“Let’s go, Diego,” Sasha snaps.
“But Sasha, the night’s not over yet,” I mock plea.
“Quit the fucking games, Santo,” she spits back, oblivious to her ironic and discordant request. My very presence by her side was a consequence of her playing fucking games and the look I give her tells her just that.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I chuckle. However, with a nod in Izzy’s direction, I turn back to Sasha and agree that it was time to go. “With your dress so visibly soiled, I would imagine being in front of all these faces and names would be embarrassing.” Pausing for effect, I continue, “Should we arrange to leave out an exit where there will be no cameras?”
While I am remiss to leave Izzy with Johnny, I know that another couple of drinks and Sasha pushing just the right buttons, I’d be serving at least a three-game suspension for inappropriate behavior off the pitch.
Since the fastest and easiest way out to the car is through the circus of cameras and media personalities, Sasha throws on her coat and cinched it shut to hide as much of the damage caused by the red wine. I had no reason to avoid the requests for pictures or the occasional questions. So as Sasha stormed in the direction of our waiting limousine, I was all too happy to plaster on a smile and give them some answers. Of course, I avoided the ones about Izzy and myself, but gladly answered ones about the event and the show that accompanied it.
Five minutes—probably closer to ten—later, I’m climbing into the car to face a fuming Sasha. Preparing for the venomous tongue lashing I know is in store for me, I reach for the decanter of whiskey in the mini bar and pour myself a couple of fingers over a few cubes of ice.
“You did that on purpose,” she starts.
I have the audacity to look shocked because I am. “Yeah, Sasha. I did it on purpose. I arranged for Javi Bastos to say some ridiculous shit about my wife just to give him a verbal slap down that resulted in him spilling your drink on you. Not to mention, thanks to whatever you screwed him out of by signing me instead has put me in his crosshairs. There’s not a humble bone in that man’s body and I’d wager that no amount of money would have him helping me.”
I sip the chilled liquor and I’m grateful for the cold burn as it goes down.
When Sasha doesn’t speak, I redirect my eyes to hers. She’s slack-jawed and speechless. I wish I could discretely take a picture of this for posterity, but I don’t so I settle on making a mental one. Because of the late hour, we’re back to my hotel in no time.
I siphon the rest of the whiskey and put down the glass. With a curt good night to Sasha, I exit the vehicle before her driver can leave his seat. Still got with her tongue twisted, she doesn’t utter a single word before I slam the door shut.
Tonight wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was bad nonetheless. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Seeing Izzy with Johnny brought back the nightmares that haunted the days of our only separation. Through the door of my suite, I make a beeline for the bar. I quickly splash some whiskey into a glass to chase the unsettling memories away. The contents of the glass are gone but the visions remain.
I decide to settle in for the long night down memory lane. I grab the nearly full bottle and my glass. I forgo the ice out of laziness and sink into the over-sized couch nearest the bar. Pouring myself a couple of fingers, I avoid the urge to toss it back in one gulp and pour myself another. Instead, I sip it, wading through the mental images of our time apart.
“I don’t suggest holding your breath,” her cruel words pop into my head. “I miss you, Diego,” only to be followed up the next morning with, “Fucking or nothing.” My head spins and I do what comes naturally in times like this. I empty my glass and refill it.
“I don’t trust myself with you.” Those few words fueled my determination to win her back then. Now, they sting. They’re a reminder of what I did to her, to us. A reminder that as of that night, having seen her dance with Johnny, I vowed it would be the last time I’d idly stand by and watch her intimately dancing in the arms of another man.
The drunken morning that followed was a revelation.
Chapter Thirty-Three: I Can’t Be With You
June 1999
Sleep did not come easy for me after I left the event. Baz dropped me off at my dorm late enough, but all I managed was to toss and turn for hours. I know Izzy said her date was there because of me, but the image of them so cozy on the dance floor or the intimate way he placed his hand on the small of her back while they chatted with other guests haunted my waking nightmares.
Eventually, I gave up and decided to go for a walk. Without realizing it, I walked to the liquor store down the street. Intent on making the night a distant memory, I sweet talked a pretty young thing to sell me a bottle of tequila. Not my brightest idea.
Instead of forgetting, I remembered every churning detail and found myself in a cab headed to her house after polishing off half of the bottle. It’s now thirty minutes until six o’clock in the morning and the sun is starting to peak over the front of her house. The shadows it’s casting on the beach below are chilling from my spot on her patio. It’s the darkest moments before dawn and my mother’s frightening stories of El Cucuy terrorize my thoughts.
Before I can explore the many reasons this mythical monster would have to visit me, my stomach revolted. Spilling the liquid contents over the side of her porch to the beach below, I curse the tequila and tenfold burn that comes with it coming back up.
I hear the sliding glass door schlik open and I freeze. Hovering over the side, I’m too afraid to turn to see who is staring at me. My stomach flops and I don’t know if it’s relief or increased nervousness when the voice that speaks to me isn’t Izzy’s. “Here,” Mazzy offers. I turn to see a bottle of water in her hand and some pills. I’m ashamed and stuck in my stupor, but I manage to accept both from her. “Can’t say I know why the fuck you’re on our back porch throwing up at nearly six in the morning, but I know there was a similar situation in the upstairs master bathroom a few hours earlier.”
