Page 39 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Marlowe

“Don’t cry. Shh! Please don’t cry,” Ale croons, looking nervously over his shoulder before closing my bedroom door and rushing to my side. “Marli, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He drops to his knees next to my desk chair and reaches for me.

“What, what are you doing here?” I breathe out, my surprise evident in the shakiness of my voice.

Alejandro García is here. In Providence, Rhode Island. In my bedroom.

What the hell is going on?

“I’m here because…” He pauses, sitting back on his heels. Reaching for me, Ale takes my hand and gently leads me to the side of my bed.

We both sit and he keeps my hand clasped between us.

“Marlowe,” he says seriously. “I’m here because I love you.

I’m in love with you and it’s the most terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful thing I’ve ever known.

I fucked up big time when I pushed you away.

I was scared—so fucking scared and lost in my head.

I couldn’t figure out how we were going to work and tried to end us before we truly had a chance to figure things out.

And I’m sorry. I hated leaving you in that flat. Every second in Barcelona was agony.”

“You lost?”

“I played like shit. I couldn’t think about the game.

I just kept seeing your face, the hurt in your eyes.

And knowing I put it there…” He brushes my hair behind my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He looks me straight in the eyes, his hand resting on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Marlowe. And I understand if you can’t forgive me for what I put you through.

But, mi nina , I want to be with you. You are it for me—my end game.

I love you, Marlowe, and I am begging you for a chance to prove it to you. ”

I sniffle, wiping my eyes dry, as the truth of Ale’s words clang in my mind. His eyes bleed with sincerity and remorse. The touch of his hand as it slides from my shoulder to my palm, his fingertips pressing against mine.

“You broke my heart.”

“I know.”

I pull in a breath. “But I-I love you too, Ale. Hopelessly so.”

“It’s not hopeless. It’s hopeful. And I love that about you, too.”

“My dad broke his hip,” I admit, glancing down at our intertwined fingers.

“I know.” He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, hugging him. I rest my head against his shoulder and suck in a breath, feeling the confusion, the hurt, the loss of the past three days ease. Ale presses tiny kisses to my hair. “I’m here for you, Marlowe. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

I pull back, my eyes snapping to his as a thought crosses my mind. “Wait, you have something this weekend. A charity event. Alejandro! You’re supposed to be?—”

His chuckle cuts me off as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. That’s what I’m trying to tell you—you’re it for me. Whether you want to give me another chance or not, you are the most important person in my life, Marlowe. And I will never not show up for you again.”

I blink, letting his words sink in. They cut the ties that bind me to self-doubt. They soothe my constant questioning about my sense of judgment. They ease something deep inside that always kept me on the periphery.

“I have something for you,” Ale continues, his voice quiet.

He releases me for a moment as he digs into his backpack and pulls out a small package.

“I gave these to Abuela, and we came up with a concept. She made this for you.” He pinches the ends of my hair as if he can’t keep his hands off me. “I hope it’s okay; I hope you like it.”

My eyes hold his, questioning, as I slowly unwrap the package.

My eyes catch on the silky fabric and familiar patterns, and I gasp. I lift my hands and the scarf flutters. “Alejandro, these are…these are my mother’s clothes.”

“ Sí ,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving my face. “I-I know they mean a lot to you, Marlowe, and that night…I never felt so helpless.”

“You kept them.”

He nods. “I asked Abuela for help…”

“This is—it’s gorgeous,” I breathe out, lowering the stunning scarf—various colors and patterns and fabrics—stitched seamlessly together to make a statement. To carry a piece of my mom with me. “Thank you, Ale. Truly, thank you.”

He smiles, that dimple I love popping. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” I admit, biting my bottom lip. “I love you.”

He sobers and dips his head toward mine. “Does this mean you can forgive me? Give me another chance?”

“I want to. I just don’t know how we make the logistics work…”

“I don’t care about that, Marlowe. I’ll fly here every month to see you. Just tell me you’ll give me a shot. Please, mi nina , let me love you.”

I stare into the depths of his bottomless eyes and nod. “Only if you let me love you back.”

He chuckles, the sound happy. Hopeful. Then, he leans forward, I reach for him, and our lips crash together.

Ale kisses me deeply. I drop the scarf in my lap to frame his cheeks with my hands as he wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me onto his lap. I shift to straddle him, slanting my mouth to deepen our kiss.

He tastes like home. Like love and apology, regret and commitment, the past and the future.

Deep down, I knew he was it for me. And him showing up here, when I need him most, proves that he wants what I want.

Everything.

“I fucking love you,” he murmurs against my mouth, his hand fisting in my hair.

I feel him harden between my thighs and I grind against him. “I love you,” I gasp, the desperate need I feel for him gathering low in my abdomen, unspooling through my limbs.

Alejandro grasps the back of my thigh, and I move to push him backward on my bed when my bedroom door swings open, and we break apart.

Red heat floods my cheeks as the Sewing Circle shadows my doorframe.

But their stern faces break into wide smiles as they take in Ale’s and my position.

“A happily-ever-after,” Gladys breathes out, clasping her hands together.

Judith holds out a hand and Dorothy slaps a twenty-dollar bill into it.

“We’ll let you, um, finish what you started,” Dorothy says, moving to close the door.

It shuts with a slam and Judith’s laughter bursts from the other side of it.

Ale snorts, closing his eyes as I rest my forehead against his. “You make me lose my mind.” He opens his eyes and grins.

I laugh, moving off his lap to give us both a moment to collect ourselves. “It’s not the right time.” I gesture between us.

“Yeah, I got that.” Ale smirks, gripping the back of his neck.

“But tonight…” I bite my bottom lip.

“Tonight, you’re all mine.” His eyes flare with heat.

“And you’re mine.”

Thirty minutes later, after the Sewing Circle stopped razzing us, I lead Ale into my dad’s bedroom so he can meet him. Even if Dad doesn’t remember this moment, I will, and it’s important to me that Ale know my father.

“Daddy,” I say softly.

He looks at me and for a second, he sees me.

Hope rises in my chest, and I smile. “I want you to meet someone.” I tug Ale forward.

Ale’s eyes don’t wander anywhere from my father’s face as he strides closer and offers his hand. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prescott.”

Dad smiles, his eyes hazy with confusion as he shakes Alejandro’s hand.

“I’m in love with your daughter,” Ale states.

And Dad…Dad smiles big and broad. “Yes, well…” His eyes flicker to mine. “What’s not to love about Marlowe?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying as Dad gestures to the seat next to his bed and Ale sits.

And for the first time in a long time, the conversation isn’t fixated on sailboats. Instead, Dad and Ale talk about me .

And I know I’m going to be okay. That I can trust myself. That I am truly seen and understood and loved beyond measure.