Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4)

by Jessica Peterson

  I am ravenous all the time.

  “It’s strange—I feel like Rachel and I have been together forever, even though it’s only been a few weeks,” I tell my sister, Sophie, on the phone. I just dropped Rachel off at class, and now I’m tidying up my flat, folding my shirt that she sleeps in. “I have no idea what the hell I did before I met her.”

  “You didn’t do any of the things, Fred. Except play the football,” Sophie replies. She’s been working on her English in anticipation of meeting Rachel, and she’s still a bit rusty. “Rachel has opened your eyes to the world. I am so very glad of this. We worry about you, Uncle Fredrik, being so far from your family.”

  I put the folded shirt on Rachel’s nightstand—yes, the nightstand is hers now, crowded with her perfume, hair ties, a stack of books—and I smile. I fucking adore how lived in my flat feels. Maybe because I’m actually living in it now that Rachel’s around. I cook here, I have sex here, I spend time here.

  I feel like my life—this life I started when I left Germany to come to Spain—is finally starting.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  “Oh? And when will that be? Baby Lilli is getting very so impatient. We hear these many wonderful things about Rachel, but we do not get to meet her!”

  “Soon, I hope,” I say. I glance at Rachel’s laptop, charging on my dresser. She’s supposed to hear about the internship at the training facility any day now. Of course she crushed her interview with Valentina last week. It’s still taken every ounce of self control not to pick up the phone and call Valentina myself.

  I’ve started to get nervous when I think about what happens next. Because then I have to think about what we’ll do if things don’t work out—if Rachel doesn’t get the internship here in Madrid. Now that she’s committed to sports medicine, she’s more excited than ever about spending her summer working in the field.

  Things are great between us. Really, really great. But when push comes to shove, I’m worried Rachel is going to choose her career over me.

  I’m worried that it might be the right choice for us both. The sane choice. I can’t forget that it’s only been three bloody weeks since we met. If you look at it on paper, we’d be crazy to give up anything to be together—much less our careers.

  “How soon? Will she visit us for the holidays?”

  The hope in Sophie’s voice makes my heart twist. “We’ll see, Soph, all right? I told you we are waiting to hear about this internship Rachel wants to get. After that, I guess we’ll figure out the holidays.”

  “Well.” Sophie grunts, and a second later, I hear Lilli coo into the phone. I grin. “It sounds like you are very smitten with the lovely Rachel woman. We are eager to meet this one girl who has given claim to you heart. Mama—”

  “You didn’t tell Mama about her, did you?”

  “Tsk. Of course I told her. She was so happy.”

  My stomach flips. Now I’m really in trouble. If I don’t bring Rachel home over the holidays, shit’s going to hit the fan. Mum will be crushed. I’ve already broken her heart once. I don’t want to do it again.

  “C’mon, Sophie, I told you—”

  “You told me about a girl you very much liked—and you have never, ever told me about any girl. I could not keep so juicy a secret forever! Mama would discover your truth anyway.”

  “True,” I say. “She’s better than Sherlock when it comes to her children’s love lives.”

  “Yes. She sniffed up Peter just after our first date. She knew I was pregnant, too, before I did.”

  “That’s...bizarre.”

  “Very much bizarre. But that is who she is. And she knows you are in love with Rachel. We all do.”

  I blink. “I never told you I was in love with Rachel. I don’t even know—”

  “You are,” Sophie says. “You would never let someone so close if you weren’t in love with her. You have always protected your heart. You have not met anyone worth risking it for. But you risk it with Rachel, because you believe she like nobody else you meet. She is lovely, and wise, and very sexy, yes?”

  “Oh, God, please just—let’s not—just don’t—I can’t talk about that with my sister,” I say, holding the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. My heart’s popping around inside my chest. “The sex, I mean. Rachel being sexy. It’s not a brother-sister approved topic of conversation, all right?”

  “All right. But you love her in the sexy way, too, right? I hear it in your voice.”

  “Oookay, this is getting weird. I’ve got to be off—”

  “Soon,” Sophie says. “You promised we would meet Rachel soon. Do not forget that!”

  “But I didn’t promise anything! Just like I didn’t tell you—”

  “I am your sister,” she replies. “I’ve known you since the day you were born. What a fat baby you were! I still know you now, too, when you are not so fat. I know you are in love with Rachel. And I know we will meet her soon.”

  I sigh. “All right, Nostradamus, I really do have to get to training. We’ll talk soon. And please, for the love of God, stop telling Mama about Rachel.”

  I hang up, and then I hang my head.

  I am in love with Rachel. I’ve known it for a while now.

  And I am scared out of my fucking mind I’m going to lose her.

  ***

  I launch one ball after the next at the goal, savage, hard kicks that make the inside of my right foot and ankle burn. They all soar past Alexsandr, except for the last shot—that one hits him right in the bollocks.

  He goes down like a sack of potatoes, hands clutched to his groan.

  “What the fuck, mate?” he cries out before he begins to roll back and forth in apparent agony.

  “Jesus Christ,” I murmur, running up to help him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you…uh, there.”

  He squints up at me. “But you did. Total asshole move.”

  “I know. Can I get you anything? