I get a couple of pats on the back from teammates as I leave the pitch and curious looks from the coaches. Their faces are far from what I was expecting after I just got thrown out of this game and suspended for the next. “That was a nice right Santo, but you dropped your left shoulder,” Fergus Alexander says.
What the fuck? The question must’ve read clearly across my face because he nods towards my left shoulder. I glance down and it hits me. Throbbing, burning pain radiates through my shoulder down to my fingers and across my back. It’s not so unexpected when your shoulder is hanging about four inches lower than it normally sits.
I keep walking towards the tunnel and the locker room. Jay catches up to me in the tunnel. “I’d ask if it was worth it, but the fact that you’re still smiling when your arm looks like it’s hanging on by a thread is all the answer I need.”
I tip my head as if to say, “No biggie.” I’d have shrugged, but the swelling is starting to kick in and the pain is limiting my range of motion.
“You know it’s going to be at least a couple of weeks of before you play again,” he says hesitantly. “Bastos didn’t even get a card.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I grit out in disbelief through the pain of jerking to a stop. I glance at Jay’s face to catch his reaction.
He shakes his head. “Refs didn’t see it.” Now his voice is filled with disbelief. Once he gets me situated with the medical staff, he leaves to get back to the field. According to the television in the room, Greenwich Palace scored a goal from the free kick they earned after I laid out Bastos.
While the rest of the game was being played, I had the pleasure of having my dislocated shoulder put back into place and getting x-rays to determine if there was any other damage. One of the training assistants dressed my battered knuckles and commented about having a career in boxing if I ever decided football was no longer my passion. I’d have chuckled, but it was in that moment the specialist was testing my range of motion on my shoulder. The movement caused my eyes to flutter shut and my teeth to grind together. I regretted turning down the offer of lidocaine in favor of the morphine. I really thought the morphine would kick in quicker.
“Hey, Santo!” one of the assistant trainers shouts, coming into the room. “One of my mates on the other side said Bastos has a broken nose and possibly a fractured cheek.” He goes to slap me on the back, thinks twice, and retracts his hand.
“Totally worth it. I’m out weeks because of that piece of shit,” I growl. My shoulder, upper arm, and back are now tightly wrapped in place and packed with ice. The morphine has kicked in and I lie back on the table and close my eyes.
When the match is over, my teammates come in fuming. We won, but their concern is on me. News of my dislocated shoulder made it through the tunnel and out onto the field. It’s an absolute that I’ll miss at least three weeks of games. Some of them mumbled that it was a shame I took him out of the game with my right hook, they wanted to punish him a little more. A few others asked me to remind them not to get on my bad side. I managed a smirk and a nod, anything more would have been too much work under the influence of the pain medication.
“Hey, doc,” one of the guys addresses the head trainer. “You think we could take Santo out for some drinks? He deserves a few.”
“Probably not tonight, lads. He’s had some morphine. He’s got a good four to six hours before the dosage he was given will be out of his system. I’ll bet he’s going to be hurting then and need something else to manage the pain.”
“That’s okay, doc. He can sit and watch us drink for him,” Jay pipes in. The morphine is weighing down my eyelids, but I still manage to roll my eyes.
The room goes silent in an instant. “Santo,” our manager’s voice booms in the noiseless room. “Boss lady wants to see you.” I groan in response, lifting my back from the table and swinging my legs off. “And Santo,” he says sympathetically. “Good job out there, but let’s not make the right hook a habit.” His appraisal takes me aback and I look up to see a sly smile on his face. He shoos me away with a jerk of his head and I can hear them singing Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” while a few play commentators, shouting out, “Down goes Javi Bastos! Down goes Javi Bastos! Down goes Javi Bastos!” reminiscent of Howard Cosell’s call when George Foreman fought Joe Frazier. Someone else shouts, “He’s not God, but he is a saint.” I chuckle at the adaptation of what The Hands of Stone boxer, Roberto Durán said about himself.
I made my way up to Sasha’s office begrudgingly. Taking me much longer than it probably should have, it’s no surprise I’m sitting and waiting outside her office. I played right into Bastos’ hands and now I’m out for a few weeks. Probably puts a wrinkle in some of her plans for the two of us. For that alone, I should send Bastos a thank you card.
Ha! Yeah right.
Sasha’s voice rings out from behind her closed office door. I look to Victoria and her eyes are wide and her face full of fear. The venom in Sasha’s voice is clear. She’s displeased, but I know there’s not another person in her office with her. “I don’t give a fuck about your ego, you fucking todger!” Her dialog is broken up by silent pauses. “He’s going to miss weeks! WEEKS, you stupid fuck!” What the fuck? “That’s not what I asked for.” Another anxious pause follows. “You’ll never play for my team, you arse! You’ll be lucky to find a team in this league that will have you after this stunt.” There’s no doubt, Sasha is talking to Javi Bastos. There’s no denying there is a connection between them. But what the fuck? Did—Is it possible Sasha planned for me to get hurt? “You don’t get it. I don’t love you. It was never love.” I glance a look in Victoria direction. She’s looking nervous. She knows Sasha won’t be happy about me having overheard her half of the phone conversation with Bastos. “No—”
Beep
“What is it, Victoria?” Sasha growls through the speaker.
