The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  “I won’t,” I tell him absently, already hanging up.

  I let the phone dangle between my fingers as I stare out at the sea.

  My first thoughts go to Alejo.

  If I accept the job, and Alejo finds out, is he going to know I had to do it because of work, or is he going to think I went back to Stewart romantically?

  Is this an example of life happening to me or for me?

  I guess I need to figure out which it is.

  * * *

  I’m in my new apartment, staring out the window. Unlike my old apartment, it has a view, this time of the cathedral.

  Manchester hasn’t changed at all, but I have.

  It’s cold and wet and dreary, hovering between snow and sleet. February is in full force.

  I look out this window and all I want to see are the tiled rooftops of Madrid. I want to smell the scent of Jamon and fried pequitos wafting up from the bar below. I want to have my apartment with the cactus on the windowsill and drawers full of forks and spoons, and a killer sangría recipe.

  I want my life back in Madrid and I want Alejo.

  I want both of those things above all else.

  I guess it took moving here to figure that all out.

  But what can I do? The next day after Stewart called me, I had my answer.

  I felt like life was presenting me with something that I needed to take. That things were aligning in a way I didn’t quite understand but that this was the path I needed to go on.

  And so I’m here.

  I’ve been here for a month and yet it all feels very dream-like, and yes, a bit temporary.

  I know deep down that this isn’t my home and I also know that this job won’t stay my job forever. It gives me the feeling of being constantly stuck in limbo but I think maybe limbo is where I need to be until everything is sorted out, whether that limbo is in Greece or in England.

  It’s been weird.

  It’s been very weird.

  I feel a lot like a dog with a tail between its legs. The press have run amok with the news and I’m not sure what they’re saying because I’ve learned to ignore them, but again it’s probably not good. The team doesn’t trust me at all because I’ve been with Real Madrid, in fact all of them have given me the cold-shoulder. Stewart has actually been the only nice part about all this, and that’s saying a lot. It’s not like I talk to him or socialize with him outside of work and not that I would want to either. But when I’m at work, he’s going out of his way to treat me with a lot of respect, which makes things easier for me.

  If this is his way to absolution for the things he’s done, so be it.

  I just don’t know where my absolution is. Maybe it’s the same for me.

  Maybe going back is the only way to move forward.

  There’s a knock at my door, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  I put down my cup of coffee and answer it.

  Stewart is standing on the other side of the door, holding a pair of car keys.

  “Got you a new Chevy,” he says.

  I laugh. “A Chevy? How are they even a sponsor when they literally don’t sell their cars in the UK anymore.”

  He shrugs, dangling the keys. “You know every player gets a free Chevy and most players don’t want it, so it’s yours. It’s some SUV, I don’t know. I wouldn’t drive it.”

  I take the keys, happy to have something. “Okay, well this is a surprise. Come in,” I open the door wider for him.

  “I just came to by to drop them off,” he says, walking inside and looking around the room. “It’s a nice place, right? Step up from the old place you had.”

  “You never saw my old apartment,” I remind him.

  “Right. That’s just what Helen said.”

  Ugh. Helen.

  No, I haven’t seen Helen since I’ve been here, thank god. That would be too weird and awkward and I really don’t want to see her I told you so face since she would totally get why I’m back here in Manchester, crawling back to my ex-husband in some form or another.

  “Let me guess, she picked this apartment for me?” I ask wryly, crossing my arms.

  “She helped.” He chuckles. “Or I should say, she basically forced her opinions upon me. You know how she is.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m not friends with her anymore.”

  He frowns, looking at me like I have two heads. “You’re not?”

  “You didn’t figure that out? I…broke up with her, I guess. However you put it, we’re done. It’s over.”

  He studies me for a moment, then something dawns on his face. “This is making sense.”

  “How?”

  “Well I’ve been over to their place for dinner and drinks a few times and you’re never there. I figured with you being back, you would have been. I mean, knowing now that we’re okay with each other and you’re not avoiding me. You’re avoiding her.”

  “I’m not avoiding her. I just don’t want anything to do with her.”

  “What happened?”

  I sigh, staring at the floor. “I…you know how sometimes you stay friends with someone because you feel like you have to? Like your shared history will go to waste? All that time spent together? And, well, you know that they have some good parts to them, so you try and overlook all the bad, even when it makes you feel like shit, even when it starts piling up? I guess I had a wake-up call and realized that her friendship did me more harm than good. She was jealous and possessive. She walked all over me and I let her because, I don’t know, that happens sometimes.” I shrug.

  “Thalia, I have to be honest with you, I don’t think you’re the type of person to let someone walk all over you.”

  “I do when there are complicated emotions involved. Certain people make you weak…until they don’t. Anyway, it’s done and I’m better off for it. Sorry if this is upsetting, I know you two are friends.”

  He shakes his head. “She’s not my friend, Thalia. Frank is my friend. I can’t stand Helen.”

  I stare at him, bug-eyed. “What? Really? I thought you guys got extra close after the divorce?”

