by Karina Halle
“And so what are you going to do about it?” he asks me, giving me a pointed look.
I shrug. “Wait, I guess. I don’t have a choice. She can only get into school in January, if she can get in.”
“What if she doesn’t get in?”
I give him a wry look. “She will. I have ways.”
“You have money,” he says matter-of-factly.
I tilt my hand up and down. “More or less. Money. Influence. Sometimes those things work in my favor. Sometimes they don’t.”
“So, if you’re so sure she’s going to get into the school in January, why are you waiting?”
I frown, not sure what he’s saying. He raises his hand to get the bartender to bring over two more of the same drink, and I ask him, “What do you mean?”
He gets the same expression on his face as he does when one of our players trips over someone on the field. “I mean, if I were you, and lord knows I’m not, and I had this money and influence and star power and large balls and whatever you have, and I could get my girlfriend into a university just because, I wouldn’t make her wait until January. I would get her in the university right now. Like, next week if I bloody could.”
“The semester has already started,” I protest. “There are transcripts that need to come in on time.”
He briefly rolls his eyes. “Yes. Your point? Bribe your way in, Mateo. You were prepared to do that anyway. Who cares if the transcripts aren’t in, enroll her in something, anything. Start fresh.”
And suddenly there is a light bulb going off, but it’s not in my mind, it’s in my chest, and it’s growing brighter, warmer, illuminating everything.
“She would have to fill in the application from Canada,” I say. “What if I . . . what if she . . .” What I’m afraid to say is, what if she won’t come? What if she has too many excuses? What if it’s already too late?
The bartender plunks down the glasses in front of us and Warren lifts his in a salute at me. “You know how it is. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. You’ve got only a short amount of time before you become assistant coach and then another short amount before you are coach. This is the last freedom you’ll have—I should know. Maybe you should take advantage of that.”
Maybe I should go to her, is what he is saying. Maybe I should go to Vancouver and make sure this happens.
Maybe I should go and bring Vera back home.
I raise my glass and clink it against his, but my mind is already elsewhere. It’s already calculating fees and plane tickets and how I’m going to ask the university and how I’m going to ask Pedro for time off. It’s thinking about Vera and showing up at her door and touching her, kissing her, holding her.
It’s thinking about how having her in front of me will put my worried heart to rest, and that everything will feel whole again. That the world will become balanced once more and the time waiting for the student visa won’t feel like time at all because we’ll be together.
When I say goodbye to Warren, my heart is already in another time zone. I rush back to the apartment to start getting everything in order.
I won’t even tell Vera what’s going on until she’s in my arms again.
And I will recreate our destiny.
Chapter Twelve
I’m normally a good flier but I have never been so nervous on a plane before. This is far more nerve-wracking than going on the plane to stop Vera. The man sitting next to me in business class keeps asking me if I’m all right. It’s kind of him but I don’t dare get into specifics, so I just tell him I have a fear of flying.
To distract myself, I bring out the wrinkled letter from my wallet. I read it again and again. I no longer need any reminders of what I’m fighting for because I’m heading straight to her, and I am fighting with all I have. But it still brings me a sense of peace and calm. It’s familiar and soothing and it brings me back to all those nights that I spent reading it, wondering about the future.
Now I know the future. It won’t be by chance, it will be by choice. If—when—I bring Vera back to Spain, it will be another lease on life for us. The same problems we face may still be there, waiting in the bushes. Perhaps not in the form of Carlos Cruz, but in other ways. But at least I know she cannot be taken from me. I can face anything as long as she is by my side.
When the flight lands in Vancouver, I bring out my phone and her mother’s address, and step into the blazing hot sunshine. It’s almost as if Madrid and Vancouver have traded Septembers. It seems more fitting this way, that the heat and sun follows Vera just as I do.
As I wait in the line for the taxis, I send her a text. It’s noon here, which isn’t an unusual time for her to hear from me.
What are you doing? I text.
I’m in a cab by the time she replies: Mercy and dickhead are over for lunch so I’m hiding in my room. How are you baby? I had a dream last night about you, it made me so sad this morning when I realized it was only a dream.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. It does feel like a dream, as if it won’t happen, but I am on her soil, in her time, under her sun and sky.
Sometimes dreams come true, I text her back, biting my lip as I do so.
I know they do. I wouldn’t have met you if they didn’t.
My heart flutters at that and I take in a deep breath. Now my nerves are perking up, creating a knot in my stomach. It’s a good knot, holding excitement and promise.
If you could see the stars from where you are, I text her, would you make a wish on a shooting one? What would you wish for?
There is a pause before she answers: You. I watch the stars every night and I wish for you over and over again.
You have me.
I know. But I don’t have you here. Nothing is the same without you.
So your wish, more than anything, would be for me to show up at your doorstep and sweep you off your feet all over again??
I’m already swept off my feet. You did that the day I met you and I haven’t come down yet.
Vera doesn’t always text with so much emotion, so to read this from her makes me ache. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I was reading this, alone in Madrid, knowing how much longer I would have to wait.
