The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  I walk over to my place, exchanging a look with him, wondering if he’s okay to do this, if I should take his place this time, but he just nods, looking more determined than I’ve ever seen him.

  He’s got this.

  The ball is placed in front of him.

  I watch him line it up with his eyes and I know what kind of kick he’s going to do.

  He pulls back and strikes, going for a “Panenka” kick, the ball lofting up in the air, arcing over Juventus’ defense who jump up in vain, but it’s not high enough to stop the ball.

  At the last second, just before the ball hits the top rim of the net, it starts its descent, like a bird coming in for landing.

  It skims the bottom of the top of the net, over the goalie’s outstretched hands, and soars to the back.

  GOOOOAAAALLLL!

  All I hear is screaming, probably my own screaming, as we all start running after Luciano as he does his victory dance (always entertaining), launching ourselves on top of him.

  Tied!

  Three-Three.

  Twenty minutes left.

  This cup will be ours.

  The intensity is ramped up to the max now. Both teams are playing hard, taking risks, some of those risks paying off, others ending in penalties for both sides. Players are substituted on both teams, twice.

  We’re all giving it all we have.

  Mateo is pacing so much, I think he’s actually worn a path in the turf.

  I feel like the stakes have never been higher.

  This season, of all seasons, the stakes have kept on rising. First my knee injury, then losing Thalia, then my head injury, and getting Thalia back. We’ve gone up and we’ve gone down and now we’re here, at the end, and we’re ready to win this.

  We need this.

  I need this for more reasons than just winning.

  Kroos gets a corner kick for us and goes to the corner of the pitch.

  The clock is ticking down.

  If we miss this, we won’t get another. There’s not enough time to build up another goal.

  I get in position.

  I know my height comes as an advantage here and I know I’m good with my head, no matter my past injury.

  I know that ball is coming to me.

  Kroos takes the kick.

  The ball comes soaring through the air in a wide arc, looping back toward us.

  But the angle isn’t right for a direct header.

  I manage to leap up and to the side, catching the tip of it, pushing it straight up in the air, enough to make it stall, and in the time it takes to come back down, I’m spinning around to face the net.

  The ball lands just as my foot strikes forward to make contact.

  I watch in slow-motion as the ball shoots through the legs of a Juventus player, toward their goalie who is making a leap for it.

  The ball misses his gloves by mere millimetres.

  It slams into the back of the net.

  Goal.

  Goal!

  GOOOOOAALLLLLLL!!!

  I just scored the motherfucking winning goal!

  My world just…explodes.

  I’m yelling, screaming, running like crazy, high-fiving players as I go before sliding on my knees a few feet, the burn never feeling so good. I rip my shirt off my head, kiss the badge and throw it on the ground, arms out, head back, yelling up at the sky.

  This is for you, dad.

  And this is for me and Thalia.

  The future starts here.

  Then everyone is piling on top of me, the whole damn team, and I’m crying tears of joy and they’re all crying, and I can’t fucking believe it.

  We won the cup.

  It’s ours again, back where it belongs, with Madrid.

  Eventually the dog pile lifts and I get to my feet, and now everyone is running onto the field, cheering, hugging each other. Mateo and Jose and the medical team, and Thalia, of course, Thalia.

  I pull her into my arms as she’s jumping up and down like a lunatic, and I’m holding on to her and I’m jumping up and down too. I kiss her deeply, knowing that the press is absolutely going wild for us right now, all the flashbulbs going off.

  They’re here for the right moment.

  This moment.

  It’s not just for the club.

  It’s for us.

  Ever since Thalia and I went public with our relationship, we’ve been hounded by the press. Now, this isn’t anything new to me and I guess not for her either, but people became obsessed with the romance between the sexy physical therapist and the (obviously also sexy) younger man. Once the outlets and gossip rags stopped slandering us (and her in particular) about our age difference, they kind of warmed up to us.

  It helped that Thalia got her job back at Real Madrid.

  After she quit Manchester United in the most dramatic fashion and rumors about us spread, Mateo and I decided to build a case for her so she could get hired back to the team. Dr. Costa was really the only person opposed, and he left Real Madrid after he wasn’t offered enough money to stay. So the only thing standing in our way was Jose.

  The President.

  So Mateo and I took the issue to him on why Thalia should be hired back, despite being with me in a very public way. We had all of our reasons lined up, prepared to go to bat for her every way we could.

  But Jose didn’t seem impressed by all of that.

  “Are you serious about her?” Jose asked me.

  “More than you know.”

  “Do you plan on marrying her?” he asked.

  And I told him the truth.

  I had already bought her a ring.

  At that moment, Mateo didn’t know about it, so the announcement was a surprise to him too. Mateo offered his deepest congratulations and I knew in that moment, he and I were back on track.

  “But she hasn’t said yes yet,” I told him.

  “But you know she will,” he said.

  I was going to tell him there were no guarantees in love but it didn’t matter because Jose not only gave us his blessing but said she was free to come back.

  “As long as it doesn’t affect her work or your game, I really don’t care what you do,” Jose said in that mild way of his.

  Mateo and I exchanged a look. If only we had known from the beginning.

  And so after that, Thalia came back, welcomed with open arms.

  She got her apartment back, same one as before, an apartment I’m secretly trying to buy for her. She lived with me for about a month, but preferred downtown Madrid to the suburbs, so we’re currently splitting our time between both places (and sometimes Valdebebas, of course).

  As for the ring?

  Well, it’s currently burning a hole in my ankle.

  I know Thalia had wondered why I didn’t want her wrapping my ankles before the game tonight, something she usually does for me. I had David do it instead. I played it off as some silly Spanish superstition about not letting a loved one wrap your ankles before a game, and I think she may have actually believed me.

  And so David was able to stick that ring in there tight.

  And now, now is the time to let it out, while there is so much joy in the air, pure poetry and chaos, while the world is watching.

  So they know just how serious I am about her.

  And how my love won’t die.

  I pull back from Thalia, kissing her softly on the lips, aware of both David and Mateo watching me out of the corners of their eyes as they continue on celebrating.

  I drop down on one knee and start pull down my sock, start to undo the ankle wrap.

  Thalia watches me, concerned.

  “Did you hurt your ankle?” she yells at me over the din of the celebration.

  I smile to myself and find the ring.

  I pull it out of the wrap.

  I look back up to her and take her hand.

  I bring the ring between us, the sparkle of the massive, ten-carat square-cut diamond ring glittering under the stadium lights, nearly blinding
me.

  “Thalia,” I say to her, projecting my voice so she can hear it.

  She stares down at me in complete shock, hand at her chest, mouth open, her beautiful eyes big and round as she takes me and that iceberg-sized ring in.

  Suddenly, the world around us fades away. I’m vaguely aware that some people are watching this scene unfold, while others are still celebrating, jumping into the stands, tearing off shirts, shaking hands with the other team, and all of that.

  But that doesn’t matter right now.

  It’s only her.

  Only me.

  Only us.

  “Oh my god,” I see her mouth the words. “Alejo.”

  I had a whole speech planned. There are so many things I wanted to say to her, to let her know just what she means to me and how I feel about her, even though I tell her such things every day.

  But now, I realize, she probably won’t hear half of it with all this noise.

  And when it comes down to it, there’s only one thing I need to say, one question that needs answering.

  “Mi corazón,” I tell her, trying not to yell but the words are powered by my heart and the adrenaline of the game, the fact that I’m doing this right now, right here. “I may have won the cup but you have won my heart. You’ve had it all this time. And now all I need, all I want, is you, with me, forever. Thalia, te amo, will you become Mrs. Albarado? Will you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

  “Yes!” she cries out, tears at the corners of her eyes, her smile brighter than the sun. “Sí, sí, sí. I will Alejo, I will.”

  I laugh because my heart might just explode from love. I slip the ring on her finger, letting her admire it for a moment, and then I’m getting up, pulling her into me, holding the back of her head and kissing her with everything I’ve got.

  The cheers around us get even louder, deafening, as flashbulbs go off and people start clapping.

  I pull back and we look around to see Mateo, Luciano and David, and everyone else applauding, cheering, smiling, and I realize just how much I’ve won and how lucky I am.

  “Oh my god,” she says as realization dawns on her. “What would you have done if you had lost?”

  “I still would have asked you and it still would have been the happiest day of my life.” I lean in and whisper in her ear. “Thank you for saying yes.”

  She murmurs back. “Thank you for asking me. Thank you for loving me and never giving up on me.”

  I kiss her again, whispering against her lips. “I’ll never give up on us.”

  As much as I want to stay in her arms though, there’s some more celebrating to do.

  First, I’m pulled toward the stage they’ve set up, and while Thalia, and the assistant coaches, and the medical team, and the player’s wives, all look on, we’re presented with the cup, that Luciano gets to hold.

  We pose for photos, fireworks shooting into the sky and confetti canyons going off until the world is painted white and gold.

  Hala Madrid!

  And while I’m screaming and cheering for our win, for the team, for the club, I’m also doing it for Thalia.

  Because now she’s really and truly mine.

  Then the whole team runs off the stage and we grab Mateo. All of us gather together and hoist Mateo up so he’s surfing on our outstretched hands and then we start tossing him up in the air. He’s laughing, we’re laughing, and I don’t want the night to ever end.

  But I know it will have to end.

  And it makes it all that much sweeter knowing it will end with the future Mrs. Alejo Albarado in my arms.

  * * *

  That night, the celebrations go on and on. Dressed to the nines, the team heads out into the streets of Istanbul, drunk with glory, fueled by adrenaline, intoxicated by the foreign city streets and the copious amounts of champagne. We give it our all, knowing that when we get back to Madrid, the same thing will happen again, this time with a parade, and a ceremony inside the stadium.

  But I call it quits early, going back to the hotel room to be with my fiancée.

  Our bodies have a lot to say to each other.

  Giggling and tipsy, we stumble into the room and start tearing off each other’s clothes. I keep glancing at the ring on her finger as she starts undoing my belt buckle, unzipping my pants, helping to take off my shirt.