She gives me a sympathetic look when mine becomes crestfallen. “I’m guessing last night didn’t go so well?” she questions.
I shrug. “I don’t know, Mazz. She was there with that guy and even admitted it was because she can’t trust herself around me.” I wipe the moisture from my chin and around my mouth with the back of my hand. “Whatever that’s supposed to fucking mean,” I groan.
She sits down next to me and nudges my shoulder with hers. “Ahh, Tweedle D. Let me see if I can help a little.” She pauses to contemplate what to say next. “So, I don’t know how much of her past she’s told you, and without crossing lines where our friendship is concerned, I know that Izzy is protecting her heart. There’s something about you that makes the smart, strong woman she knows herself to be, become a mess of lust and love. Right now, it seems like she’s just making sure she doesn’t get hurt anymore than she already has.”
A sigh ripples through me and she continues. “I know that doesn’t help, but remember when you called and demanded answers?” I nod in response. “How are you going to make her worth it? What have you done to show her that? You’ve screwed up so epically that promises and words alone won’t fix.” She takes a sip from the coffee she’s holding. “You’re familiar with Texas Hold’em, right?” She doesn’t wait for my confirmation, “You’ve gone all in and she’s made the call. Time for you to show your cards.”
“Holy shit, Mazz! You’re fucking brilliant!” I grab her head and kiss her cheek. As crazy as it seems, what she just said made absolutely perfect sense. Ideas start rolling around in my head and I consider just how much I should show when a thought crosses my mind. “I have an idea. Think you could help?”
She considers my request and regards me with a mischievous grin. Her silence begins to chip away at the surge of hope she eli
cited. “Sure, Tweedle D, I’ll help. But that’s the last my hand will dip into your mess.”
“Mazzy? Diego?” I hear Izzy’s soft voice come from behind Mazzy. Mazzy shoots me a look that says, Don’t fuck this up, before she turns to face Izzy.
Standing in the doorway between the patio and the house, Izzy looks confused and slightly under the weather. Of course, that doesn’t keep my heart from trying to jump from my chest or my cock from twitching as a result of her not-that-close proximity.
Mazzy walks off without a word. She shakes her hand in the air in a goodbye and probably shares a look with Izzy if the change in Izzy’s expression is any clue.
“Izzy,” I implore. Fuck! Did I just fucking whine her name? I try again with just her name and still get the same sound.
She shakes her head in discouragement. So, I stop, literally biting my tongue to keep it from falling out and me tripping over it.
“What are you doing here, Diego?” her tone somewhere between bewildered and annoyed. “How long have you been here?” she asks when her eyes land on the empty bottle of tequila next to me.
“Awhile,” I answered sheepishly. I can only explain the shift in mood is a result of her presence and Mazzy’s advice about words and promises. I’m ill prepared for this conversation. Clearly, I hadn’t thought this out…and before Mazzy discovered me here, I thought begging was the way to go.
“Why?” she asks breaking through my thoughts. “You have the first day of your training camp this afternoon and you decided drinking all night on my patio was the best example for your students?” My shoulders slump as her rationale sinks in. “Go home, Diego. Rest. You’re not doing yourself any favors,” she gestures to my rumpled state and the empty bottle, “with all of this.”
“Izzy,” I plea…again sounding like a whine.
“Diego, cut the wounded act.”
It’s not an act, I want to argue.
“It’s a terrible color on you,” she spits at me.
“Fuck, Izzy,” I hear the crack, but continue. “Are you ever going to talk to me?” Even after the boost from Mazzy, I’m beginning to think that she’s done with me.
Her silence is deafening.
“Izzy,” I start with the originally scheduled begging. “I fucked up.”
“That was obvious,” she grits through her teeth, “when I found you twisted up with those whores.”
I struggle with what to say next, this groveling isn’t going so well.
“You know what, D?” she asks, exasperated. “Why don’t you explain it to me again? Tell me how what happened on my birthday can be justified. How slipping your dick into not one, but two cunts doesn’t tell me exactly where I fall on your list of priorities? Of course, that’s all besides the point, right? It’s not as if we were together. So, really…you did nothing wrong.”
Fuck! Her recap and assessment don’t exactly paint me the fucking good guy.
“This one is on me. I should have seen it with our increasing distractions, forgetting about plans we made, and then you asking for space. You were just trying not to hurt me. My bad for not taking the hint.” When she finishes those last words, a sob rips from her chest and I instinctually rise up to hug her. “No! Don’t fucking touch me. After last night, I know without a doubt what your touch does to me. I don’t need to get lost in a lie, no matter how good that lie feels.”
