My eyes flash open and the pain in my head threatens to blur the vision before me. “Izzy?” I look to where she’s looking and this nightmare is my reality. There in one of my jerseys is Sasha, hair tousled and bare-legged.
Not again.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: California Dreamin’
April 2007
“Diego,” I hear Izzy call my name. “My love wake up.”
I open my eyes and I’m on the couch. Holy fucking déjà vu! “Izzy,” I question, “what are we doing?”
She looks at me quizzically. “Did you hit your head?” Now, she looks quite concerned. I look over myself and I’m in the suit she dressed me in. What the fuck? I reach for my bad shoulder and—yup, that happened. “Izzy, did we make love in the tub last night?
“Yes,” her voice sounding curious.
“Did I go out to dinner last night?”
She obliges me another answer. “You did.”
I sit up and the throbbing in my head reminds me of the amount of alcohol I consumed. My feet fall to the ground as if they’re filled with wet sand. “Izzy, I don’t know if this is real,” I confess.
“Oh, it’s real,” she grumbles. Through the throbbing and pounding, I have to force myself to look at her face.
“Uh, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know what you did to that bitch last night, but there’s this.” She places a tabloid magazine on my lap. There’s a sticky note stuck to it and I can’t quite make out the scrawled words yet. It’s also covering the main image. “Can you get me my—”
Before I can finish, Izzy is handing me a pill and a glass of water. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”
“I’m guessing you drank a bit last night.” It’s not a question.
“I forgot my medicine,” I justify. “I can handle pain, but add Sasha fucking Stafford and it’s a hell no one wants to traverse sober.”
Izzy sniggers.
“Okay,” I say after swallowing down the medicine. “What am I looking at?”
I blink the cover into focus and I can read the sticky note:
You were warned. XOXO, A Vile Bitch
“Okay, so that happened.”
“What happened?”
“I may have said something to Sasha about being okay when she’s not being a vile bitch.” I try to discern reality from morbid fantasy. “I know this isn’t going to sound great, but…” I hesitate, knowing that it’s going to sound bad. “Do you know how I to the suite last night?”
And Izzy outright laughs. She’s grabbing her belly and she has to keep herself from toppling over. “Oh, Diego,” she chastises. “I don’t know what happened at the restaurant, but Ken went and got you. He called me as soon as he got the message from you. I was waiting in the car when you got in laughing and smiling. Had me a little worried, until you couldn’t stop saying, ‘vile bitch’ over and over.
“You were so trashed. I couldn’t get you into the elevator and to your room without Ken’s help. I think you told him he was pretty.” When she’s done laughing, she locks her eyes on mine. “Now, why?” she says not so sweetly with an ironically sweet smile.
“Well,” I say, scrunching up my face, “I think in my dream, I said that bit about a vile bitch after she walked me to the door of the suite.” I lay back on the couch. “It was a fucking nightmare.” It still feels so real. It feels more like a bad memory than a haunting nightmare. Of course, I can’t remember much of what really happened. “What else don’t I remember? In the hell inside my head, I woke up—” I gag at the thought. “With Sasha in bed. And then…” I pause, trying to will my turning stomach into submission. “You walked in on her standing in one of my jerseys and nothing else.” Her silence scares me so I ramble out the rest. “My last thought before you woke me up this morning was, ‘Not again.’ And even after you woke me up—now, still—I feel like that’s real. I can’t shake it.” A chill runs through my spine and I shake.
Izzy laughs softly. “That’s quite the dre—nightmare,” she corrects herself when she sees my reaction. I’m desperate for her to address it properly. There’s no way in hot hell that I’d consider that I dream.
“Scarier than any horror movie I’ve ever seen.” I press my closed eyes with my thumb and fingers.
“Well, Ken helped you through the door, then you claimed you could handle it and there was a hiccup somewhere in there.” She reaches for her side as she continues to giggle at my expense. “It was crazy how you got to the couch.” She pauses with a thoughtful look. “If I had to describe it, I’d say it was Charlie Chaplin sleepwalking or better yet…Olive Oyl in that one episode of Popeye where she’s sleepwalking around the skyscraper under construction. Brilliant, really. You didn’t bump a single thing. You just threw yourself down, numb to the pain in your shoulder and fell fast to sleep.
“I slept on the small couch.” Izzy was here all night with me. “You gonna look at was dressed with the love note?”
I lift my head, the rest of me following slowly. “Oh, yeah.” I choke at the sight before me. The sticky note strategically hid an image of Sasha and me in an embrace, either about to kiss or having just finished. “What the fuck?” The headline reads:
Caught up in the moment.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” I toss down the paper and make my way to the sink in the kitchenette. Nothing comes out, but I stay there as a precaution.
“I thought it was kinda cute.”
I pop my head around the corner and meet Izzy’s amused eyes. “Are you kidding me? You are kidding me. You’re not mad?”