“Diego Santo is waiting for you, ma’am.” Poor thing sounds like she’s delivering bad news to someone not above shooting the messenger. She smirks at me. Ahhh. She was letting Sasha know I was here, leaving it up to Sasha to adjust her volume.
“I do believe you told me that already, Miss Woodhall.”
“I did, Ms. Stafford. My apologies.” Victoria quirks an eyebrow up at me and shrugs her shoulders.
Sasha must believe her office is more soundproof than it is because she’s back to yelling at Bastos on the phone. Victoria gives me an I-tried look and then blushes when I smile back at her.
Holy shit! Is it possible that—? No.
“Victoria—“
“You can call me, Vicki. Only Ms. Stafford and my mother insist on calling me, Victoria.”
“Okay, Vicki it is. Vicki, how much do you like working for Sasha?”
The fear from earlier floods her face. I can tell she’s nervous to answer. So, I give her a nod and zip my fingers across my lips, letting her know whatever she says won’t get back to Sasha. She hesitates a moment longer.
“Not much really. It’s a means to an end. You know family connections and all.”
I can’t say that what she’s saying makes any sense. So, I ask a different question. “I was told I need a personal assistant. Would you be interested?”
Her pupils dilate beyond what’s normal. She looks to the door, but we both can hear that Sasha’s shouting at Bastos still, something about apologies, so she didn’t hear. Vicki stumbles over a few syllables and I come to her rescue.
“Let me help you out. I don’t want you to do anything illegal. I’m not really in the business of breaking laws myself. However, I think that if you had another job secured, you might be willing to help me with my Sasha problem.”
She looks at me, but her expression is indecipherable. Her eyes are wild, flashing with bewilderment and fear…and possibly excitement.
“She’s got an envelope in her desk
with some manufactured images.” Vicki nods knowingly. It’s my turn to look surprised and she immediately shoots me an apologetic look. “Not your fault,” I soothe the guilt that’s replaced the hodgepodge of expressions she previously wore on her face. “I don’t know if you can get to it or at least get me copies and neither of those would affect my job offer. Job is yours if you want it. It’s a bonus for me if you can help me with my problem. What she’s doing to me is illegal, an abuse of power, but proving it isn’t so easy. Playing along is causing real problems with my marriage.” I catch her look of surprise. “Yes, Izzy knows everything. And—”
“I’ll do it,” she says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Just get me out of here.” Her eagerness tells me she’s probably got the mother-load of dirt and I just found the ace up my sleeve. “Tell me wha—”
Out of the speaker on Sasha’s assistant’s desk comes Sasha’s grating voice. Breaking the silence, she barks her orders, “Send Diego Santo in, Victoria.”
Vicki doesn’t bother to repeat Sasha. She knows I heard and she gives me an empathetic look that I shoot back to her.
“Call Izzy. Tell her what we’ve discussed and answer any questions she asks. She may want you to talk to Ken. You have her number, right?” She silently confirms she does with a nod of her head. I return the nod, expressing my gratitude. I make my way into Sasha’s office, ready to square off with the devil herself.
I’m barely in her office and the door is still open when Sasha lays into me. “That is not how you play, Diego,” her voice laced with threat. She’s standing behind her desk, no doubt aiming for authoritative and intimidating. Of course, she doesn’t know I heard ninety percent of her side of the conversation with Bastos. “We can’t afford to have you sidelined for weeks.”
Okay. She wants to blame me now.
“Let me get this straight…you actually think that after scoring what would be the game-winning goal, I arranged to be shoved into the goal post by Javi Bastos. Just to suffer a dislocated shoulder. All on purpose?” I question. “Sure, I don’t like what you’re doing to me. And I undoubtedly loathe you, but, for your information, I would never take myself out of the game on purpose. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
Her frustrated sigh says she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She plops herself down into her chair defeated. “I’m not just talking about that. Your head wasn’t in the game, Santo. When you return, I expect better.”
“Or what?” I spit back, “You’ll destroy my marriage?” I prop myself against the wall across from her desk, only temporarily settling in for whatever she’s got in store for me. “You’ve already done that.”
“There’s still your career, Santo Feo,” she snarls.
“Fuck you, Sasha. The deal was I make them believe.” I’m pointing to anyone and everyone on the other side of her office doors and not inside this room. “Not you.” I straighten up to leave and glare back at her. “You can eat a dick. I may have passed your nice guy test when you kissed me. That was when I had something to lose, but now?” I question rhetorically. “Without Izzy? I’ve got nothing.” I shrug unapologetically.
“Speaking of Izzy,” she hums as if she’s got a secret. “Did you know that she’s had a male friend at your house? In fact, I’m pretty sure she was his guest in his suite today.”
Her retort catches me by surprise. This vile fucking woman. “You do know that being wretched isn’t going to get me into bed, right?”
“Care to guess why he’s here?” she continues. “In London? Right now?” I can hear the delight in her words.
Is this bitch admitting to dragging Johnny over here? It’s laughable. She’s so blinded by her cleverness, she doesn’t even realize when she’s giving me the goods.
