted, successfully getting me red carded for game misconduct due to excessive
force. My rage begs to destroy her, here and now.

  The point of playing is what? she used to ask. Win, right? You can’t help your team win if you’re not even playing. You gotta stay in the game.

  “You see…” Sasha breaks through the memory of Izzy’s rationale. “That night had possibilities on top of possibilities,” she quirks an eyebrow up at me. I’d love to smack the self-righteous grin off her face. “And only one possibility would have pretty much ended this.” She gestures between us, “Over before it started.”

  She pauses. If she’s waiting for more words from me, I’m still biting the inside of my cheek. I will not feed the beast with the fight she’s counting on. If there’s something I’ve learned from Izzy—

  “You could have gone home to your pregnant wife and told her that the boss’ daughter tried to kiss you. I had figured that you did, actually.” She shakes her head and pushes herself up from her desk. She walks to the bar and pours herself a couple fingers of Scotch. “Until I showed you the photo. ”

  At this time, I can no longer hold my shit together. My eyes are vibrating in my head, a red haze casts over my mind, and my mouth drops open. The voices in my head are not my own. They’re battling over who gets to say their peace. Izzy, Lito, Baz, fucking Mazzy. Izzy and Lito’s voices of reason are losing the shouting match with Baz and Mazz’ cries for blood because their siding with my rage.

  “There’s that anger I was expecting.” She might as well have been giving herself the Man of the Match title, she was so proud of her viciousness. “Your face isn’t so much different now than when you first saw that photo.” Sasha nods in my direction, “You’re getting better, but you’re an easy read, Diego. The moment your eyes landed on the picture of us,” she waggles her eyebrows and I have visions of ripping them from her face. I’d say that was the vision a la Mazzy, but it could be Baz. “I knew you hadn’t said a single word to Izzy. You looked like you got caught sticking your hand in the cookie jar. Whatever justifications you gave yourself for not telling Izzy, just made your current predicament inevitable,” there’s a renewed surge of enthusiasm in her voice. “And here. We. Are.” She splays her arms wide in front of her; she’s placed herself in the center of her office couch.

  Calmer voices prevailed and my resolve strengthens my posture, “Just spell it out for me, Sasha. You’ve clearly got my nuts in a vice, what is it you want out of this? Your dick swinging really isn’t necessary. I’m certain your dick is bigger than mine. Paint me impressed. Can we move this along now?” My calm is mostly sarcastic and bored. I refuse to give this woman any more sense of satisfaction where my reactions are concerned.

  I celebrate the small victory when she lets out an exasperated sigh and what kind of sounded like a growl. Her eyes raging with the fires of hell burning in them. I’m bolting if this bitch’s head starts spinning.

  She lifts herself from her Queen of her Domain position on the couch and nervously adjusts her stance. “Since you’re so eager to kick things into gear. Let’s just jump right in and get the party started. We have a charity event in about two weeks.” She pauses to consider something. “Two weeks from yesterday, actually. I need you to be my plus one.” This bitch is tripping. “We’re gonna give them something real to talk about and you’re going to play along.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” I hiss.

  Her laugh grates on my nerves. “You’d be surprised at what I’ve been able to get away with. I’m actually quite amazed at how much power you wield,” she says with what might actually be genuine awe. “Having the magazine pull all the copies, printing out your original drivel of a story, and getting them to redact the article.” She tips her glass to me, “You never cease to amaze me.”

  She hums her approval and my mind goes to daydreams of giving this bitch what she deserves. The wrath of Izzy. Izzy’s got a fistful of blonde hair and Sasha’s face is busted from being repeatedly bashed into the desk.

  “Something amusing, Latin Lover.”

  “What the fuck did you just call me?”

  “Get used to it, love. We’re about to be the talk of the town.”

  “You know you’re seriously fucked up. If my marriage is ending anyway, according to your flawless plan,” the disgust dripping from my words, “why the fuck would I go along with this farce?” I pause but continue before she can answer. “You do realize that none of the ways that this goes will it ever end up with you in my bed, right?”

  “My darling Diego,” she’s the perfect British villainess. “Don’t think that I’ve showed you all my cards. A girl’s got to have some secrets. Besides, you’ll be in my bed.”

  “So, I tell Izzy what? That our marriage is over? You seriously want me to destroy my life so you can play your fucking game?”