  “No, that was all her doing. She’s clingy and strange and frankly I don’t trust her worth shite. I don’t know how Frank is married to her but she has him by the bollocks so I don’t think he’s ever going to leave.” He chuckles. “He’s too damn afraid.”

  I shouldn’t be smiling, but I am. “Huh. All this time,” I muse.

  “You know you could have asked me and I would have told you the truth.”

  My smile fades. I shrug. “Yeah, well, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

  Stew lets out a heavy sigh, his expression somewhat vulnerable. “You know…I know that this job doesn’t quite erase the things I’ve done and what a wanker I’ve been, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  “I know you’re sorry Stewart,” I say quietly. “It’s fine. What’s done is done. It’s in the past. We both have moved on and for the better.” I meet his eyes. “You and me, we just weren’t meant to be.”

  A wash of sadness comes over his brow. “But it’s not that I didn’t want the world for us, Thalia. I did. When I married you, I believed it would be forever.”

  I blink, my eyes watering. “I did too.” I rub my lips together, staring at him, about to leap into the hard part, the part that needs to be said. “It was the baby, wasn’t it? It was Grace.”

  He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes. And…Jesus, I am so bloody sorry that I wasn’t there for you during that. I didn’t…I didn’t know how to handle it. I wanted that baby more than anything in the world and…” he shakes his head, looking away, “I am so sorry to even admit this but, I blamed you. I blamed you, Thalia. I blamed you, and then I blamed myself because you weren’t so sure about kids to begin with and I feel like I pressured you into it and maybe that’s why you lost the baby. Why we lost the baby.”

  My chin starts to tremble, my nose burning, an old wound inside me re-opening. His words don�
�t shock me because I knew they were the truth, but they still hurt to hear. All of it hurts, but maybe this is a pain we need to share with each other, since we never shared it before.

  “I wanted Grace,” I tell him, coming over to him and putting my hand in his, holding it tight. It feels familiar in a good way. “I wanted her and I loved her and I know you did too. It broke the both of us and sent us in different directions. We were meant to be, but only up until that point, and then after that…”

  “I was fool, Thalia,” he says to me. “A bloody fool. I was scared and angry and hurt. So hurt. I should have opened up to you but I didn’t. It was simpler to blame you, to hate you. To push you away because anger and resentment is a much easier tool to wield than sadness is. Grief is all-consuming. I didn’t want to feel it. I did everything I could not to feel it.”

  “But you’ve been feeling it lately, haven’t you? Now that you’re marrying Patty. You’re worried about the future. About children. About losing them.” I sniff back some tears. “That’s why you reached out to me, even if you didn’t know it.”

  He nods slowly. “I guess so.”

  I give his hand another squeeze. “Then I’m glad you did. I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad that this is where my life has led me because I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear you say those words, say her name. To know you cared, to know you hurt. To know that we suffered the same, even if we suffered separately.”

  “Thalia.” He puts his arms around me and hugs me and I hug him right back. This feels right. Not in the sense that I belong with him, but that I belong to this moment.

  Life is happening for me.

  We’re both being set free.

  “I am so sorry I broke your heart,” he says to me.

  I give him one last squeeze and pull back. “Stewart, you might have broken my heart, but you fixed my vision.” I wipe away a tear.

  He does the same. It doesn’t make me happy to see such sadness in Stew but it does make my heart feel full. Like whatever cracks I had there are slowly healing.

  Closure.

  “Well,” he says, straightening up and clearing his throat. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that when I came to drop these keys off.”

  “Neither was I. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” he says. “Listen I, better go. Patty is waiting in the car. By the way, I parked yours just outside the front door. It’s grey. You’ll see it.”

  I nod. “Okay. And thank you. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  “See you at work,” he says and then he gives me a quick smile before he leaves.

  I turn around and let out a deep and shaking breath, leaning against the counter.

  I close my eyes and think of Grace.

  It doesn’t hurt as much.

  Chapter 30

  Thalia

  “You ready?” Stewart asks me as we’re about to board the plane.

  No.

  No.

  Fuck no, I’m not.

  “Of course,” I tell him, faking a smile.

  He narrows his eyes, watching me closely. “You sure? I mean, it’s Madrid.”

  “I’m very aware of that,” I tell him, giving him a look that tells him to drop it.

  Because if he observes me any longer, he’s going to see the fear in my eyes.

  Manchester United and Real Madrid are meeting again.

  We’re bound for Spain.

  I’m going to back to my dear Madrid.

  I’m going back into Santiago Bernabéu Stadium.

  I’m going to have to step out onto that pitch and see my old team again.

  I’m going to see my beloved again.

  Alejo.

  It’s been three months since I quit Real Madrid.

  Got a little lost. Found a new path.

  Still not sure where it’s taking me but I know I have to follow it and see where I end up.

  Today, I’m ending up in Madrid.

  A place my heart wants to call home.

  God, I’m so fucking terrified.

  I pull an Alejo and put on noise-cancelling headphones the moment I board the plane, having a playlist ready that will get me pumped and positive.

  It doesn’t really work.

