The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  “I guess you could say that,” I admit carefully.

  He doesn’t respond to that, so I take the chance to move on and take out the needles. I explain how it’s going to feel, and it’s just after I’ve tapped the second needle in and am picking up the third that he says, “Just go easy on the kid.”

  “Go easy on the kid?” I repeat, looking around to see if anyone can hear us. We’re alone. “What does that mean?”

  I have a bad feeling about this.

  Luciano doesn’t know…does he?

  “I’m afraid he’s infatuated with you.”

  My heart thuds around in my chest, loose and reckless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Thalia, he told me.”

  “What?” I cry out then quickly keep my voice down. “What the fuck are you talking about, he told you? Told you what?”

  “Uh, maybe you should put the needle down.”

  I bring the needle close to his face. “If you don’t tell me what he said, I’m going to stab this fucker in your eye.”

  “Whoa, hey, okay, calm down,” he pleads before rattling something off in Portuguese.

  “I was calm,” I practically hiss at him. “You’re the one who brought it up. Now what did he say?”

  “He said that he kissed you.”

  I blink at him.

  “That was it,” he adds.

  Thank god. I mean, this is bad but it could have been worse.

  Still…

  “Does this mean I’m fired now?” I ask quietly.

  “Fired? No. I can’t fire you, I’m just the captain. That would be Mateo’s job. And before you ask, no Mateo doesn’t know. Alejo wouldn’t have told him, and his secret — well, your secret — is safe with me.”

  I bring the needle up to his eye again. “How can I be so sure?”

  He glances nervously at the needle and then up at me. “Because I don’t want to lose an eye. I just want you to fix my shoulder.”

  I take in a deep breath and step back from him, taking a moment to stare at the ceiling and gather my thoughts. I need to get back into my role and properly.

  “Sorry. Let’s fix your shoulder,” I tell him, going back to work with the needles.

  He tenses up, wincing.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure him.

  “Are you sure? You seem kind of mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” I say, tapping the needle in. “I’m just…upset that Alejo told you that.”

  “We’re like brothers,” he says. “Good friends, not just teammates. He tells me because he trusts me and I would do the same with him. And I care enough about the both of you that I would never tell. I don’t want you both in trouble.” He pauses. “Which, by the way, is what will happen if the two of you keep this up.”

  There’s a knot forming in my throat, the kind that won’t budge. I’m tempted to stick a needle in it. “I know,” I say softly.

  He peers at me, purses his lips thoughtfully. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “I thought maybe Alejo was the one who had it bad for you but I can see you have it bad for him as well.”

  “Well, whatever it is, you’re right that it’s bad,” I grumble under my breath.

  “Hey, I don’t want to be a, a…what’s the phrase? Wet dog?”

  “Wet blanket?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, I don’t want to be the one to put a damper on things.”

  “Like a wet blanket?”

  “Maybe. I just want what’s best for both of you, and…well, if you have a chance to break it off now, I would. Before it goes too far. Alejo can be…impetuous. That’s the right word, right?” I nod. “He still struggles with control over his emotions, he makes irrational decisions, and sometimes that happens during the game. I don’t want him to be…compromised. And I don’t want you to get fired. I think you’re good for us. I mean, hey, my shoulder feels looser already.”

  “Does it really?”

  “Honestly.”

  That makes me feel a tad better. “Just so you know, there’s nothing to break off.”

  “You know what I mean,” he says. “Just make sure things between you stay professional. I mean, I can’t live your life for you, but if you want my advice, that’s what I would do.”

  I cross my arms and stare down at him. “And if I don’t want your advice?”

  He laughs. “Then you’re just like Alejo.”

  I finish doing the dry needling on him, then he gets dressed and heads to the warm-up room before going out onto the field.

  It’s at this point that I put the kit away, tidy up around the room, and go down the hall to my office just as I see Alejo walking toward me from the main doors.

  Shit.

  I was hoping for a moment to compose myself after that talk with Luciano and get my head on straight.

  “Alejo,” I call out to him softly. My voice catches a little. “Can I speak with you in my office?”

  His expression as he gets closer goes from happy to see me to something worrisome.

  “Am I in trouble?” he says as a joke but I can’t even smile back at him.

  I can’t even really look at him properly because I don’t want to be swayed. Just looking at this man can turn me into a puddle of want, and I need to keep my head on straight.

  I go into my office and sit down at my desk, telling him to close the door behind him.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “No,” I tell him. “Sit down. Por favor.” I gesture to the plastic chair in the corner.

  He shakes his head, jaw tense. “I would rather not.”

  “Fine.” I sigh and put my head in my hands for a moment, trying to compose myself.

  “Are you crying?” he asks softly.

  I whip my head up. “No. I’m not crying. I’m just…Alejo…you told Luciano!”

  He has the nerve to look aghast. “I did not!” he exclaims.

  “Yes, you did. He just told me that you told him you kissed me.”

  “Oh. Sí. That.”

