Page 89 of Winning Match
He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “I know I’m hard on you, Ale. But it’s because you have more potential than I ever did.”
I nearly choke on my farton, my eyes flying to his.
“And I know, in the past, I’d give you a hard time for getting physical with a fan.” He shakes his head. “But not over this. If someone ever said anything to me about your mother, I’d have put them in the hospital.” He shrugs. “In the past, you’ve pushed the envelope too far. But that doesn’t mean that the envelope doesn’t need to be pushed. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself and for Marlowe, even if that cabrón presses charges.”
I chuckle in disbelief. “You’re serious?”
Papá nods. “It may not have felt like it, but I’ve always been on your side, Ale. You’re capable of a hell of a lot more than you realize and I never wanted you to settle for less. I think you’re starting to realize that.”
My stomach twists as I note the sincerity in his gaze. He’s telling the truth. He’s…proud of the man I’m growing into, despite League Valencia’s five straight losses.
Guilt over the ruse I started with Marlowe slams into me, but it quickly fizzles out because…I’m in love with her. And loving her changed me in fundamental ways, regardless of how she feels about me. Being with Marlowe has made me into a better version of myself. A better man.
My phone rings and I swear. “It’s my agent. I-I gotta go?—”
“Venga.” Papá flicks his wrist in understanding.
“Tell Abuela?—”
“She knows,” he cuts me off, nodding. “Talk to Marlowe, Ale. Setting things right with her will settle things for you on the field.”
I lift my phone to my ear, listening carefully to Callie’s instructions, as I leave Abuela’s flat.
“You need to lay low,” she says. “Tomorrow morning, go right to the stadium and get on the team bus to Barcelona for your away game. Lock yourself in your hotel room. Do not speak to any press. Do not engage on social media. Lay low, García.”
“Vale. Okay,” I agree as I point my SUV home, knowing what I have to do next.
And it doesn’t include taking Abuelita’s or Papá’s advice—at least, not in the way they meant. Because setting things right with Marlowe means letting her go. It means setting her free.
“You’re home!” She bounces up from the couch the second I enter the flat and I cringe.
“Marli.” My voice cracks on her name.
At the sound of my voice, she halts. Her eyes fly to mine and hold. And I know the second she correctly reads my expression, because her face falls, her shoulders slump, and I’ve never hated myself more.
“We need to talk,” I say quietly.
26
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?”
