Already feeling like a fool.
Chapter 20
Thalia
It was an extremely awkward two days.
After the night that everything came out in the open, things were weird between us. I went out of my way to make sure she could really explore Madrid while I was at work, but she didn’t seem all that interested. And when I came home from work, she didn’t seem like exploring much of the city, either. I practically had to drag her to an Argentinian steak house, and it was only then, when she had some wine, that she loosened up a little.
She left this morning, which brought me nothing but relief, and if that doesn’t say something then I don’t know what does.
I know she’s disappointed in me. She thinks I’m being an idiot. What was her term, dick drunk? Dick drunk for a younger Spanish man. She thinks I’m no different than some cougar at the bar hunting down men younger than her. She thinks I’m acting beneath the person she thought I was.
In a lot of ways, I can’t blame her. She might be honestly concerned about me losing my job, and if that’s the case, I don’t know what to tell her. And maybe I am acting completely out of character for myself. I don’t know. I don’t know because half the time, I’m not even sure I know myself.
But she’s definitely added to those voices in my head, the ones that tell me this whole thing is a big mistake that’s not going anywhere and is going to end with my heart being smashed in two.
“Thalia,” Luciano says to me, coming around the corner and clapping his hands together with a whack as I’m opening the door to my office. “Just the person we all wanted to see.”
“What’s up, Capitán?” I ask, wondering why he’s looking at me like he knows something I don’t.
“You didn’t hear the news?” he asks. “Well, actually no one has heard the news yet. We got word from Jose because he has ways of finding this stuff out early.”
I step into my office, shaking my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The draws for the next round robin for Champions were picked,” he says. “I mean, they’ll announce it officially later, but we already know.”
“Yeah, and?”
He gives me a twisted grin. “We’re playing Manchester United.”
I still. “What?” I eke out.
“That’s right. November twenty-sixth.”
I plunk down in my chair.
I can’t believe it. That can’t be right. I mean, I have been praying and hoping that this wouldn’t happen, that we wouldn’t play them. It’s been on my mind a lot lately.
But perhaps I’ve been thinking about it too much.
Perhaps I willed this into happening.
Okay, Thalia, get a grip. You knew it could happen. You didn’t want it to happen but it’s happening.
Still, I glance uneasily at Luciano. “Are you sure?”
“We’ll win. Água pela barba, but we’ll win.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Water in the beard, in Portuguese,” he explains.
“That still doesn’t explain anything.”
“I said we’re going to have to put in the hard work, but we can win. No problem.” He gives me a sly smile. “Especially if you give us some of their secrets.”
Well, well, well. Here I was telling Helen that this team wasn’t like that, and here’s Luciano asking me to tell him everything about Man United.
“You’re playing dirty, Luciano.”
He grins. “Nah, that’s Rene. He’s the dirty player. I’m just a strategist. You have to be as a team captain.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what you need to know, but I don’t see how that’s going to make a difference.”
“Is it hard because it’s your ex team? And your ex-husband’s team?”
“Yeah!” I say, giving him an obvious look. “That’s why it’s hard.”
“You don’t want us to beat them?”
“Of course I do. I want you to fucking cream them. It’s just going to be fucking weird to play them, that’s all. But that’s my problem, not the team’s.”
“Stewart is a bastardo. He will pay for what he did to you. But that’s why you’ve got to help us make sure that happens. Sure, we can win on our own, but don’t you want to see them really go down? I mean, you’re here, on our side. Dá deus nozes a quem não tem dentes.”
I raise my brow.
“God gives nuts to those without teeth,” he says.
My brow is still raised.
“It means we have to seize the opportunity or it’s going to go to waste,” he explains with a sigh.
“It goes against my code of ethics,” I manage to say.
Luciano crosses his arms and leans back, observing me. “Is this an actual code or your own personal code?”
“My own personal code.”
“And have you ever broke one of your ethics codes before…and enjoyed doing so?” He winks at me.
Yeah, I know what he’s getting at.
I glare at him.
“I have to think about it. How about you go worry about your team?”
“Already happening,” he says as he waltzes out the door.
* * *
Later that night, I text Alejo to come over when he’s done eating dinner with his family. There is a part of me that wishes I could have dinner with his family too. And I know that if I asked, he would welcome me with open arms.
But then what? That’s not the kind of thing you do when you’re sneaking around. And I can guarantee his mother wouldn’t approve. Not that it matters, but it sort of does.
I end up eating patatas bravas from the bar downstairs and drinking a few glasses of wine by the time Alejo is knocking at my door.
I open it, already smiling, a little off-balance, and he comes in, pulling me into a kiss, one hand at my cheek, the other at the small of my back.
There’s also something prickly pinching my skin back there.
“What the?” I say as we pull apart and twist around to see him carrying a small potted cactus in one hand.
