All the Love in the World: A Holiday Anthology

by Halle, Karina

  “Then do what you can to make sure he doesn’t,” she says, putting her hand on my chest. “I’m going to go now. I think you’ve learned enough.”

  “You’re leaving? For good?”

  She nods, tilts her head as she studies me. Then pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me. “I was kidding when I said I didn’t miss you, brother,” she whispers into my ear. “I do. All the time. Just know that I’m watching you, okay? Whenever you think about doing something you shouldn’t, think what ‘would Violetta have to say?’ And then think about how it could change your future.”

  I’m slow to hug her back, but then I do, and I’m holding her so tight I feel like she’s starting to slide into me.

  “Please, don’t go,” I tell her, pleading, my heart twisted in so many directions. “Please stay.”

  But the tighter I hold her, the more I feel her slip away.

  Until suddenly she’s gone.

  And I’m not holding anything but air.

  I nearly fall forward onto the snow, stumbling a few feet.

  I whirl around.

  My sister is gone.

  Once again, I’m all alone in front of the cabin, surrounded by a layer of snow.

  I breathe in deeply through my nose, the cold burning my lungs.

  My insides feel torn to pieces, like I’ve gone through more emotions and pain tonight than I have in all my life. I’m exhausted and wounded and scared.

  Scared of becoming that man.

  Scared of losing my wife, my son.

  My daughter. My daughter!

  Scared that all of this will be for nothing.

  My dirty empire.

  I head back inside the cabin, straight up to the bedroom, and fall right into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  I wake up before dawn.

  Sit straight up in my bed, in the waning dark.

  The remnants of my dream are starting to fade, the clarity thinning at the edges, but I’m catching fragments still.

  Seeing Ellie as Eden, crying in her truck.

  Watching a frustrated and lonely Luisa try to soothe Vicente to sleep.

  Experiencing the future in a scene of violence that slowly starts to become senseless, with only one thing remaining.

  Vicente. I can’t lose my son.

  And I can’t lose my wife.

  I have to start now.

  By the time I get up and get dressed, the memories are almost all gone. They slip away the more I try to focus on them. I’m only left with the feelings.

  That is, until I creep my way through the dark cabin, the dawn only now lighting up the distant mountain peaks outside the windows, and see the fireplace.

  I remember Esteban.

  Sitting right there on that couch.

  Boy that was a fucking trip.

  I really shouldn’t drink scotch at high altitudes, or something like that.

  I smile at the memory, about how real it felt, about how good it feels to know Esteban is dickless and in hell somewhere, and then I make my way over to Evaristo’s room.

  He’s awake, barely.

  Enough to take down my order for some decorations and Christmas presents, including the most expensive pair of earrings he can find, something fit for a queen. My queen.

  Then, while he drives off with a few men to Monterrey to pick it up, I grab an axe and my parka and I head outside.

  Now it’s lighter and, lo and behold, it snowed all night.

  I have a brief vision of myself on my knees in the middle of the yard, and a woman with her hand on my shoulder, a feeling of ruin and peace and love all at once.

  I shake it out of my head.

  Crazy fucking dreams.

  I head out toward the pines and finally find a good-sized one near the edge of the property. I have Diego come and help and we cut it down. Drag it into the house.

  Then while Diego sets up the tree, I get started on breakfast.

  It’s one of the things I can do well, and I know exactly how my wife likes it.

  I quickly whip something up for her, then I bring it up to her room.

  I gently knock, and when I don’t hear anything, I open the door.

  Luisa is sleeping on her side. Vicente is sleeping in his crib.

  My heart swells.

  I really don’t want to wake them, even if the food is hot.

  But then Luisa stirs, rolls over slowly, and opens her eyes.

  Lifts her head to look at me.

  “Javier?” she whispers. She frowns when she sees the tray I’m carrying, probably confused, which in turn makes me feel like a dick since I’ve never done this for her before.

  I don’t say anything, in case I wake Vicente. I slowly bring the tray over to her and put it on the bed.

  She sits up, staring down at it. “What is this?” she whispers.

  I answer by grabbing her face and kissing her, long and deep.

  When I pull away, her confusion has intensified. “I don’t understand. It’s not Christmas until tomorrow.”

  “I know. But we can start today,” I tell her, sitting on the side of the bed. I place my hand on hers. She’s real. This is real. More fragments of my dreams wisp through in my head, that feeling of wanting to connect and being unable to, the awful yearning and pining and disconnect.

  But Luisa is real.

  Her hand is solid, warm in mine, and I can still taste her on my lips.

  I stare deeply into her dark eyes and I see the woman I fell in love with, the woman who never stopped loving me, the woman I never stopped loving.

  I just forgot to show it for far too long.

  “I know I’ve been a shitty husband to you,” I say softly. “And a terrible father to Vicente.”

  Her face falls. “Javi…”

  “I have. I know it. It’s okay. I’m owning up to it for once. My ego doesn’t like it, but my ego isn’t important right now. You’re important, Luisa. You and Vicente. You’re both my loves, my life, and I need to start making things right. I need to be there for you, for the both of you. You can’t go through this alone, raising him. It’s not fair to you at all. You’ve done such an amazing job, but I need to do it right alongside with you. More than that, I want to. I want to.”