Her mother’s house isn’t too far from the airport and the traffic at this time is kinder than Madrid’s. It’s not long before the cab is pulling up to the curb.
I tell the driver to keep going a few houses down, just in case there is someone nosy watching at the window. The trees here that line the street are still green, with only a tinge of rust in some of them, signaling the fall. I take off my jacket, feeling the warmth, and then freeze in my shoes when I spot someone coming up the street toward me.
It’s Josh, hands in his pockets, head down and listening to music. He’s wearing all black—black boots, black jeans, a black denim jacket, and he stands out like a dark mark on the green street. He only looks up just before he heads down the path to the house, and when he does, he does a double take and stops dead in his tracks.
He lifts the headphones off his ears and stares at me in disbelief. “Mateo?” he asks incredulously.
I offer him a wave of my hand and an easy smile. “Hola, Josh.”
I walk over to him and he’s still staring at me with wide eyes.
“I, uh,” he says, his eyes darting to the house and back, “Vera never told me you were coming.”
I shrug. “Vera doesn’t know.”
Now Josh is smiling. “Dude,” he says, “you are going to make her fucking year. Hey, good to see you, man.”
He puts his hand out for me to shake. I take it but pull him into a quick embrace. He’s a little bit taller than me, but Vera herself is pretty tall for a woman. Good genes.
When we pull apart he doesn’t seem too uncomfortable with the affection. I forget that men in North America can be a bit funny about physical greetings, and he’s a man who I thought, and still hope, will be my brother-in-law one day.
“Goo
d to see you too,” I tell him, and I mean it. I give the house an anxious glance. “I just texted her before. Your sister and brother-in-law are home, yes?”
Josh grimaces. “Ugh, probably. I just got off my shift at work.” He gives me a reassuring smile and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
I know he does but I’m worrying anyway.
“Well, come on, let’s go put a smile on my sister’s face.” He gestures for me to follow, and I do so up the stone path to the front door of the elegant house. He tries the door and it opens, and we step inside.
Voices drift down the stairs, coming from the kitchen. I recognize her mother’s, her sister’s, and the stupid English fellow. Vera really must be hiding out in her room.
I swallow down the pit of nervousness. I’m a fucking grown man for Christ’s sake, I shouldn’t be scared of her family, but there is that twinge of apprehension as I prepare to face off against people who don’t care for me, maybe even despise me. You’d think after everything that has happened to me so far, I would be used to it.
We walk up the stairs, and as soon as we are in the kitchen, three flabbergasted heads swirl toward me.
“Look who I found outside,” Josh says in a low voice.
Vera’s mother is the first to shut her gaping mouth. Her chin juts out and she squints at me through her glasses. She’d be a beautiful woman if she didn’t look so unhappy all the time. “Oh,” she says.
Mercy is still aghast, thin brows raised. She doesn’t look much like Vera—too thin, too tanned, dressed in skinny jeans and a thin white sweater. She’s not bad looking by any means but with her too-sleek hair and face full of makeup she reminds me too much of Isabel.
Then there is her new husband, Charles. He’s really too bland to describe. He reminds me of a blanched almond with glasses.
But my manners should never desert me.
I nod at Mercy and Charles and say with as much sincerity as I can muster, “Congratulations on your wedding. I saw the photos and it looked absolutely beautiful. I know Vera and I wish you both a happy marriage.”
He is the first to snap out of it. He looks surprised and gives me a nod. “Oh, well thank you.”
“Yes,” Mercy says, but her tone is cautioning. “I’m sure you must know a lot about marriage.”
“Mercy,” Josh says sharply, but she merely looks at her mother, I suppose to see what kind of remark she’s going to throw in there. I can’t say I’m hurt or shocked by this.
“We weren’t expecting you,” her mother says quickly, and to her credit she shoots Mercy a glare. When she looks back at me, she gives me an uneasy smile. “Vera never said anything about it. Not that she ever tells us anything.”
And why should she? I think.
“Vera doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Oh?” she says, sounding interested now. She adjusts her glasses. “A surprise visit?”
“More or less,” I tell her. And suddenly I’m impatient to see Vera. I give them all a nod. “If you’ll excuse me though, I should go to her.”
I turn, giving Josh an appreciative look, and then head down the hallway toward her bedroom. But it’s not her bedroom, and this isn’t her house, and she’s not at home. She’s just in transition, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Outside her door I pause, and I can feel her energy coming through the wood. It makes my hairs stand on end, puts flames to every part of my body. I am so close I can’t even stand it.
I take in a deep breath and then knock.
There is silence, then a shuffling sound, and a grumpy cry of, “What? I’m taking a nap.”
I smile to myself at that and then slowly open the door.
She’s in her bed and under the covers, her wild hair spilling over the pillow. Her eyes are closed and the minute that I shut the door behind me, they snap open.
“Actually, it’s called a siesta,” I tell her.
She sits up and blinks at me for a few moments, looking both girlish and sexual. “Am I dreaming?” And then she seems to actually believe she is because she pinches the tattoo on her forearm.
