Page 35 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Marlowe

Things have run their course.

We set out with good intentions.

We’re nearly at ten weeks anyway.

I need to focus on my game.

You need to focus on your family. On your business.

The words that come out of Ale’s mouth ping-pong around my mind but don’t make any sense.

My chest cracks wide open, my stomach cleaves in two, and my temples pulse. I spin his words over and over—an endless mental loop I can’t make sense of.

“Okay?” Ale dips his knees, trying to make us eye-to-eye.

“What?”

“I’m going to stay at Andrés’s place tonight. We’re going to Barcelona tomorrow. It will give you a few days to…make arrangements.”

Make arrangements. Like it’s a funeral.

Although, in some ways, I suppose it is.

The death of us. The end of our relationship.

And I am blindsided. Bowled over. Shocked.

Not because I didn’t see it coming. No, I’ve felt Alejandro pulling away for weeks. The same way Gerard did.

Distance and space and disconnect.

But I didn’t think Ale would outright reject me. Would push me away. Would say something as ridiculous as “things have run their course.”

Not when we came together the way we did. Not when I offered myself—all of me—up to him. Not when I…not when I fell in love with him.

Utterly, hopelessly, desperately in love. It never felt like this with Gerard. It’s never felt like this, period.

And now it’s…over.

“I’ll have Callie draft a press release in a few days,” he continues, prattling away as if I’m not dying inside. Not buckling from the weight of his words and the pain of his cruel carelessness. He’s practically dismissive in his matter-of-factness. As if this was the expected outcome.

The one we both knew was coming even though—everything fucking changed!

I want to shove my palms against his chest. I want to wail and cry and…fight.

Instead, I do nothing. I stare at him with disbelief. I’m reliving my life from only two months ago.

Déjà vu slams into me. Did I make my connection with Ale a bigger thing in my mind because I was reeling from Gerard? Did I read the signs wrong?

At the thinly veiled concern in Ale’s eyes, I don’t think so.

But…I don’t trust my judgment anymore. How can I?

I follow him like a stranded puppy as he throws clothing into a bag. I’m silent but present. A shadow he can’t shake.

I note the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he won’t meet my gaze.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he murmurs as he shoulders his bag and stalks to the door. “We’ll figure out the details then.” His eyes flicker to mine. Electric green with flecks of gold.

God, he’s beautiful. Devastatingly so.

For a moment, his expression is stricken. Agony blazes from his eyes and his lips twist, heartache in their outline.

But in the next blink, he’s concealed it, and I wonder if I imagined it. Imagined the entire whirlwind that swept me up, made me fall for him, and now dropped me, unceremoniously, alone. Again.

“ Adios , Marlowe.”

The door snicks closed behind him and I reach for it, my palm sliding down the wood until I’m on the floor, my knees jarring in pain, my forehead bent to the cool tiles. The tears that rise in me are storm surges of waves, overwhelming, debilitating, and intense.

I cry, my mouth wide open but no sound emerges. Instead, my hurt rings like a siren in my eardrums.

Lying on the floor, I roll to stare at the ceiling and wonder how my life took such a sharp turn. How am I supposed to navigate it now, without him?

Bianca doesn’t let me down. No, my girl keeps the tequila coming and I am grateful.

After my third shot, my sobs are more like whimpers. By my fourth, I’m slurring my speech, my mind blissfully numb.

“Have some water,” B recommends.

But I push the glass away, preferring to suck down my margarita like its nectar from the gods. The only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

My phone buzzes on the bar top and I swear when I note Gladys’s name. I don’t want her to worry. I don’t want the Sewing Circle to know that since I landed in Spain, I’m zero for two.

I ignore the call but a second later, Judith’s name appears on the screen.

Groaning, I drop my head into my hand and slurp until I’m only sucking up the melted ice cubes of my drink.

When Grandpa calls, my self-pity morphs into actual concern—for others.

Is it Dad? Dorothy?

I answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Kid.” Grandpa’s voice is scratchy.

I sit up straight, feeling a hell of a lot more sober than I did a minute ago.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Grandpa sighs heavily. “Your dad’s okay?—”

“What happened?”

“He fell.”

“He fell?”

