The One That Got Away: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  “Luciano,” Marco says as he approaches me, gesturing to the woman on his arm. “You remember Ruby, don’t you?”

  Nineteen

  Luciano

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  I stare, gawk, blink at the woman standing before me.

  Ruby…

  Ruby Fucking Turner.

  But it can’t.

  It just can’t be.

  This must be a dream.

  Must be some sort of joke.

  I’m vaguely aware that Mateo, Vera, Thalia, and Alejo are looking on with some interest, which means I’m not entirely hallucinating this.

  I’m also aware that seconds have passed and I haven’t said anything, my brain extra slow because of the alcohol, and the fact that Ruby left my heart in ruins when she left seven years ago, and now she’s just…back.

  She’s here.

  Staring at me, a wariness in her blue eyes, a strained smile on her red lips.

  Those fucking lips.

  Still red.

  A Jezebel’s smile.

  Everything that happened hits me all at once and I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to get out of this without acting like an asshole or just storming away like a fool.

  “Don’t you remember?” Marco goes on in English, not getting it. Thank god he’s in the dark. “How long ago was it Ruby? What, nine years ago?”

  I’m still staring at her. I try to rein in my expression, trying to keep my shock and anger and hurt and the million other emotions that are flooding through me buried. I put on the mask but it’s a Herculean effort. I can barely even smile.

  “It was nine years ago,” she says, lying to him.

  “Yeah, nine. Remember Luciano? She was my girlfriend. We dated.”

  Suddenly, Alejo whispers behind me, “Ay Dios mio.”

  I can’t even look at him because I know he’s putting two and two together.

  You see, I’ve told him about her before.

  About the one that got away.

  Speak, say something.

  “Right,” I say slowly. “I think I remember.”

  “In Lisbon,” Marco goes on. “She was the journalist who interviewed you. Well, guess what, she’s still a journalist. I was hoping she could interview you tonight.”

  I don’t even process those words. It’s laughable.

  “I’m not doing interviews.” I gulp back the other glass of champagne. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get another drink.”

  I stride off toward the bar, loosening the tie around my neck, feeling too hot and trapped and everything.

  Jesus Cristo.

  I lean with my arms splayed on the bar, my head hanging down, hair over my face. My eyes pinch closed and I am trying to breathe, in and out, in and out, trying to recalibrate my reality.

  “Luciano,” Alejo calls out, coming up beside me. “What just happened? What was that?”

  I groan, shaking my head. “I just sounded like such an asshole, didn’t I?”

  “More or less. Maybe more diva.”

  I straighten up and look over my shoulder.

  They’re all looking at me.

  I meet Ruby’s eyes for a moment and all I feel is anger.

  And pain.

  She caused me so much pain.

  “Here, how about we go to the end.” Alejo grabs me by the arm and shuffles me along until we’re at the opposite end of the bar, out of sight of everyone. We sit down and he turns to the bartender. “I’m going to need something strong. Scotch.”

  “No,” I say sharply.

  I can’t drink scotch anymore.

  “Tequila it is,” Alejo says. He watches as the bartender pours us both a shot.

  He raises his glass to cheers me, but I’ve already shot mine back down my throat.

  I slam the empty glass down. “Another.”

  “So, are we pretending to be gunslingers at a saloon now, or what?” Alejo jokes.

  I don’t say anything to that. I do another shot instead.

  “I’ll leave you alone if you want to be alone,” he says. “But that was weird. That wasn’t…that wasn’t that girl you talked about once.”

  “The one that got away?”

  “Yeah.”

  I lick the tequila off my lips, enjoying the buzz. “Yeah. That’s her.”

  “Shit. What is she doing with your brother again?”

  “I don’t fucking know man. I don’t.”

  They’re dating again. Of course they are. She abandoned you and then moved on to your brother. Seven years later, but still.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say, running my hand through my hair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About this. Them. Her. I’m going to…I need to go away. Maybe I will go back to Lisbon. Or, shit, maybe he’s taking her there. I guess I’ll just fuck off somewhere else. Cyprus. Hide out on a beach.”

  “It’s been seven years, Luciano,” he says. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”

  I swallow thickly and give him a pointed look. “She broke my heart Alejo.”

  “We all get our heart broken sometimes.”

  “Except the one that broke your heart put it back together pretty fast. You have Thalia now. Forever.”

  “Why can’t the same thing be for you and Ruby?”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “For one, I’m not…she’s not…” I trail off. “She’s with my brother,” I say simply. “Again. Shit, Alejo, he thinks the last time I saw Ruby was nine years ago, not seven. He never knew that we had a week-long affair. He never knew that when they were together, I kissed her. Or that when he dumped her, she came straight into my bed. He doesn’t know any of that.”

  “But she does,” he says.

  “Yeah. She does. She fucking does. What the fuck is she thinking?” I growl.

  “So, I’m guessing you’re not doing that interview tonight.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Okay, well you better come up with a good excuse because here they come.”

  “What?” I whip around and look over my shoulder.

  Oh, fuck.