  I can’t blame her for the suspicion in her eyes as she stares at me, but soon that wariness melts. Her face crumbles, a tear falling from the corner of her eye.

  “You would do that?” she asks.

  “I should have done it all along.”

  She leans in and wraps her hands behind my neck. “Javi,” she says softly, resting her forehead against mine. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  I really do.

  And I can’t ever afford to lose that love.

  “You know, I’ve been crabby lately, too. It’s not all on you. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate what you’ve done for me, for us, because you really have done so much.”

  “Please don’t apologize,” I tell her.

  Her hands move to my face, holding me there. “There’s a reason why I’ve been so emotional and cranky lately,” she says softly, staring deep into my eyes. “It’s because I’m pregnant.”

  I blink, the world starting to spin.

  This can’t be.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “I’m pregnant,” she says. “I took a few tests last week…I wanted this to be your Christmas present.” She peers at me, worry washing over her brow. “Are you happy?”

  Happy? Happy didn’t quite explain it.

  “I’m…beyond happy,” I manage to say. “Just fucking amazed. You’re pregnant. We’re really going to have another baby.”

  Another baby.

  Another soul to love.

  “Yes,” she says, tears in the corners of her eyes. “Yes, another baby. So it’s good timing you say you want to help out more, because Javi, I’m going to need it.”

  “Whatever you need, I’ll give to you,” I kiss her softly, a riot of emotions
flowing through me. “I promise you that.”

  “Well, you already started with breakfast,” she says, looking down at the tray. “This was really nice of you.”

  “There’s more coming,” I assure her, kissing her hand. “Just don’t go downstairs for another hour or so. I want you to be surprised.”

  She frowns. “Surprised for what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The Christmas I promised. The tree with presents under it, the decorations, everything her wonderful heart has desired.

  Memories push into my brain, my sister Violetta telling me I’m on the right path. I just don’t know where this path leads, or what it means or why I’m thinking about her right now.

  All I know is that I have my wife, my son, and soon I’ll have a baby. Perhaps a daughter.

  Yes.

  A daughter.

  A name floats into my head, a name that suddenly feels more than right.

  “If it’s a girl,” I tell Luisa, kissing her forehead. “We should call her Marisol.”

  “Marisol,” Luisa says, smiling. “I like that.”

  THE END

  The Off-Season

  Featuring the Men of Real Madrid

  Vera

  “I have good news,” Mateo says as he walks in the door with Chloe Ann, throwing his keys on the side table.

  “Is the good news that Chloe Ann is here?” I ask him in Spanish, smiling at my stepdaughter as she runs over to me. I’m sitting on the couch with my laptop, but I toss it aside to make way for her. She’s thirteen now, tall, skinny, gorgeous, and yet never passes up an opportunity for a hug.

  “Please, enough with the Spanish,” she says, in near perfect English, as she sits down beside me and gives me a hug. “How am I supposed to become completely fluent if you keep speaking in Spanish?”

  I grin at her. “Oh yeah? How am I going to become completely fluent in Spanish if you keep speaking English?”

  “You speak well enough,” she says, brushing her dark bangs out of her eyes. “You’re not trying to be on television.”

  “Which leads into the good news,” Mateo says, leaning back against the wall, arms casually crossed. His dark eyes glint as he stares at me, and I know whatever the good news is, he wants to tell me badly. And I love to make Mateo wait as long as I can. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

  “Okay fine,” I say, giving in. “What’s the good news?”

  “We’re going to Madeira,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

  I stare at him. “Wh—what?”

  “Luciano and Ruby are getting married.”

  “What?!”

  He nods, a smile curving his lips. “Yes, the poor bastard. Finally joining the club.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, getting to my feet. “Luciano and Ruby…didn’t they just get engaged?”

  Luciano Ribeiro was the captain of the Real Madrid team, a team that Mateo still coaches. I mean, of course it’s not just any team, it’s Real Fucking Madrid. But he retired over a year ago. He was a really good friend of ours and we’ve missed him ever since he moved to a Portuguese island off the coast of Africa.

  But his mother lived there and, before she died, he spent every waking moment with her there, taking care of her. Once he retired, he moved there full time. Bought like a horse or sheep ranch or something like that. Probably the last person I expected to take up the country life, but that’s exactly what he did.

  Anyway, it turns out over the past three years he had a long-distance relationship with Ruby, a woman I supposedly met once, but honestly it was after they had won one of their many cups, and I was pretty drunk.

  Then, suddenly she moved to Madeira, they got engaged, and now they’re getting married?

  “Isn’t that a little fast?” I ask. “I mean, how well does he know this woman?”

  Mateo gives me a patient smile. “My dear Estrella. Who are we to ever question if something has moved fast or not? I fell in love with you in an instant. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

  “Ay, Dios mío!” Chloe Ann exclaims, giving her father a disgusted look. “Can you please?”

  “Talk more about our love story?”

  “No. The opposite. Never talk about it.”

