Breaking Down (The Breaking Series Book 4)

by Juliana Haygert

  “Will do.”

  Tyler tugged my hand. “Aren’t we leaving?”

  I smiled at him. “Oh, we sure are.” I winked at Pri and she winked back at me. Then, I waved bye to the rest of our friends. Lucia wiggled her eyebrows at me, knowing exactly what we would do as soon we were out of here. At least, what we wanted her to think. I squeezed Tyler’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  36

  Tyler

  Gabi’s parents had gone to bed already, but she was outside, seated on the back porch with a mug of tea in her hands and watching the dark starry night.

  Last night, we had left the club and went to her family’s townhouse in the city. When they had mentioned a townhouse, I had imagined a narrow, small house in a nice neighborhood. I should have known by now that the Fernandeses went all big all the time—and they still managed to look and act simple and nice. The townhouse was a huge three-story home inside a fancy gated community in an equally fancy neighborhood. The house had been prepared for us and the guest bedroom was all set. Without exchanging words, we both went to bed in our own bedrooms.

  This morning, we had a hearty breakfast, and then Gabi took me around the city. She had to stop by the university to cancel her classes, then she took me to her favorite restaurant—a beautiful Italian place inside a mall, then she drove around showing me museums and parks and other important places. Later that afternoon, we came back to the ranch and had dinner with her parents. Thankfully, her father didn’t seem to want to kill me anymore, but he still wasn’t pleasant.

  Later, Regina and Luis Carlos got a glass of wine and retreated to their bedroom. Gabi had mentioned they did that almost every night. They sat down in the armchairs beside their bed and watched a random movie from Netflix while sipping their wine. Then, they went to bed.

  Gabi made tea for herself and went to the porch.

  I spied her profile through the kitchen window. She had on jean shorts and a thin tank top, but now she had some kind of thin wool shawl wrapped around her arms. Her beautiful legs were folded between the bench and her ass, and her long hair was loose on her back. My gaze fixed on her pretty face, on her cute nose, and on her full lips. Those lips that had been on mine last night.

  Damn, last night.

  That punk Mateus had messed with my head. I would like to think I would have defended any woman from his insults, and I was doing my duty as a gentleman. I had to stand up to him—what I hadn’t expected was the sudden will to break his nose. Really, really bad. Instead, I pulled Gabi to the dance floor almost without thinking. No, I wasn’t thinking. I was just feeling.

  And then I had to kiss her. I had to pull her body against mine and feel all her perfect curves and her sweet lips. I had gotten a hard-on from that. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed. Fuck, what the hell had I done?

  Thankfully, she hadn’t mentioned any of it today, but to be honest we had barely talked to each other all day long, other than her mini tour of the city, and we had spent almost every hour together.

  Several times, I had wanted to break the tension and start some random conversation, but what was there to say? Besides, I was afraid that if I tried to say anything, I would ask if I could kiss her again.

  Fuck. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Outside, Gabi rolled her neck and then stretched her arms high above her head. The shawl fell from her arms, and my eyes caught as her shirt rode up enough to show a thin strip of smooth skin over her flat stomach. Looking at her now, at her toned arms and legs, I wondered … she was a polo player, did she have a six pack too? A girl with a six pack … that I hadn’t seen with my own eyes yet.

  She dropped her arms and leaned back on the bench, wrapping the shawl around herself again.

  I should know better; I should do better. I should have turned around and gone to my bedroom to sleep.

  Instead, I walked out and sat in the chair beside the bench. “Hey.”

  She looked at me with a small smile. “Oi.”

  A heavy silence fell around us, but I was tired of this constant tension. “So, what are you doing out here?”

  She looked out at the horizon. “I usually just sit here at night and enjoy.”

  “Enjoy … what?”

  “The quiet, the calm, nature … life.”

  I glanced out, to the back garden, the pool, the stables beyond. “Will you miss it?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “Sim. I hadn’t realized I would miss this place until we got here and I thought about leaving it all behind.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “What?”

  “The deal.”

  “No, no, I don’t. It’s just … choices, you know. We can’t have it all. I’m leaving this place and my parents and my best friend behind so I can chase my dream.”

  Her dream … “You haven’t told me how things are going in that area. Any luck finding a sponsor or at least team players?”

  She pouted. “Nope.”

  “What’s your next step?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I have a meeting scheduled with the polo director at the club in Santa Barbara. I’ll try to convince him to sponsor an all-female team.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  “It probably won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems too simple. Too easy.”

  “I hear you. Nothing in life is easy, huh?”

  She glanced at me, her head slightly cocked to the side. “Are you talking from experience?”

  I snorted. “Who isn’t? Everyone has their hardships through life. You know mine.”

  She frowned. “I know. Sorry. I was so deep in mine, I forgot about yours.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, my voice low. “It’s still new to you, and, well, it’s my problem not yours.”

  She stared at me, her blue eyes darkening. “Right. It’s none of my business.”

  “Right.” I had planned on just stating it, but that single word came out with more bite than I intended.

  “Right,” she repeated. Taking her empty mug from an end table, Gabi rose to her feet. “I’m … going to bed. Good night.”

  I didn’t have time to recover and bid her good night. Like a scared cat, she scurried into the house, shoved her mug inside the dishwasher, and rushed up the stairs before I could blink.

  Sighing, I buried my head in my hands.

  What the hell was I doing?

  Debt free. Debt free.

  This debt free thing better erase all this drama from my life after it was all said and done, otherwise I might question if it was worth it.

  I couldn’t define if our last day in Brazil was good or bad. It was good in the sense that we relaxed most of the day. Gabi rode Tostado and I rode one of their prized horses and explored the ranch. Then, we had another dinner with her family. I was getting used to this.

  But it had been bad because Gabi had been tense around me all day. I hadn’t meant to snap at her last night, and now I didn’t know how to fix it.

  Hey, sorry I was a jerk. You have done so much for my father and eased so much of my problems, I should treat you better.

  But every time I tried opening my mouth and uttering those words, a lump of cotton got stuck in my throat. And so the hours passed, and nothing got solved.

  Because of that, the trip back to the U.S. was just as tense and quiet as the trip to Brazil. On the ride back to the apartment, I rehearsed in my head what to say to her once we were safe and alone inside our place again, but Gabi didn’t give me the chance. She stepped into the apartment, dropped her bags right beside the door, and rushed to her bedroom.

  And instead of going after her and breaking the tension, I placed her bags beside her bedroom’s door and went to mine. Like a damn coward.

  37

  Gabi

  With my mate in my hand, I sat down on a kitchen stool and stared at the fridge.

  We had been back from Brazil for a handful of days now, and
Tyler and I had barely spoken since he snapped at me, saying his problems were none of my business.

  I pushed thoughts of Tyler from my mind and focused on my problems.

  I didn’t know what else I could do about polo. I had looked online for nearby clubs and schools. Only a handful of clubs sponsored a women’s team and only two of them were looking to add to their roster, but one club was in Texas and the other was in Florida.

  I had contacted a few schools and asked about female players; there weren’t many and the ones I found didn’t want to play as a career or didn’t think they were good enough for it.

  I had just moved to Santa Barbara. I wouldn’t move to Texas or Florida now, especially because I knew Tyler wouldn’t come with me, and trying to have a pretend marriage while living in different states wouldn’t be agreeable with the immigration office, and because both clubs said they couldn’t ask for a visa for me right now.

  So, I was stuck in Santa Barbara, without a team, and for a few days, without a family too. The guys were gone for the weekend for a big game in Colorado. Hannah and Hilary would stay because of the ranch and classes, and Bia didn’t follow them around anymore since she had her own classes and Garrett.

  I was super jealous because I wanted to go with the guys.

  However, mostly, I wished I were going so I could play with them.

  I sighed and drank from my mate.

  The front door opened then slammed with a loud bang.

  A big frown between his brows and his lips turned upside down, Tyler marched to his bedroom without acknowledging me.

  “Oi to you too,” I muttered.

  After a few moments, he appeared into the kitchen—without his shoes and with upper buttons of his shirt undone. His golden skin peeked from underneath along with a hint of his muscles.

  My belly turned to mush and I forced my eyes up to his face. Which didn’t really help, because, even though he looked angry, he was too handsome for his own good.

  Giving up on this ridiculous fight, I asked, “Want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” he snapped, reaching for a beer inside the fridge.

  “Whatever set you off.”

  “Nothing set me off,” he barked. I flinched. “Damn, sorry.” He took a long sip, and then let out a long sigh. “Crappy day, that’s all.”

  “Okay.” I retreated from the stool before he decided he wanted to throw the beer bottle at me or something. Holding my mate, I sat down on the couch in the living room.

  “Sorry,” Tyler mumbled. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the kitchen island.

  I shrugged. What did he want me to say?

  I swiped the remote control from the coffee table and turned on the TV. I flipped to The Bachelor and clicked on any episode.

  A minute later, Tyler sat down on the armchair beside the couch. “What the hell is that?”

  I chuckled. “The Bachelor.”

  “So, that’s The Bachelor. I’ve heard of it, though I’ve never seen it before.” Two girls started arguing in loud shrieks and their hands flailed as though they were trying not to drown. Tyler’s jaw hit the floor. “That’s ridiculous. How can you watch this shit?”

  “It’s fun,” I simply said. “They are all miserable people who try to find love in a reality TV show, knowing millions of people are watching, and most of the time, rooting for them to fail. Makes me feel less miserable about my love life.” I slapped my hand over my mouth, not believing what I had said. Tyler arched one eyebrow at me. “I mean …” I started to say, but shook my head. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Speaking of love life, we haven’t studied those damn questions for the interview.”

  “Droga, you’re right.” I picked up my phone to look for the questions, but then I saw the time. “How about I cook us dinner, then we can get some drinks and work on those.”

  He leaned back in the armchair and plopped his feet up. “Sounds like a plan.” He snatched the remote from me. “But I have one condition. Let’s change this shit to something decent.”