She mistakes the smirk for ignorance. “You are adorably uninformed and naive. My people are thorough. Don’t think I haven’t thought of all the angles to make this go my way.”
I’m done with this. It’s time to go, but I have to ask. “What does bringing a close friend of Izzy’s to town do to help make this go your way? You do realize that he’ll repeat everything you say to her because he’s a fucking Boy Scout where Izzy is concerned, right? He’ll fall on a goddamn sword like an honorable samurai for her.”
Sasha’s clearly dumbfounded by my confessions. “Oh,” I mock, “you are adorably uninformed and naive.” When she hears, her own words turned on her, fire rages to life in her eyes.
“Don’t fucking test me, Diego. I will get what I want.”
“No need to assert yourself. We’ve already established that your dick is bigger than mine. And for the record, I’m not into chicks with dicks.”
“Think about it, Diego. If Izzy has replaced you so easily, what makes you think she cares who you choose to spend your time with?”
“Newsflash, Sasha, this isn’t exactly a choice.”
“It would be such a good choice, if you just gave it a chance.” Her words come out like the fake whine of a petulant child. “But I’m not worried,” she perks up. “You’ll come around.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Sasha. In fact, I’d say you were about to lose,” I flash her a smirk that—if she reads it right, says she’s not the only one with cards up her sleeve. I turn to open the door, but not before she throws a mini tantrum, rising from her chair and stomping her foot with a huff.
I brandish a pleased smile on my way out. “Call.” It’s the last thing I say to a dumbfounded Vicki as I walk out.
“Remember! We have a dinner tonight!” Sasha shouts from behind.
Fuck. If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d go through the motions of letting my shoulders slump in defeat. I forgot about the dinner. It’s a quiet dinner/meeting with some of the members of the board. Basically, Sasha wants to impress upon some of the team’s suits no impropriety is going on between us which is obviously a ridiculous affront to the organization and the board. This relationship is blackmail, my penance for wanting to spare my wife any undo pain. FUCK!
I pull up my text message screen for Izzy. She sent me a message while I was being treated.
Are you okay?
Dislocated shoulder out 3+ wks
How are you?
Can u talk
She doesn’t reply. Instead, my phone is ringing and it’s her number is flashing on the caller ID.
“Izzy?” My voice gives away everything. The pain and frustration mingle with the possibility of defeat.
“Oh, Diego,” she responds, her voice full of empathy. “Talk to me.”
I hate that this is my mess and she’s trying to comfort me. I hate that she has to put aside her own feelings to deal with mine. “Izzy, you don’t—You don’t have to do this.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Diego Santo, I don’t do this because I have to. Yes, this really is on you, but we’re a team. Even when the rest of the world doesn’t see it as such. We. Are. A. Team.”
“I’m not in much pain,” I explain. “Just frustrated. I forgot I have a dinner with the bitch and some of the members of the board tonight.”
“Really?” Izzy asks. She lets out a hmmpf. “Of course. It figures she’d want to keep her freak show going.”
“Right?” She doesn’t answer and the brief pause becomes an exaggerated silence. “How are you?” I hesitate to ask. I don’t know if I want to hear the answer.
“I’m in good hands,” she answers solemnly and visions of her being in Johnny’s hands flood my conscious. I try to eradicate the noxious image. “Lito and the guys have managed to keep me from losing it. You can’t imagine what it was like watching Bastos ram into you with his shoulder.” She shudders audibly. “Then, you went flying into the goal post and all I could think—Are you sure you’re okay? It looked bad.”
“Right as rain,” I say sarcastically. “As
long as I follow the doc’s instructions, I’ll be back in time to see Bastos again in the match for the QPL Cup. And in the meantime, I can take this unexpected time off to put an end to this mess.”
I tell her about what I overheard waiting outside Sasha’s office and how she admitted to contacting Johnny. Izzy wished she’d been a fly on the wall when I mentioned Sasha’s reaction about Johnny being a Boy Scout. “To say she was shocked is putting it mildly.”
“She’d tried calling him a little bit ago,” she admits. “Like you,” she sounds annoyed, “he tried to hide the fact. I’m not some fragile female.”
I chuckle. “Bear with us, bella. We’re navigating through uncharted waters and the boat’s taking in water. We know you can handle it, but—speaking for myself—I just want to spare you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” If she hadn’t laughed with the outburst, I’d have stilled myself for the tongue lashing she customarily gives when I try to shelter her. “Men.” I tell her I’ll call her once I’m in my suite, and we end our call.
I traverse the halls of the stadium facility and I skip going back to the locker room one last time. Pushing through the double doors that lead to the parking lot, I relish the crisp blast of air that embraces me. The chill renews my resolve. Fortitude fills my veins.
Oh, I remember. Flipping open my phone I shoot Izzy a message.
Hey Vicki should b calling u
Who?
Vicki is Victoria Sashas asst she wants 2 talk
See you soon
Not soon enuf
LYSMSM
How much?
So much so much
Ken’s waiting at the car and I don’t wave him off from opening the door for me. The weight of my injury and the pain medication mixed with the uphill battle in front of me, I’ll accept any help I can get.
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 23