  That shuts Mateo up. Considering Chloe Ann was five years old, and Mateo was still married to her mother when we fell in love, she’s been extremely adult about the whole thing. It definitely wasn’t easy for her at first, having to go through a messy divorce, and it took her a looooong time to like me. But she’s resilient, just as her father is.

  “Why is it so last minute?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “They want to get married. And you know, they were secretly engaged for those three years they were apart.” He pauses. “I thought you would be excited. I know how you think of Luciano as a substitute husband.” His eyes twinkle at that. I do like Luciano an awful lot, so it’s a running joke.

  “I will be excited,” I tell him. “It’s just a lot to comprehend. And I’m happy for him, I really am, but I don’t know this girl at all.”

  “You’d like her,” he says. “From what I’ve heard about her, she reminds me a lot of you.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Definitely trouble. The good kind.”

  Hmmm. Maybe I will like her.

  “Luciano knows what he wants. He’s in love. In fact, he’s been in love with her for a very, very long time. It goes back further than you even know. So we need to be there to support him. We want him to be happy, don’t we?”

  “Yes, of course. But, Chloe Ann is staying with us this weekend.”

  “I know,” she says, clapping her hands together, her bracelets jingling. “Which means I get to go too!”

  I look back to Mateo, brows raised as if to say, is this true?

  He nods. “Luciano said it was fine. It’s a really small wedding. Just us, Thalia, Alejo, and David Roberto, plus his brother Marco and his wife. I think maybe Benedito and Teresa, his friends from Lisbon. That’s it.”

  I sit back down on the couch beside Chloe Ann, looking at her. “Are you sure you want to spend your weekend at a wedding?”

  She rolls her eyes again. “Uh, yes. Of course. It’s a trip to Madeira. I’m very excited. Plus, I can talk to Ruby,” she says. “Papá said that she used to be a sports journalist, on camera and everything. And that’s what I want to be.”

  “Ah, I see,” I say, even though if Ruby is going to be a bride, I doubt there’ll be any time for her. Still, if Chloe Ann is excited, and Mateo is excited, then I ought to be excited too. I’ve never been to Madeira and it is the middle of summer, the perfect time to get away before Mateo has to go back to work with the team.

  Chloe Ann gets up and heads for the door, throwing her mini Louis Vuitton over her shoulder, a Christmas present from her father. “I’m going to go get a coffee.”

  “Be right back,” Mateo tells her as she opens the door.

  She gives him a dry glance over her shoulder. “Where else would I go? I’m your prisoner for the weekend.”

  She leaves and shuts the door and I have to hold back a smile.

  Mateo shakes his head in disappointment. “The attitude, Vera, the attitude. Where does she get it from?” He walks over to me, peering down. “Sometimes I think you’re rubbing off on her a little too much, because there’s no way she inherited an attitude from me.”

  I grin up at him, a rush of butterflies coming through my chest. That’s the funny thing about being married for seven years, if the marriage is good, you never forget why you married them in the first place. Mateo has a way of making my heart skip two beats every single day, nearly every time he looks at me, touches me. I still see the strong, handsome, charming, utterly romantic man I first fell in love with.

  “Are you sure?” I ask him. “I recall you being a grump every now and then.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy all the time. Like the movie Footloose and Free.”

  I frown. “Footloose and Free? You me
an Footloose? With Kevin Bacon?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  More frowning.

  “It is a saying, Vera,” he explains patiently, like I’m an idiot. “You are Footloose and Free like Kevin Bacon.”

  A smile spreads across my lips. “Are you trying to say that you’re footloose and fancy-free?”

  He shrugs. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  I shake my head, letting out a laugh. My god, he is still so fucking adorable sometimes. I grab his hands and pull him down on the couch beside me, then I put my palms against his cheeks, grabbing his face.

  “You’re adorable, you know that?” I ask, my eyes searching the dark depths of his.

  “Not exactly what a forty-six-year-old man wants to hear,” he says.

  “Too bad,” I tell him. “It’s not like I like to hear that I’m trouble.”

  He grins at me, dimples showing in his scruffy, salt-and-pepper beard. “But you are trouble. In the most delicious way.”

  He leans in and kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that starts off slow, just his lips gently brushing against mine, a soft, teasing kiss. Then his mouth opens, coaxing mine to do the same, his tongue hot and wet, running along the rim of my lower lip.

  Fuck. I know what that kiss means.

  These are the kisses that gets us in the bedroom.

  The kiss that signals to my body to get all hands on deck and get ready for some fucking, and my body obeys. I get wet in a second, my skin covered with goosebumps, the deep heated need surging inside me.

  I place my hand on his crotch, knowing he’s already hard, because this kiss does the same thing for him as it does for me.

  “Fuck,” he says through a husky groan, my fingers gripping him through his pants. The word shoots through my ear, down my spine, lighting more firecrackers.

  He pulls back, his eyes now glittering with intensity and heat. “How much time do we have before she comes back?” he asks.

  I give his cock another squeeze, making his eyes pinch shut, his mouth fall open.

  There is nothing sexier than this sight.

  Nothing more of a turn-on than knowing you have your husband literally in the palm of your hand.