“Pinching won’t do,” I say, and before my heart can explode, I cross the room and lean over her bed, kissing her long, deep, and soft on the lips. I hear her gasp under my lips and tongue and feel her tremble as my hands coast into the satin waves of her hair.
I’m enveloped by everything she offers—her taste, her smell, her touch, her feel. I could die a very happy man right now. My own heart thumps rapidly, loudly, out of control, as if even it can’t deal with the fact that I have my love in my arms again.
“Mateo,” she whimpers against me, and then I taste the salt of her tears as they roll toward our hungry, deprived mouths.
I can’t get any closer to her, can’t hold on to her any tighter, and yet she feels just like I’ve dreamed. Real. Whole. Loved. I feel like I’m dying and being reborn at the same time.
“My Estrella,” I manage to murmur as I start to kiss every square inch of her face. “I’ve come to take you home.”
“How are you here?” she says, her nails digging into the back of my shirt. “How is this possible?”
“I am here because you are mine,” I tell her, kissing her behind the ear and breathing in deeply. “And I am yours. I belong with you, and you belong with me. I don’t care which country or where or under what stars but without you, I’m only me.”
“Oh, Mateo” she says softly, her voice choked. She cups the back of my head with a delicate hand and holds me close to her. “I’m so glad you came. I don’t think I could have survived another day. Being apart from you . . . it’s been destroying me more than I’ve let you know. I . . . I’m in so much pain all the time.”
“Shhh,” I gently reassure her, my fingers trailing down her back. “You don’t have to be in pain anymore. I am here. I am not leaving without you by my side.”
She swallows loudly and buries her head into the crook of my neck. Her lips tickle my collarbone as she speaks, and it sends a wave of pleasure down my chest. “But how can we do this? I still can’t go back to Spain yet and you can’t be without Chloe Ann.”
“That is what I thought too,” I admit, kissing the rim of her earlobe. She shivers. “But then I realized I wasn’t looking hard enough. Are you ready to hear the plan? Because we can be together, from this moment forward. It just depends on you.”
She pulls away and stares at me deeply with red-rimmed eyes. “I’ll do whatever,” she whispers, and cups my face with her hands. “You know I’ll do whatever.”
I didn’t know that, but now I do. I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling foolish for even doubting her to begin with. Distance does funny things to truth, twists it and paints one side with doubt.
I brush her hair from her face and kiss her gently. “That is good to hear. You don’t understand how much I’ve worried about you, that . . . perhaps you’ve learned to love me less while you’ve been here.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “What? How could you think that? Mateo, I’ve been dying without you.”
I smile gently. “That shouldn’t make me happy but it does. Especially because you don’t have to die anymore. Vera, I’ve contacted the University of Madrid. They will take you in as a student—now—and you can start the semester just a little late. You’re smart. You can catch up.”
She stares at me, brows knitting together. “How is that possible?”
“Let’s just say that I have my ways.”
“You bribed them?”
I hope she doesn’t get funny over this. I exhale quietly. “Yes. In one way or another.”
Although in reality it is a lot more straightforward than that. I wrote a check for her tuition for the first year, and then I added an extra ten thousand dollars to that check. A nice little donation for whatever department needs it the most. Under budget lately, they gladly took it.
“Oh,” she says softly.
I grab her hands, shaking them s
lightly. “This was the only way, and it is a good way. It is all in place. You will take Spanish as your main degree. It isn’t astronomy, but they said something about online classes used in the future, and there are hospitality and tourism classes offered in English, very popular with people from the UK. I know it’s not ideal but once your university here in BC pushes through with your transcript, they seem to think you can still walk out with a bachelor’s degree. It just might take longer than usual. But more than that, the visa will let you live in the country for another few years, and that’s all that really matters at this point.”
“What happens after that?” she asks warily.
I squeeze her hands. “We will be together, somehow, some way. Perhaps you can get a job through my work or we can apply for common law after a while. With the time this allows us, we can work something out together.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Please tell me you’ll do this.”
She slumps slightly. “Of course I will. It’s just a lot to take in . . .”
“You knew I was going to pay for the tuition anyway.”
“I know,” she says, looking down at our entwined hands. “I just feel bad that you have to take care of me.”
“Vera,” I tell her, “I don’t have to take care of you. You can take care of yourself. I want to take care of you. Please let me.”
She nods quickly, and a tear slides down her cheek. “Okay.” She looks up at me and her smile is brighter than the sun. I immediately feel warmer. “Okay. Thank you.”
Yet I should be thanking her. I pull her to me and hold her tight, feeling the happiness radiate from within me, within her. We stay like that for a few moments, just feeling heartbeats, skin, and breath.
“So what do I need to do?” she asks me.
I slowly get to my feet and stand above her, stretching my arms and getting the ten-hour flight out of my system. I’m suddenly exhausted.
“I have the forms with me,” I say, gesturing to my carry-on I left behind her door. “You’ll fill them in just as if you were a first year student. They already have the tuition. I’ll courier it to them and then we take your acceptance letter to the Spanish consulate here and get your visa rolling.”