As much as I want to respect her wishes, I can’t. I refuse to let her push me away, so I wrap her in my arms. Following a flash of resistance, she sinks into me and let’s go of the tears she’d been trying to hold back. She’s a mess in my arms and I’m the reason why. She speaks to me, her voice muffled by the nearness of her mouth to my chest. “Just let me go, D. Let me go,” her desperate plea is like a knife in my heart. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“I’m never letting you go, bella preciosa.”
Her body sags in defeat. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she argues. “I’m so tired of hurting. Everything hurts.”
“Izzy give me a chance to make us right. Give me a chance to show you, you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”
She pushes out of my arms and stalks away. “Make it right?” she asks incredulously. Her question nearly a bark. “How the fuck do you make slipping your dick into someone other than me, right?”
“I didn’t,” I whisper. I know the truth isn’t going to help, but that is the truth. Sure, it was headed there, but Izzy walking ended the night before it got that far.
“Oh, fuck you, Diego! I know what I saw.”
“I’m not arguing what you saw…and I won’t deny that it was headed in the direction you imagined, but,” I struggle with phrasing these next few words, “you showing up rained out the game.” I know my analogy is in poor taste, but they’re the best I’ve got.
A flash of recognition crosses her face and for a brief moment, I got the feeling that I’d made my point and we were about to turn the corner back onto Lover’s Lane. But just like that, it was gone.
“Ughhh,” she groans. “I can’t be reasonable or rational where you’re concerned. Whether we were together or not, whether you did or were going to fuck those two women, you had me believing that you loved me, that the space you needed was just so you can get your head right.” An agitated sigh escapes before she proceeds to deliver the lecture I know I deserve. “I guess I should’ve realized that meant you just weren’t ready for what we had. That, at nineteen, quality isn’t as important as quantity.”
“That’s not fai—”
“Fair?” she questions before I can continue. “Do you really think that’s the best choice of words?”
“Let me try to explain. I know my word choices will probably fail me, but hopefully, my honesty will lessen their inconsiderateness.”
“Okay,” she concedes, sitting on the chair at the table. “Explain.”
“When you gave me the space I asked for, my ego had a meltdown. Part of me took it as rejection. Ridiculous, I know, but I couldn’t believe that you would let me go so easily. That same part wanted to prove that you didn’t get the better of me, by letting me go.” I look up with this confession and she has the expected look of incredulity. “I couldn’t see it as you being amazing and understanding. I didn’t see how wonderful your selfless act made you.”
“I don’t need flattery, Diego,” she delivers with a roll of her eyes.
“I swear it’s not flattery. It’s hindsight. I behaved childishly. I let the words of my teammates get to me. And as a result, I showed up at your place talking about space and making an argument out of my age.”
“Another excuse?” she asks in disbelief. “I don’t think you need more.”
“I told you I’d mess up the words, but…I just want you to know where my head is at, was at. I want you to know that I can see the bigger picture. And that words and promises are not all that I have. I will show you, Izzy. Will you let me?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but I don’t think it’s because she’s considering turning me down. I walk to stand next to her. She looks up at me and I place a chaste kiss on her temple. “Say yes?” I plea.
She gives me a stiff nod and I smile down at her. “I’ll never be able to convey just how sorry I am for hurting you,” I kneel down, putting our lips mere centimeters apart, “but I’ll spend as long as it takes proving to you I will never be so careless with your feelings again.”
With that, I place a soft and lingering kiss on her lips and pull away before lust ruins the moment. I go to clean up my mess and head for the side entry down to the beach. “You’re just going to leave?” she practically shouts in question.
“I’ve put my foot in my mouth enough for the day. And like someone reminded me, I have the first day of training camp to prepare for.” I take a step down and stop. �
�I’m never giving up, Izzy. I meant what I said last night. I want to be your last. Love you.”
Chapter Thirty-Four: Patience
March 2007
“Hijo,” Lito’s voice breaks through my slumber. “Mano,” Baz shouts at the same time.
Why the hell did I give them card keys again? Oh, that’s right! Because I didn’t want to be woken up at ungodly hours to let them in. What the fuck time is it anyway? I go to shift and my head feels like it’s going to split open. I groan.
“Hijo,” I hear the concern in his voice. He also sounds much closer. If I could open my eyes without making the room spin, I’d probably see him hovering over me with rapt attention. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
I hear glass clinking and I know the source of my state of being has been found. “I’d say Diego tied one on last night, Lito.” There’s more clinking and I think I groan again. But I’m startled straight up when fucking Sebastian bumps into last night’s bar stool and bed: the couch.
“You fucking did that on purpose you asshole,” I growl. I’m prepared to knock him on his ass if he does it again.
“I’m sorry, mano,” he mocks with a plop down onto the couch that sends it jarring and sliding back.
“You—” I’m in a mad dash to the bathroom. Last night’s drunken pity party is coming up. Somewhere through the throbbing between my ears and behind my eyes, I think I hear Baz laughing. I barely make it in time.
I spent the next few minutes praying to the porcelain gods and cursing fucking Baz. The throbbing dulled just a little with every convulsion that racked my body and emptied my stomach. I can hear Baz being scolded by Lito. Before I could appreciate the humor in that, what they say next concerns me.
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 21