  Marco and Ruby are walking over to us.

  Alejo pats me on the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”

  “Don’t you dare leave me,” I hiss at him, but it’s no use. He’s gone, leaving me to deal with my own shitshow.

  “Brother,” Marco says to me, speaking in Spanish, putting his arm around my shoulder and leaning in. Ruby has stopped a few feet away. “What the fuck is your problem? What was that? You were rude. That’s not like you.”

  I breathe in sharply. So hard to breathe. “Sorry. I’m drunk.”

  “I can tell.” He pushes the shot glass away, sniffing. “Tequila? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all,” I say, trying to sound glib. “You used to tell me all the time I was too boring, I didn’t party enough. Here I am. Real just won the cup, I helped, I’m getting drunk.”

  He scrutinizes me for a moment. “Okay. But seriously, can you please be nice to Ruby? I know your interview was kind of fun when you did it all those years ago, and I know it’s late. I just figured it would be a good time since you’re all loosened up and, well, you’re supposed to be happy.” He pauses. “She’s doing really well now with her career, like I thought she would. And remember, journalists talk. If you get a reputation as an asshole, I’m going to have to do a lot of damage control.”

  I close my eyes. “I can be nice.”

  “Perfect,” he says in English, straightening up. “Hey Ruby baby, come over here.”

  Ruby baby?

  Ruby baby?

  My nostrils flare, anger running through me, molten hot. I clench the shot glass, my knuckles turning white.

  I look up as she walks closer, stopping right beside me.

  I don’t even want to breathe her in.

  I can’t even meet her eyes.

  Instead I stare at her hands.

  They
’re thinner now, still pale, a few freckles, her nail polish red and shiny, no chips at all.

  I remember what those hands felt like when they held my face.

  Now, it makes my chest feel carved out and hollow.

  Why the fuck didn’t I just leave when I had the chance?

  “Luciano said he’d love to talk to you,” Marco says, putting his hand at her back and guiding her in closer. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  He starts to walk off.

  “What, here, now?” I cry out after him.

  Marco just gives us both the thumbs-up and keeps going.

  This foolish motherfucker.

  “I’m sorry,” Ruby says quietly.

  I let out a vicious laugh, raising my chin to meet her eyes. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what exactly?” My words are biting and harsh, but I don’t care.

  She flinches, just barely, worry creasing her brow. There’s a softness in her eyes that I used to only see after she came, when she was so open and tender. “I know this is really weird,” she says.

  I scoff, my mouth dropping open. “Really weird? That’s what this is?”

  “I know you probably don’t think highly of me.”

  “I don’t even think of you at all,” I fire back. A lie, but it’s aimed to hurt. “What else do you think you know, Ruby?”

  I’m being mean, I know I am. She deserves it and more.

  But she doesn’t leave. She should.

  She sits down instead. Stubborn as anything.

  “Look,” she says, clasping her hands in front of her. “We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “You can’t ignore me forever.”

  Now I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I shake my head, running my tongue over my teeth, looking away. I can’t even talk without blowing up. I motion for the bartender to bring me another tequila.

  “That’s really something,” I manage to say. “I don’t even know the English way of saying it. You…you have the nerve to tell me that I can’t ignore you forever. Ruby…you left me. You fucking left me and never talked to me again. Okay? You did that. And now you’re here saying I can’t ignore you. Go fuck yourself.”

  The bartender hands me the shot, looking between the two of us like he’s watching some soap opera. I glare at him until he turns back around.

  I toss the shot back. It doesn’t even burn anymore.

  “I know what happened and I know what I did,” she says, her voice flinty. “You don’t.”

  I eye her. God damn her for being more beautiful than the last time I saw her.

  I look away.

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “I know you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” I say quickly.

  “I know you were mad. At least confused. Hurt, even. But I had no choice, Luciano.”

  My eyes roll back to the ceiling. “You had no choice? Fuck off with that.”

  “I almost didn’t come here tonight.”

  I stare at her, my mouth agape. “And so why the fuck did you? I just had the best few days of my life and you decided it was a good time to come and piss all over it?”

  She squints at me. “Marco wanted me to.”

  “Jesus Cristo,” I say, making a fist. “I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

  “If you’ll just talk to me, I’ll explain.”

  “Are you dating him? For real?”

  She stares at me for a moment, her eyes holding mine, but really, she’s searching for a lie.

  “So, you’re dating him,” I go on. “I mean, he didn’t say anything when I saw him last week, but he’s like that with women, they come and they go.”

  She ignores the dig, rubs her red lips together. “We really need to talk.”

  “We are talking.”

  “We’re sniping at each other.”

  “Meu Deus, I wonder why?”

  “You know, it’s been seven years. I honestly didn’t think when I came here tonight that you would be like this. I thought you’d be like the Luciano I knew.”

  Oh fuck. That’s not fair.

  “I guess this is what happens to a person when all their dreams come true,” she adds.

  A sucker punch to my gut.

  Then she walks away, disappearing around the corner like she never existed, like she was a ghost after all, returning for one last nightmare.