Grandpa clears his throat. “Take a deep breath, Marlowe.”

I do as he says. And then, my voice gets smaller. “He fell?”

“He broke his hip.”

Fuck. I drop my forehead to my hand, sucking in deep breaths as tears burn my eyes. “Is he okay?”

“He’s okay,” Grandpa murmurs reassuringly. “But he’s in and out of it. He has…it’s going to be a long road to recovery. This is a tough injury on its own but with his…”

“I know,” I supply, so he doesn’t have to say it. Cognitive decline.

Grandpa grunts. “It’s going to be rough. This one has taken the wind from his sails. From everyone’s sails,” he amends. And I know what he’s asking without asking.

“I’ll be home by tomorrow.”

“You don’t have?—”

“I’ll get on the first flight out,” I cut him off. “I closed the account, Grandpa. I did what I stayed to do. I’m coming home.”

“What about?—”

“Things ran their course,” I interject, repeating Ale’s words that I hate. My voice is sharp and clipped. The last thing I want to do is cry to Grandpa about my heartbreak. Especially when my dad is thousands of miles away, confused and hurt and suffering an actual injury.

“I’m sorry, kid. I really am.”

“I’ll send you my flight info as soon as it’s sorted.”

“Okay. Be safe, Marlowe.”

Be safe.

The words echo in my eardrums like a memory. Like a past life.

“’Bye, Grandpa.” I end the call.

When I drag my head up, Bianca is staring at me with understanding in her eyes. “What can I do?”

I pass her my phone and credit card. “Book me on the next flight home.”

She takes both items from my hands and nods.

I watch as she books my flight, her concentration on my phone screen and not any of the patrons trying to flag her down for a refill.

A few minutes later, she passes me back my phone and credit card.

“Done. You’re all set. You have to leave for the airport in four hours.

” She turns and calls over her shoulder. “Joe!”

Then, she scurries away.

I take another pull on my margarita straw, frowning when I realize there’s literally no alcohol left.

Then, Bianca is back, wrapping an arm around my waist and helping me slide from the barstool. “Joe’s going to cover my shift. Let’s get you home and packed. Don’t worry about anything; I’ll take care of it.”

I stare at my friend, a fresh swell of tears rising. “Thank you, B. I don’t—I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“You’re not losing me, Mar. Chicks over dicks, you know?”

I snort, a bubble of laughter following, as I throw my arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, chicks over dicks.”

At least I have that. For my time spent in Spain, at least I made a true friend.

I check my phone every few minutes before my flight. I’m nervous about Dad and want every update about his hip, his lucidity, him , before I’m unreachable.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I want Alejandro to call me.

I want him to call and admit he made a mistake and profess his love and show up at the airport.

It’s laughable. Ludicrous. The ultimate fantasy that only involves romance book boyfriends because real men don’t make grand gestures like that.

Alejandro is probably asleep at Andrés’s house, his alarm set for an ungodly morning hour so that he can meet his team bus and head to Barcelona.

I made Bianca promise not to tell Luca or any of the guys until after their game.

I need to extricate myself from Spain as delicately as possible and be present for my dad without Ale drama hanging over my head.

Besides, I want him to want to check in on me.

To do so because he’s sorry and misses me and cares. Not because he feels guilty.

Sighing, I stare at my phone screen, willing for it to light up with his name. Instead, a different caller appears.

José Costa.

Shit. Guilt spirals with shame as I think about the ruse Alejandro and I created to have this end result. The one where I end up with the hotshot sailing team owner as a client.

And Ale overhauls his reputation.

Well, that backfired for him…

I should be happy; I should be relieved. I don’t owe José Costa the truth. No one needs to know that Alejandro’s and my relationship was fake. Fraudulent. Born out of a different drunken night when I was emotionally reeling.

The phone vibrates in my hand.

I work a swallow, my guilt expanding.

What if it’s karma? What if the entire deal is going to fall apart now that Alejandro and I broke up? What if I spent my time in Valencia going after the right things in all the wrong ways?

Haven’t I learned anything? Haven’t I grown at all?

Sucking in a breath, I answer the call.

“José? Hi,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “I’m glad you called. I have something to tell you…”