“It’s for you,” he says, striding across the room and putting the cactus on the windowsill. “My mother has a few. They keep out evil spirits, bring good luck.”
“Another one of your superstitions?”
He gives me a one-shouldered shrug before walking back to me. “Maybe. Guess I feel like I need a lot of luck to keep you with me.”
I blink at his choice of words. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The corner of his mouth curls into a soft smile. “I haven’t been with you for a few days,” he says, slipping his hands around my waist and pulling me to him. “It feels like forever. What did you end up doing with your friend? Did you have fun?”
I frown, not sure how I even feel about it.
“Uh oh.” He runs his finger between my brows. “This line means things aren’t good.”
“It means my Botox wore off,” I joke.
“You don’t need that shit,” he says, placing his lips where his finger just was.
“Actually, I do. I’ve been told I have resting bitch face since before the term was coined. Even when I’m just thinking, people always think I’m plotting to murder someone.”
“You mean you’re not?”
I smack him across the chest and head into the kitchen to get him a glass of wine.
“I guess you heard the news about Man U,” I tell him as I pour the glass, glancing up at him.
“I did,” he says. “But before we get into that, let’s go back to your friend. What happened?”
I sigh and bring him the glass, clinking the edge of mine against his.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have all night.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to listen to me talk all night,” I point out.
“I came here to be with you,” he says. “The how and the why? It doesn’t matter. Come here.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch, sitting me down with him next to me. “Hele
n, right?”
I take a big sip of my wine and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes. Helen.”
“And Helen, she’s the one still friends with your ex-husband?”
I’m surprised Alejo remembers that. I must have mentioned her a long time ago.
“Yes. I mean, her husband is best friends with Stewart. I actually met Helen through my ex-husband. So, she has claim to him.”
“Claim to him? I don’t follow.”
“Meaning, it’s not exactly fair of me to make a fuss over the fact that she’s friends with him if she was friends with him first.”
“Right, but was she really friends with him, or was her husband?”
“Her husband was.”
“And does she know all the shit that cabrón put you through?”
I nod. “She does.”
“And she’s still staying friends with him why? I mean, maybe I don’t understand the dynamics of female friendships since it seems rather complicated. But if you were to ask my opinion, I would say this Helen is not your real friend.”
I let out a long, noisy breath through my nose, feeling a pang in my chest. “I know. And I know I should say something to her, but I’m just…I don’t like confrontation and she’s so strong-willed and sharp-tongued that I don’t stand a chance. She has to be the alpha in every room she’s in.”
“Okay. She’s those things and she’s also not your friend. If she were your friend, she would not stay friends with him. She may have to see him and tolerate him, but it sounds like it’s more than that, no? Or you wouldn’t be upset by it. I think she can’t be trusted.”
“Maybe it’s more like…I’ve been closed off with her and she’s very demanding. High maintenance. Envious, even. Sometimes I think she’s trying to be friends with Stewart to somehow make me jealous of her. It sounds so absurd.”
“But you think those things so they can’t be absurd.”
“Oh, believe me, I have some pretty crazy thoughts.”
“Actually, Thalia, you are extremely level-headed. Annoyingly so.”
I smack him again. “It’s called maturity.”
He laughs. “Is it? No, it’s not quite that. It’s just you like to really analyze things before you do them. You think deeply and keep your feelings close to your chest. You’re the opposite of me. But perhaps I make you a little loose and you make me a little grounded, and it all works out.”
I give him a soft smile. “Yeah.”
“So, what are you going to do about her? Have you said anything to her? Did something happen that made things worse?”
I give him a furtive glance. “She found out about us.”
He winces. “Ouch. I take it that did not go well.”
I shake my head, reliving the disappointed look in her eyes when she saw our text messages. “No, it didn’t. She doesn’t understand.”
“That’s her problem then.” He pauses. “Did it feel good to tell someone, though?”
“Yeah, it did. Even if I didn’t like what she had to say.”
“And so now what? You had a falling out?”
“I really don’t know what it was. But I think it was the beginning of the end. In some ways I think she does really care about me and worries about me, but in other ways…maybe she just uses me to feel better about herself. Because she’s still married and has her life together and I’m just kind of…”
“Finding out who you really are and what you really want,” he fills in. “That’s what you’re doing, and you should be proud of it. Not everyone in life gets that chance. Most people die without knowing the person they are inside.” He leans over and cups my face with his hand, gazing into my eyes. “I know the person you are, even if you don’t. And I think she’s amazing.”
My throat grows hot and tears burn at the backs of my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper before he leans in to kiss me.
Thank you for knowing me. Thank you for still being here.
“Now,” he says as he pulls away, kissing me briefly on the forehead. He sits back and a wicked gleam comes over his eyes. “Let’s talk about Manchester United.”
“Ugh, I’m going to need more wine.”
I make a move to get up, but he puts his hand on my thigh and holds me in place. “You don’t need wine. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re going to beat them.”