  “Yes, that. Why the hell did you tell him that?”

  He shrugs. “I tell him everything.”

  “But you could have gotten me in trouble.”

  “No, no. Luciano is not like that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I cry out. “You kissed me. That was a personal thing. That was something between you and me.”

  He nods, a softness coming over his brow. “I understand. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “And because you apparently tell him everything, don’t you fucking dare tell him that we slept together.”

  “It wasn’t quite sleeping,” he says wryly, his eyes dancing.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Why are you so upset? Look, I’m sorry I told him and I won’t tell him anything else. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

  “Good.” I pause, scratching at my temple, my eyes trained to the wall where I’ve hung my degrees. Reminders of what I’ve worked so hard for. “Because there isn’t going to be anything else.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I glance at him with pleading eyes. “Alejo. Yesterday was a mistake.”

  He flinches like I just slapped him in the face. “A mistake? You thought that was a mistake?”

  “Anyone could have seen us.”

  “Then we’ll be more careful next time.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time,” I tell him imploringly. “Okay?”

  He shakes his head and leans across my desk, bracing himself with his hands. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

  “My head?” I cry out. “I’m looking out for the both of us. It was a mistake. I broke a code of ethics. I broke so many fucking rules, I don’t even know where to begin. I didn’t work so fucking hard my whole damn life just to throw it out the window.”

  “You’re not throwing anything away,” he says. His eyes seem so dark and troubled and there
’s a vein at his temple I have never noticed before. “Let’s talk about this like adults.”

  “I am being an adult! I could have lost my job. I took advantage of a client.”

  He laughs bitterly. “You took advantage of me? No one took advantage of anyone. We both wanted that. We both needed that. And I’m not going to let you just push me away again, not after what happened. That was the most intense fuck of my life and I dare say it was the same for you. Maybe rules were broken, but they were rules worth breaking.”

  My eyes close as the word fuck conjures up so many images. I try to bat them away. “No, they weren’t. It’s not worth it.”

  “That’s a lie,” he ekes out, practically seething. “This isn’t over between us. It’s just beginning. I’ve had a taste of you. I’m not going to want anything else.”

  The way he says taste makes my legs squeeze together, the heat building in my stomach.

  I take in a shaking breath. “Alejo…”

  “You’re mine.” He reaches over and grabs my chin, making me look him in the eyes.

  God, he’s mad.

  “Yours?” I volley back, tearing my head out of his grasp. “You have no right to be possessive over me.”

  “And you have no right to tell me how to feel!” He practically shouts that last part. It’s enough to give him a warning look. We need to shut up.

  I rub my lips together, at a loss. “I don’t know what to do, okay? I’m just doing what I think is best for the both of us. We need to move on and put this past us. It’s not a big deal. We’re two consenting adults. We’re attracted to each other, we both like each other. We got carried away with our…desires and now, well, it’s time to put a stop to it before it becomes a big deal.”

  “You’re playing games with me,” he says, jaw clenched.

  “I’m not playing games with you!” I cry out softly.

  “Yes, you are. You touched me and you pulled back, told me it couldn’t happen again. You let me kiss you and again, the same threats. Now you fuck me and you’re pulling away, telling me that we can’t. But we can. We just did!”

  “It’s not a game…it’s…” I can’t even find the words. “I don’t know. I just know that I keep doing these things and they are the wrong things. I don’t know why…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  Okay, I need to hold it together. Tears are starting to burn behind my eyes and I’m on the verge of a minor breakdown here.

  I stare down at my hands, my hands that were healing Alejo one minute and holding onto him the next. I shake my head, feeling small and vulnerable. “I need to figure myself out. And I’m sorry that you’re being dragged into this mess. I really am. I don’t mean to lead you on, if that’s what I’m doing. I guess I just…”

  “You need me,” he says softly. “You like me. I know both those things are true.”

  I want to tell him I don’t need him, but that would be a lie.

  I think I do need him.

  I need him to set me free.

  Give me that green light to move on.

  But the scariest thing is, what if I end up moving on to him?

  What if it turns into something more?

  What if it turns into something that can never, ever be?

  We’re the impossible.

  What if all my fear about Alejo has nothing to do with my job or his age at all but the very fact that he might end up breaking my heart one day?

  I close my eyes and take a steadying breath through my nose. I need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

  God, I am such a fucking broken record, I’m starting to annoy myself.

  “I’m going to need to be alone now,” I tell him in a small voice, avoiding his eyes.

  Alejo stares at me for a moment. For longer than a moment. He stares at me so long that I finally have to meet his gaze.

  His hurt and rejection is written all over him.

  It makes me ache between my ribs.

  I didn’t think it would feel this bad.

  And he doesn’t say anything, which makes it worse.

  Just opens the door and leaves, shutting it behind me.

  It’s like shutting the door on a tomb.