“Truth is in the details,” she stresses. She answers my addled expression. “Where do I start?” she asks. “First, that’s originally a picture of us. Even worse, it’s from years ago in the States. Then, there’s the fact that this mentions last night. Everyone knows that you hurt your left arm, yesterday. Several rags clearly show your left arm in a sling under your jacket. Care to guess what’s missing in this picture?”
No fucking way. I make my way back to Izzy. “No way she messes up that big.” Izzy just nods.
“That’s clearly your left arm there. Your tattooed wedding band is as clear as day.” She waves her hand in there as to shoo away any questions along with what she says next. “The article claims this was taken outside of this hotel, last night, after your dinner.”
“No fucking way.” I draw out the words in disbelief.
“Yup. And then there’s this.” She places an unsealed envelope in my lap. And I feel my eyebrows ask the question running through my mind. “Oh, I scheduled breakfast to be delivered early this morning. The tabloid was on the delivery cart. The envelope fell out from between the pages.”
“Did you read it?” I ask.
“Yup,” she answers smugly.
I examine the envelope and it says my name in a rather feminine handwriting. I look back at Izzy. “I’m sorry but I can’t wrap my head around all this. You’re not acting like—it’s just…hmmm— You seem unusually at ease right now.” I finally get the words out.
“Just read the note.”
I do as directed.
Diego,
Photos were under lock and key. We’ll have to go with Plan B—
“Plan B?” I ask out loud.
“I had Vicki talk to Ken. We agreed that getting the pictures would be best, but we figured it wouldn’t be so easy for her to get them. So, Ken had some ideas for a Plan B. Remember the recordings?”
“Yeah. They didn’t work.”
“Ken said it was a scrambler or something. Vicki mentioned knowing where it was after Ken brought up trying to catch her on a recording.”
My eyes dart back down to the note in my hand.
Just let me know what you need me to do and when.
And thank you for helping me.
Vicki
“Wow,” the word finishes like a whistle.
“Hard to believe, right?”
“You could say that again,” I mull over the new pieces.
The more we talked the more at ease I felt. We discussed some more of my drunken ramblings. Then there was the elevator. They had to call hotel security to make sure we didn’t stop at any of the way too many floors for which I pressed the corresponding buttons. Another whiskey tale started with me trying to whisper what I wanted to do to Izzy, but I had no volume control and Ken heard everything.
“Oh my…fuck! That’s it!” It all comes back to me. “I did the same thing with Sasha. I thought my voice was at a whisper when I told her she’d be cool if she weren’t such a vile bitch.”
“You said that?” Izzy and I both startle and the new voice in the room. Baz.
“Something like that. The exact wording is still not there. I got pretty wasted.”
“That’s what Izzy said when I came home and found the two of you on the couches,” Baz states. “And before you say anything, I offered her my bed, but she didn’t want to leave your drunk ass. Ooh, breakfast. I’m fucking starving.”
“I know I made the comment into her ear, but I think it was a lot more like a shout than a whisper. Then, there’s the fact that I clearly remember there being one suit within earshot of my outburst of a whisper.” That’s her angle. “Holy shit! That’s it. That’s this morning’s paper. She doesn’t give a shit about the validity of the image. It doesn’t matter, I can’t deny it. All she has to do is make it look like we shared a moment and it quashes any concerns the suits might have.”
“The bitch is seriously reprehensible.” It’s Mazzy, following up behind Ken.
“The gang’s all here,” I proclaim.
“Not all here,” Izzy interjects. “Lito and Grace should be here soon.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. She’s pleased with her ability to play matchmaker.
“Figured Izzy was still here and she told me about the note from Vicki. We need to discuss Plan B.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Wake Me Up When September Ends
April 2007
They say time flies when you’re having fun. I think the opposite can be said in times of misery and hell.
It’s been ten days since that game. The game that Izzy was at with Johnny. The game that I squared off against Javi Bastos. The game that landed me a red card after Bastos sidelined me with a shove that will cost me no less than three weeks of not playing.
The rags are all covered with the image of Sasha and me in an embrace. I can’t publicly deny it happened. That would be what drives her to release the photos she’s been blackmailing me with. In fact, Sasha continues to release photos of the two of us “having moments”. Mixed with the real photos of past events showing up in all the other rags, the proof was in the photos. Ha! We’re almost at the finish.
All of this would be so much easier if I could drink. However, I’m itching to get back on the field and alcohol just won’t help me recover. And the last time I drank, I had the worst nightmare in the history of nightmares.
So, I browse each day’s new gossip stone cold sober.
Lito and Baz have taken up residency with me since the injury. Lito went back to California for a few days to arrange for the sale of our home. It seems that things have progressed with Grace and he’s very seriously considering spending his retirement here with her. The news took me by surprise, but I knew Izzy wouldn’t be able to keep from playing matchmaker with those two. At least, love is going right for somebody.
Baz has been sporting more bumps and bruises than usual. I haven’t asked, but I’m sure he’s found somewhere to fight. He joked about not challenging me to a match after what I did to Bastos.
Bastos.
Turns out, I did fracture his cheek, in addition to breaking his nose. The information brought a smug look to my face. I felt vindicated when he was subsequently suspended by the league after they reviewed the play that busted my shoulder. The one and only time I saw the replay brought back the pain. Since then, I’ve changed the channel or shut off the television each time it has come on. I was there. I don’t need to relive it.
The only upside to being injured is the reprieve it grants me from Sasha. Our evenings had to be cut short. I just didn’t have the energy for long nights. Just the small amount of time with her now is too much for me to keep from drinking more than a couple of glasses. I manage, but only because I can’t have that nightmare again.
Another plus, she insists on parading me around her circle of people like her broken puppy, I take advantage of her need for appearances, and she has to bite her tongue when I excuse myself for not having the energy. In most instances, I arranged with Kent ahead of time for him to get me early.
I told Sasha I can’t do any dates with her this next week or so. I started some light physical therapy this week and I told her I was going to be in pain.
Sasha hadn’t believed me when I said with the exercises and physical therapy I was zapped. “No fucking way, Diego,” she barked. “Just because you went and got yourself injured doesn’t change what I have tucked in this drawer.” She patted the front of the drawer I could only assume was holding the damning images. “You might not be able to play, but you can certainly be my date.”
I had known she’d say as much so I arranged for a doctor’s note. Literally. “Doc’s orders, Sasha,” I’d said, pulling the small paper from my pocket. She had ripped it from my hands and promptly crumpled it up and tossed it across the room when she was done reading. I turned around with a laugh and walked out. “See ya when I see ya,” I offered as my farewell.
Sasha’s door was left open and from inside her office, I recognized the look of shock on Vicki’s face. I stopped at her desk and leaned in to whisper, “You need a doctor’s note, Vicki?” She nervously laughed and gave me a pleading look. “Ready when you are,” I added before I walked out.
It had taken almost a week to get into her office. So the doctor’s note was a twofer. It really couldn’t have come at a better time.
I got about six days without Sasha before now.
Now, I’m having to get dressed for some league black-tie event. Sasha said something about sponsors for the next season. Lots of players from around the league, as well as owners, managers, and coaches, are going to be in attendance. I’m almost eagerly getting dressed, because, just maybe, one of them will make me an offer I can’t refuse.
The situation with Sasha, as awful as it may be, is turning a corner. And thanks to all her overconfident ramblings, she’s nearly plotted her own demise. Just a few more pieces need to fall into place. If tomorrow goes well, that could be it. I’ll be free of the tyrant and back in bed with my Izzy.
In true Sasha fashion, the en suite phone rings as a text message pops up on my cell phone screen. I don’t answer the phone because her message says all I need to know.
Here
I slip on the suit jacket carefully while Baz and Lito just stare at me. “What is it?” I ask staring at them through our reflections in the mirror. “You two have been unusually quiet.”
“Have you talked to Izzy?” Lito asks.
“Every day,” I answer with a curious look.
They both return my glare with hesitant ones. “Oh for fuck’s sake, will you just say it?!”
Baz steps forward. “Izzy is going to be there with Johnny tonight. Something about an invite from one of the owners. I think you know him. Jameson?”
A smile as big as the Nile spreads across my face and I’m as equally amused with their looks of confusion as with their information. I decide to answer their questioning looks. “Jameson is the one that got me those first few names that put us on the right path. He’s invited Johnny a
nd Izzy because he’s got something planned.” I look over at them in their monkey suits and ask, “Ready to do this?”
While I’m not thrilled about exposing Lito to the toxic Sasha, they are my guests and they go where I go. And I couldn’t miss the opportunity to put a kink in her plans.
It seems that my concern was baseless. When we get to the limousine Sasha is standing on the outside aiming for demur with a sweet smile on her face that falls short because it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lito,” I address my grandfather when we reach her. “You remember Sasha Stafford.” I turn to Sasha. “Sasha, my grandfather Enzo.”
“Brujita Sasha,” Lito addresses her and Baz and I choke. “I’m looking forward to the event. I’m so glad I could join you.” He shoots us looks before he lowers himself into the car.
Sasha follows him in and Baz and I share a chuckle. “Did he just—?”
“He did,” I answer. “He just called her a witch and better yet she fucking swooned.”
I let Baz get in and then I followed him in. We’re arranged with Sasha and me facing Lito and Baz with their backs to the driver. Sasha’s cheeks are still flush from Lito’s obscured unpleasantry. “Lito,” she greets my grandfather. “It’s lov—”
“It’s Enzo, Ms. Stafford. Lito is slang for grandfather. I daresay I have the privilege of calling you my granddaughter.”
Lito just blew my mind. The little voice in my head is standing with his chin between his feet. A quick glance in Baz’s direction and he’s just as stunned. I chance a fleeting look at Lito’s face and he’s unflappable. He’s toe-to-toe with the devil and she can’t see it through the charm. It’s that Santo swagger.
“My apologies, Enzo. I misunderstood. I’m very pleased you could join us this evening as well.” She shifts her gaze to Baz. “It’s nice to see you again, Sebastian.”
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 25