  Sure it drowns out everyone around me, but it finetunes my focus until the game is all I can think about, more specifically, who I’ll see during the game.

  All I can think about is Alejo.

  How will I feel when I see him?

  How will he feel when he sees me?

  Does he still hate me? He must. He never contacted me after I left. Not that I expected him to, not that I’m upset that he didn’t. It was my own doing and he probably harbors even greater resentment after I left without saying goodbye and ended up back in Manchester.

  Or maybe he was grateful. Maybe me leaving was like the Band-aid being pulled off all at once. It forced him to forget me and move on.

  I wish I could say it did the same for me.

  The man still holds my heart in his hands, a very crucial part of me, making it impossible to forget him. What we shared together can’t be erased, not with time, not with anything.

  Instinctively I reach for the pocket watch I keep around my neck. I’ve been wearing it these days, it gives me comfort to open it up and see that time is still ticking, to pretend his words Thalia Te Amo will withstand the seconds, minutes, hours, days.

  I’m still sleeping with it under my pillow.

  Maybe it’s kind of pathetic to still be pining for someone like this. Maybe I should start moving on, but I can’t.

  Not yet. I’m not ready.

  Maybe after tonight, you will be.

  I swallow the thought down. My nerves are on fire, stomach in a thousand tiny knots. Am I even going to survive this?

  As the plane starts its descent, I catch a glimpse of Valdebebas out the window and my anxiety really starts to kick into high gear, melding with the sadness.

  That’s my home. Right there below us, that’s my home.

  The thought won’t go away. It lives in me, growing like a weed.

  My home, those pitches, that building.

  My heart lives there with that club. The chances of them actually being inside right now and eating lunch are high. I should be there with them. I should be sitting with Alejo and Rene and Luciano and even the Slovakian. Luciano should be telling me some Portuguese saying that makes no sense, Rene should be talking about some girl he scored over the weekend. Mateo should be there in the distance, trying to ignore everyone and think strategy.

  And Alejo…I would be glancing up at Alejo from time to time, giving him a secret smile. His eyes would tell me a story. They would tell me that I was his and that I belonged to him and that we have nothing but time on our side.

  How wrong he was. We had so little time together.

  And yet I could have spent the rest of my life with him.

  It’s not too late. It’s never too late.

  I close my eyes as the plane touches down and I keep on breathing.

  A bus takes us into Madrid, down the familiar streets, past the gorgeous squares. The city looks like it’s coming alive, having already shed its winter skin. The sun is shining softly, there are buds on the trees and white cherry blossoms blowing in the air. It nearly brings tears to my eyes, afflicting me with acute homesickness that feels painful.

  How am I even going to get through this game if I can’t get through the bus ride to the stadium?

  But somehow I do.

  The stadium looms before me, thousands upon thousands of Madridistas on the street around it, wearing white, waving flags and banners. Their energy is so infectious that it makes the chatter on the bus come to a hush.

  “This must be weird for you,” Jim, one of the therapists, says from in front of me.

  “A bit,” I tell him, hoping no one else presses me.

  But they don’t. They’re all concentrating on the game, on the strategy.

  That is until
we get off the bus, past the photographers, and a Man United defender, Mark York, pulls me aside.

  “Hey,” he says to me. “You got real close to Real, didn’t you?”

  “I guess,” I say slowly, not sure what he’s getting at.

  “How is Albarado’s knee?”

  Oh the irony.

  I narrow my eyes. “What about his knee?”

  He gives me a pointed look. “Just want to know if it’s completely fixed or not. You were his therapist, weren’t you?”

  “I was but that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to you about his ailment.”

  “Why not?” he asks gruffly. “Fair is fair. You go there and come back, you have to pay the price.”

  Pay the price?

  “I’m not telling you shit,” I say, glaring at him. “Go out there and win the game the old-fashioned way.”

  He studies me for a moment. “You’ve got your priorities mixed up, Blackwood. I don’t even think you know where your loyalty lies.”

  Then he stalks off toward the locker room.

  In a fair world, I would have told him about Alejo because I told Alejo about his ankle. But I would never do that to Alejo, never ever throw him under the bus.

  And now that I’m here, back in this stadium, I know where my loyalties lie.

  They lie with Real Madrid.

  With the opposing team and not the one that hired me.

  How the fuck did you get yourself into this mess? I ask myself.

  Love. Love got me in this mess.

  Maybe love can get me out of it.

  I wait outside the locker room until the warm-up begins and then Stewart looks at me as he’s leaving to the pitch, trailing after the team.

  “How are you holding up?” he asks me. “You ready?”

  I give him a quick smile. “The better question is, are you ready?”

  “I think we are. Come on.”

  I hesitate. I don’t think it matters much if I walk outside onto the pitch alongside Stewart, but I’d have to be pretty oblivious to think it wouldn’t cause a stir. If I’m ever seen around Stewart during our home games, the press always goes crazy, talking about a reconciliation, or that Patty and Stew’s marriage is on the rocks, or that I can’t handle the job and I’ve turned into a crazy loon. Take your pick. Even when I ignore the headlines, they still find their way to me.