  I’m left there with my empty shot glass.

  The bartender pours me another drink.

  “You need it,” he says, a sympathetic look on his face.

  Down it goes.

  * * *

  The next morning, I wake up just after noon with an atrocious hangover. Probably the worst I’ve ever had. After Ruby left me at the bar, I drank more tequila until the bartender cut me off and Alejo ended up getting me. That boy may be a lot younger than me, but when it comes to taking care of his friends, he’s probably the first person you want to rely on.

  I’m usually that person. I usually have a clear head. I usually do the right thing.

  But last night, I don’t know what happened.

  Though, that’s stupid. Of course I know what happened.

  Ruby Turner flew back into my life on those wings of hers, no longer broken. Instead, they made me realize she’d broken my own wings and whatever bandage had been holding them together all these years was finally unravelling.

  The thing is, it took me an awful long time to get over that woman.

  I’d never fallen in love before I met her. I never knew what love could do to a person. Never knew just how much it could destroy you.

  It’s hard to get up when you’re on your knees, but Ruby? Ruby razed me to the ground.

  I fell in love with her, and she just ran away.

  Like I didn’t matter, like I never did.

  She left a fucking note on hotel stationary.

  And I tried to get in contact with her. I wrote her emails, and I actually sent them this time. I texted her but never got a response. I tried to look at her Instagram but it was set to private, and she never touched her blog.

  She had erased herself with the snap of her fingers.

  Leaving me in the dust.

  The years went on and I did what I could to put her in my past. I trained myself not to think about her. I dated different women, though it never got serious, never lasted more than a few weeks. I threw myself into the game so much that I practically willed that transfer to Real Madrid. I made it happen, just because I wanted to escape that badly.

  Lisbon reminded me too much of her.

  And now she’s here. In my fair city of Madrid.

  Literally raining on my motherfucking parade.

  My phone rings. I can hear it faintly through the pillow.

  I lift it off my head and blindly reach over for it on my nightstand.

  I know it’s Marco. He’s the only one who insists on talking on the phone.

  I answer, mumbling.

  “I didn’t understand a word you said,” Marco says to me, laughing. Damn him for sounding so cheery.

  “I said, fuck off,” I mutter into the pillow.

  “Ah, you’re hungover. I figured. Damn, Luciano I don’t think I have ever seen you that drunk. You were fucking loaded.”

  “There was a lot to celebrate,” I say stiffly.

  “You’re right about that,” he says. “But it is past noon now and, as your agent, I insist you get up, drink coffee, have a shit, and meet me for a greasy lunch.”

  “In that order?”

  “I hope so.”

  I groan. I don’t want to go anywhere and I don’t particularly feel like seeing him, now that I know he’s with Ruby.

  Then it dawns on me.

  Fuck. She’s there with him right now, isn’t she?

  Nausea rolls through me. Literally and figuratively.

  “Are we going to be alone?” I manage to ask him, taking a deep breath in through my nose, trying to stay calm.
<
br />   “Yes, of course.”

  “I thought Ruby…”

  “Oh, she’s not here,” he says. “She’s staying at an Airbnb.”

  I exhale in relief.

  “Yeah, I have lots to talk to you about,” he goes on. “While you’ve been in Turkey, things have been happening.”

  “What kind of things?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Get on your fucking clothes and meet me at The Old Mule. Twenty minutes.”

  The Old Mule is just around the corner from my apartment in the Salamanca neighborhood. Marco doesn’t live too far away either.

  He hangs up before I have a chance to protest.

  It’s for the best.

  Even though I feel sick, my head hurts, my tongue feels fuzzy, and my arms and shoulders are absolutely aching, I get two things on Marco’s list crossed off. Then I stumble into jeans and a black t-shirt, slick a bit of paste in my unruly hair, and slip on dark aviator sunglasses to hide all my sins.

  It’s not long until I’m at the restaurant, Marco already having ordered us beer on the patio.

  “You need this,” he says to me as I sit down. “You look like shit.”

  “I feel like it,” I tell him. I don’t particularly feel like drinking, and the smell of the beer is turning my stomach, but after a few sips I feel I’ve made the right choice.

  We place an order with the waitress and then Marco launches into it.

  “So Ruby, huh?” he says with a wink.

  “Yeah. Strange.”

  “You think so?”

  I’m glad he can’t see my eyes beneath the sunglasses. “You said you haven’t seen her for nine years? Suddenly she’s here? How did that even happen?”

  “She reached out to me,” he says.

  Fuck if that doesn’t hurt.

  She reached out to him.

  “When?”

  “Over a week ago. She called me and said she was in Madrid for work and wondered if I wanted to get a drink somewhere. I thought, why the hell not, you know? So I met up with her and it was like…I don’t know, it was like stepping into the past. She’s changed, you know. We both have. She was young back then.”

  “So were you,” I remind him.

  “Right. Weird how it feels like yesterday, doesn’t it? Of course, I don’t have to remind you of that. Must feel like ages ago to you.”

  Not quite.