  “Let’s look at it as you coming clean to the world. That you made a mistake and you’re righting the wrong.” She delivers the next bit without hesitation, “And honestly, tell Izzy the truth. I’m sure she’ll believe every word. I’d bet she’ll even try to convince you there’s a way out of this. There’s not, though. A way out,” she says with a shake of her head. “It would be a fool’s errand. I’ve played this game a time or two or more. The only reason each of those games ended is because I ended it. There was always something missing. Like playing chess without the king. Pretty sure you’re going to make the perfect king.” She purrs and my skin crawls.

  “You’re fucking shitting me, right?”

  “You Americans and your expressions,” she scrunches her nose. “That’s what I want right now. There’s more. So much more.” I see the mirth dancing in her eyes. “You and Izzy were never going to last. This is just you getting out before kids get screwed up in the middle of a messy divorce.”

  Oh, this bitch!

  I know that right now if this were a cartoon and not real life, I’d be the character that’s increasingly getting redder and steam is flying off his head ready to explode. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to fix this, but I will. This bitch—”You messed with the wrong fucking asshole, Sasha. You won’t win.”

  “Yes, I will, Diego. I always win. Always.” Still cradled by the cushions of the leather couch in her office she shoos a hand at me like the possibility of her not winning is impossible and not worth a second thought. “You’ve got two weeks. If you haven’t made your split from Izzy publicly known and accepted my invitation to be my date for the charity event, I’ll release the photos to every rag in London, hinting that the two women with you might be Levi’s and Robert’s wives.”

  “You’re a real fucking cunt, Sasha!”

  “I’ll excuse the insults. You’re understandably broken up about the state of your marriage. My condolences,” she mocks. “You can go now…”she trails off. “Unless, you have your answer and you want to get this started tonight.” She lifts her back from the couch and raises her hands to the buttons on her blouse. Unbuttoning the first one, she continues, “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Not now, Sasha. Rank pussy at any time of the day is not ideal, but this early in the morning and I don’t think I could keep down my breakfast.” With that, I get up to leave. I’m up before she can react, but I catch the drop of her jaw from the corner of my eye as I turn my back on her.

  “Remember, Diego. I always win,” she spits when she finds her voice. “ALWAYS,” she shouts.

  I don’t even give her a second glance, but decide a one-fingered salute as I walk out the door was appropriate. “Fuck you very much, Sasha.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Here Comes The Sun

  February 2007

  The mob of paparazzi outside our house keeps me away.

  After the conversation with Sasha, I went back to the hotel to wrap my head around Sasha and the predicament I landed myself in. I knew I was supposed to go back to our home, but the fact that our marriage has become
fodder for the camera-wielding piranhas made it a challenge to keep Sasha in the dark. I sent Izzy a text instead.

  TRUST. ME.

  When I called her later that night, I still had no clue how to approach this, but I knew that no matter what angle I chose, Sasha had to believe I was going to play. I explained the gist of it to Izzy, I’d left her out of this woman’s first vile attempt to unravel my marriage. Not happening again. To say she was livid doesn’t even come close. She understood why I was going to stay away, but it didn’t change how our separation affected us.

  After a handful of discussions with Ken, I think we have something we can move forward with. Tonight is the beginning of the end.

  “Izzy,” I say her name not giving her a chance to say anything when she answers my call. “Leave the kitchen door unlocked. Ken is calling in a distraction.”

  “What’s going on, Diego?” I hear the panic in her voice.

  “I’ll explain everything as soon as I’m inside. Mazzy and Baz are on their way over. Lito is coming with Ken. I need everyone there. This doesn’t work without all of them.”

  “What the fuck, Diego?” Her voice is a whisper as if someone could be listening.

  “I just need you to trust me, Izzy,” the desperation in my voice rings in my ears. I hear the screech of tires on asphalt as car after car leaves. When I hear Baz’s whistle, I know that the coast is as clear as it’s going to get. When I step out from the neighbor’s lower entrance, Mazzy, Baz, Ken, and Lito are waiting like planned. We pass the neighbor’s stoop; the four of them huddled around me to keep the watchful eyes of those remaining from seeing me. I slip down through the gate and down to the lower entrance to our house through the kitchen while the rest of them kept the attention drawn on them making their way up to our front door.

  “Hey. Hi. What the hell’s going on?” I can hear Izzy interrogating them and greeting them. She’s so focused on those she can see, I know she didn’t hear me come in through the kitchen or up the stairs.