“Yeah, but I have to go back to Manchester. I’m going to have to see Stew. Helen will probably be there. The media.” My eyes widen at the thought. “Oh god, the media! They’re going to know! They’re going to hound me and write mean things.”
“Who cares what they write? It can’t be worse than what they’ve already done to you. Besides, no one will be hounding you. You’re a physical therapist. You’ll be with the team and Mateo, doing your job. Otherwise you’ll be protected by us. No one that you don’t want to see will be able to see you. I assume you don’t want to see your ex?”
“Fuck no,” I cry out. “Why would you even suggest that?”
“Because I’m your man and he’s your ex-husband, and it’s only natural to worry.”
“Alejo,” I tell him imploringly, finding it almost sexy at how protective he’s being. “I hate Stew. Okay? I won’t even look in his direction. You have nothing to worry about.”
He tilts his head as he takes that in. “If you say so. Though I would love to go over to him and fuck him right up for what he’s done to you.”
“You will do no such thing,” I tell him sharply. “You and your Spanish bravado.”
“What if I see him in a bar? Permission to fight him?”
“No,” I cry out. “That would raise some serious questions about us.”
“You and Stewart?”
“No, you and me,” I explain. “Look, the way you get back at Stew is by humiliating his team by playing the best you can.”
“Vale, vale, vale,” Alejo says, kissing the tops of his fists. “I’ll keep these bad boys locked away.”
“You’re such a dork,” I tell him, laughing. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Other than you, no.”
I sigh and lean against him, my head on his chest. “Listen, Luciano came by earlier, badgering me over the game and whether I knew any weak spots with their team.”
“Sí,” he says, running his fingers through my hair, something I find so relaxing.
“I told him I’d think about it, but it kind of breaks my personal code of ethics.”
“Síííí.”
I glance up at him, resting my chin on his pec. “But I’m already breaking my code by doing this with you.”
“Technically,” Alejo says, “it’s not just your personal code. It’s in the employee handbook. I know. I looked it up.”
“My point is, since I’m breaking all the rules with you…might as well break all the rules with you.”
He peers down at me, brow arching. “I’m listening…”
“This is just for you. I’m just going to say that one of their defenders, Mark York, is going to be on you like glue. And he has a very weak right ankle. Any kind of twisting and he’s out of the game. He’ll recover, and I’m not suggesting you try and maim the guy. But if you need to get away and get him gone for the night…”
He nods. “Got it.” A slow smile spreads on his lips. “This is a very cunning side of you. I think I like it. What other sides do you have?”
He puts his hand behind my head and brings my face up to meet his, kissing me long and slow.
“I can think of a few new ones to show you,” I say in a husky voice, being the ultimate tease.
He grins and kisses me again.
* * *
November 26th.
Eleven a.m.
Our Emirates private plane has just landed in dreary Manchester.
I’m staring out the window at the grey, windswept, puddle-strewn tarmac, and a million nasty feelings are swirling inside me, so much so that I might need to vomit.
I can’t believe I�
�m here.
That I’m back.
The last time I saw Manchester was at the end of July, and though I knew I would be back one day to see friends or to play a match, I just never imagined what that would be like. It was always something vague and abstract.
Now that I’m here, I feel sick to my stomach. I guess I never really had an idea what kind of impact this place had on me until I left.
I wish I could stay on the plane and have it take me back to Madrid, but that’s not an option.
I get off the plane with everyone else and I know at some point during today someone is going to think, “Oh hey, Thalia used to live here,” or “Thalia used to be married to the manager of United,” or “Thalia used to fix those boys.” I’ve already fielded a few curious looks from the players.
I also wish that I could just lean into Alejo and have him take care of me, but that won’t ever happen. So I have to deal with the feelings on my own. He’s already got his noise-cancelling headphones on, getting into the right frame of mind for the game, a frame of mind I would never dare interrupt.
The day moves fast though. We get to the hotel, we check into the rooms, and there’s some media stuff and interviews some players have to do, including Alejo. I just hide out in my room, wishing I could drink on the job (that’s a big fat no), so instead I raid the mini bar for sour candies and eat a bag of them while watching the BBC, trying to keep my mind off things.
Then it’s time to go. We get on a bus and are shuttled to the infamous Old Trafford stadium.
The place I spent so much time.
The place I fell in love with Stew.
The place I couldn’t face anymore after I lost that love.
And now I’m here, in support of Los Blancos, getting fucked by one of their football stars.
Funny how life works.
My nerves don’t calm down once inside the stadium, and even walking in I already heard a few reporters and photographers calling my name, which is so fucking crazy considering I’m nobody. I’m just some forty-year-old woman they want to pick apart, which is par for the course for them.
At one point, I could see Alejo ahead of me as we walked to the locker room, hanging back to see if he was needed. I just gave him the eyes that I was fine.
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 25