  Chapter 14

  Alejo

  Manuel drops me off in front of Thalia’s apartment at eight p.m. The streets are just waking up for the night and the bar beneath her, Esteban’s, already has smokers spilling out onto the cobblestones, drinking beer. The nights are getting a little cooler now but people will still be eating and drinking outside until winter appears.

  I adjust my backpack and keep my face turned away from them. I don’t mind being recognized — I actually like the celebrity aspect of being a famous footballer. But when the team is losing, that’s another story, and right now, the team couldn’t be more hated.

  Only problem is, I don’t have keys to get into her apartment and I’m not going to buzz her because it will be far too easy for her to say no to me. She has no idea I’m here, and I’m surprised how easy it was to get Manuel to take me here. I told him I wanted to give her flowers for doing such a good job on my knee and he didn’t think anything of it.

  At least I don’t think he did.

  So I wait with my backpack, shielding my face from the revellers with the massive bouquet of pink roses, and wait until someone comes out of the building.

  “Gracias,” I tell them, quickly slipping in through the door before they can protest.

  The apartment building is old and dark and smells like cigars and grilled meats. I head down the hall to the staircase and go up to the third floor, nearly tripping over the steps in the dim light.

  That would have been pretty sad if I fucked up my knee again on my way to surprise my therapist.

  And she will be surprised. Whether she’s going to let me in and listen to what I have to say is another story.

  I go down the hall, knock on her door, and wait.

  It opens and her eyes go wide like saucers at the sight of me.

  “Alejo,” she whispers harshly as I stick the roses in her face, handing them to her as I brush past her, into the apartment. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here. How did you find me?”

  “You know, the standard greeting here in Spain is hello. Or, hola, if you want to continue our Spanish lessons.”

  “I’m serious,” she says, holding the roses in one hand and the door handle in the other. It’s still open. She jerks her head at it. “You can’t be here.”

  “I need to talk to you,” I tell her, placing my backpack on her kitchen counter.

  “We have nothing to say to each other,” she says.

  I raise my brow. “You can’t speak for me. I have plenty to say to you. First of all, I want to apologize for being un imbécil the other day in your office. That wasn’t very nice.”

  It’s been a few days since we had sex at Valdebebas and things between us have been strained to say the least. Too strained. It’s making life just a little bit uncomfortable for me, yet I don’t want to be transferred to another therapist either.

  So, something has to be done.

  “Alejo,” she says, her voice a soft warning.

  “You can say my name over and over again but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here and I want to have a conversation with you.”

  “We already had a conversation about this,” she says, hastily brushing her hair behind her ears. It’s only now that I realize she’s wearing it down, all dark gold and bronze, shining in the amber lights of an antique light fixture. “What?” She frowns at me.

  “Your hair,” I tell her. “I love it when you wear it down. You should wear it down more often.”

  “You know I can’t at work. It gets in the way.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “My hair?” Her nose scrunches up adorably as she runs her hands down her strands in confusion.

  “No. Sorry. What I mean to say is…I think who we are at Valdebebas is getting in the way of who we
are inside. And who we really are to each other. When we are there, we are in the roles. And I understand the lines that can’t be crossed. But when we’re away from it all, here, just you and me, standing in your apartment, I think…we deserve to get to know who those people are.”

  She mulls that over, worrying her lip between her teeth. I hate it when she does that. It reminds me that I know what her lips taste and feel like. It makes me imagine her lips elsewhere.

  “What did I say about biting your lip,” I gently chide her.

  She stops and raises her chin. “This is exactly why you can’t be here.”

  “I’m not here to make love to you, Thalia,” I say softly, and there is no mistaking the desire in her eyes. “I’m here to talk to you. To be with you. To get to know you.” I raise my hands. “I promise I won’t touch you.”

  “Okaaaaaay,” she says warily. She glances at the backpack. “What’s in there?”

  “I’ll show you. Just close the door. Let me be inside with you without your, your pelo de gato.”

  “Gato? As in cat? What exactly are you saying here?”

  I’m impressed she knew that word. “Hair of the cat,” I reassure her. “Your hair is raised.”

  “My hackles, you mean?”

  “Sí. Hackles are raised. Just relax and trust me. Be happy that I’m here.”

  She nods and reluctantly closes the door, then leans against it with her arms folded. “Okay. I’m relaxed. What’s in the bag?”

  Inside, I feel victorious.

  She let me in. She closed the door.

  “It’s a treat for you. For us.”

  I go to the bag, unzip the top, and start taking things out, placing them on the counter.

  Oranges.

  An apple.

  Green grapes.

  A jar of maraschino cherries.

  Cherry brandy from Portugal.

  Two bottles of red wine.

  A small bottle of orange juice.

  “Sangría,” I announce. “A specialty of number twenty-eight, Alejo Albarado.”

  “Trying to get me drunk?” she muses.

  “Trying to share a pitcher of sangría with you, so you don’t have to drink it alone.”

  I start rummaging through her kitchen. Her apartment must have come fully-furnished, but even so, there’s not a lot of plates or cookware. I do find a glass pitcher, at least.