  With a smile, I stood and went to the kitchen.

  38

  Tyler

  I asked if Gabi needed any help at least three times, and she turned me down. So, I went to my bedroom and took a quick shower. I put on some sweatpants and a T-shirt and went back to the living room.

  I glanced at the TV—I had paused on an episode of The Walking Dead—then to Gabi—she was checking something in the oven. My eyes flickered between the TV and Gabi again. I turned off the TV and sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. It seemed that even though I hadn’t apologized for being a jerk and snapping at her—more than once—the tension was gone and she had somehow forgiven me. If she hadn’t forgiven me, then she was at least enduring me, which was already more than I deserved.

  “I’m here and I can help,” I told her again. “Just let me know what to do.”

  “Since you insist, set the table, please.”

  I obliged and we fell into an easy rhythm. She cooked and I navigated around her to get the plates, glasses, forks, knifes, and napkins, and anything else that was needed. The moment struck me as odd and amusing—this was what real couples did. They cooked and set tables together and talked about their days.

  The only difference was that the real couples stole kisses here and there, and maybe the guy squeezed the woman’s ass, while the woman elbowed him in the ribs. One corner of my lips tugged up.

  Perhaps that would have been fun, were this real.

  Still, as I put down the plates and forks and glasses, I looked up at Gabi, so focused, manning the stove and the oven, then dipping her finger in the pot and tasting whatever it was and smiling at it. I felt my mouth stretching into a bigger smile.

  She was beautiful and caring and emotional and kind.

  Sometimes I wondered … how would it be if this relationship weren’t fake?

  I shook my head and went to the fridge to get water. It didn’t matter how it would be because it wouldn’t happen. This was temporary. Just a deal.

  Or so I told myself.

  “Dinner is ready,” she announced, bringing a pan to the table.

  I lifted the cover and spied inside. “What is it?”

  “That’s black beans, Brazilian style.” She went back to the kitchen and brought a plateful of some thick yellow sticks. “These are called pastel. It’s a parcel of crisp pastry filled with cheese—” She pointed to the ones on the right. “—and ground beef.” She pointed to the ones on the left. She put the plate on the table and went back for yet another pan. “And this is simply white rice.” She sat down. “I hope you like it.”

  “It smells good.”

  I followed her cues about putting the beans on top of the rice, and how to cut the pastel. And, once she even brought the cinnamon from the pantry and dumped a lot inside her minced beef filled pastel. As usual, she urged me to taste it. I didn’t want to, but since I had yet to try one of the Brazilian food she cooked and not like it, I surrendered. And it was too freaking good.

  She chuckled. “You always looked so scared of the food I make, and then you always like it.”

  “What can I do? I have no idea what to expect. Though, I admit, I’m yet to be disappointed.”

  She smiled and I was entranced. Damn, how hadn’t I realized it could be so easy to fall for her? That was a lie. I had realized that; I was just deluding myself.

  “So.” I stood after we finished. “You cooked, now I clean.” I brought the plates to the sink, but she followed me with the glasses.

  “I’ll take that, but just because I’m gonna do something else.” She picked up a clean pan from the cabinets and started some other food.

  “Do you want to fatten me up?” I asked, eyeing the dark gooeyness in the pan.

  She chuckled. “Meu Deus, no!”

  The chocolate smell coming from whatever she was doing set my mouth watering.

  After I was done putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and washing
the ones that didn’t fit, I poured a glass of wine for each of us and we sat on the floor of the living room, one on each side of the coffee table, with the drinks and the negrinho still in the hot pan in the middle.

  “Usually, we roll them in little balls and decorate them with chocolate sprinkles, but my friends and I always did this way.” She handed me a spoon. “Dig in.” She grabbed a spoonful of negrinho and popped into her mouth. “This is so good,” she said, her mouth full.

  I chuckled and delved my spoon in the pan. This time, I wasn’t hesitant; after all, it was made with chocolate. I moaned as the goodness teased my taste buds. “Holy shit, this is good.”

  “Told you.”

  Again, that smile. Her smile and her big, blue eyes. They caught me every time.

  I cleared my throat. “So, the questions.”

  “Sim, right.” She pulled out her phone and opened a webpage with a list of questions. “So, here are a few questions: When and where did you two meet for the first time? Could you describe the first meeting? When did you meet next? Where were you living at the time? Where was your spouse living? What did you two have in common? Where did you go on dates? When did the relationship become romantic? Who proposed to whom? Why did you have a lo—?”

  “Wait, wait,” I interrupted her. “That’s enough. Slow down.”

  “Sorry. But, hm, that’s not even five percent of the list.”

  “Shit.” I took a sip of my wine. “Just pick a random one and ask.”

  “Who proposed to whom?”

  I snorted. “You did.”

  “You can’t say that!”

  “Why not? It’s the truth. And it’s the twenty-first century. Women can propose.”

  “I know that, but we already came up with a story for my family. We have to stick with that.”

  “Right, right. Okay. Next.”

  “Did your parents approve of the match? Why and why not?”

  “My father did, but your parents don’t.”