  The ring shines like the sun, like the stars, like the moon, like it symbolizes the whole fucking universe.

  She said yes.

  We fall backward, naked, onto the bed and in the darkness of the room, we writhe around beneath the sheets, finding each other, slipping together like pieces in a puzzle.

  I roll on top of her, pinning her down, my lips exploring her lips, her cheek, her neck.

  She shivers beneath me, her hands tangled in my hair. “I love you,” she says softly, so soft that I have to pull back and see if she’s alright.

  She staring up at me with glistening eyes, a gentle smile on her face curling up the corner of her mouth. Her hands come out of my hair and trail down over my face, running over my features as if she’s trying to memorize me by touch. “I love you so much, Alejo. I don’t even think you know.”

  I swallow, feeling like I’m falling even deeper in love with her, so deep that there is no way out, and I don’t ever want there to be. I’ll be buried in this love for her.

  “I know,” I whisper to her, “because I can feel you here.” I put her hand to my heart. Then I put it to her heart. “And I know you made room for me here.”

  I lean in and kiss her again, my hand trailing down between her legs where she’s wet and wanting, and slowly I push my cock up into her.

  She moans, making those breathless little sounds I love so much, as I start rocking into her, feeling everything wash over me as I push in deep.

  And I’m falling deeper and deeper into her, into us, into our love.

  We come together, our soft cries filling the room.

  Breathing together.

  Hearts pounding as one.

  Epilogue

  Thalia

  Three Years Later

  “Happy anniversary,” I tell Alejo, raising my glass of sparkling sangría, a new recipe I perfected that I think might be the next best thing.

  “Happy anniversary, mi corazón,” Alejo says to me, his eyes cutting me deep, making a few butterflies float through my stomach. I don’t think he’ll ever stop having that power over me.

  “Happy anniversary!” Vera and Mateo say in unison as they raise their glasses. Vera quickly adds, “Are you sure Mateo and I should be here for this?”

  “Of course,” I tell her as we all toast across the dinner table. “Why not have our friends here to share the celebration?”

  “I don’t know,” she muses, her eyes dancing, “probably because the proper way to celebrate a two-year anniversary is to be alone. You know, fucking and all that.”

  “Vera,” Mateo chides with a groan, “please don’t put images in my head.”

  “Why not? Look at how hot they are! Who wouldn’t want to picture them?” She pauses. “Oh, I’m making this awkward now, aren’t I?”

  Alejo laughs. “No, not at all. Please keep going, I love to hear how hot I am.”

  I kick him under the table. “You mean how hot we are.”

  “Sí, sí, sí,” he says. “We.”

  I laugh and have a sip of my drink, my wedding and engagement rings catching the light of the chandelier, causing my heart to grow warm.

  Three years ago, Alejo proposed and gave me the biggest honking engagement ring I’d ever seen, with the whole world watching.

  Two years ago, he slipped the wedding band on my finger as I promised to be his wife, until death do us part.

  Now today, we’re gathered in our townhouse in downtown Madrid, in the Salamanca neighborhood, not too far from where Vera and Mateo live, having our closest friends over to celebrate us. Because, in some ways, without Vera and Mateo, especially Mateo, there would be no us.

  It had b
een Mateo who contacted me right after that now very infamous Champions League game of Real Madrid versus Manchester United and told me to go after Alejo. It was his idea to drive me to Alejo’s house while Alejo was collected from the hospital, and I was welcomed back into Alejo’s arms, into his utterly pure and loving and forgiving heart.

  Mateo also helped me get my job back.

  And most of all, he’s the one who took a chance on me to begin with and hired me.

  Without Mateo, I would have never found the right path in life. I would have never found myself, and most importantly, would have never found Alejo.

  Besides, Mateo and Vera have become my closet friends, and I can’t imagine not celebrating without them here, especially since it’s the summer and things have finally slowed down. We’re in between seasons, so there’s some time to have fun and think and just be.

  A lot of things have changed in the last three years. In some ways, things feel the same and in others, it’s hard to look back and see where the journey has taken us.

  After I moved back to Madrid, got my job back, and got engaged, things were fairly stable. Alejo ended up buying me my apartment above Esteban, which we still own, and now my mom and dad stay there when they come over to visit.

  Then he bought this townhouse and the two of us moved in here, giving his big mansion to Armando and his mother, along with Yaya who moved from Tenerife to the mainland and is living with them now. We still see them for dinner every Sunday.

  Then came our wedding.

  The event of the century, or at least that’s what it felt like.

  It was like I was marrying Spanish royalty, and I guess that’s kind of what it was since the King of Spain was actually there. As was the whole team, and every single notable football player or Spanish celebrity under the sun. I didn’t even know half these people, and apparently Alejo didn’t know either.

  But we made headlines. And for once, not the negative ones. It seems like most of the press really fell in love with our unconventional love story, and even the shitty British media has eased up a little bit. Oh, they’ll still point out our age difference, and I’ve learned to get a strong backbone to deal with the rumors they keep spreading about Alejo being with younger women, or that I’m undergoing plastic surgery, or some utter nonsense like that.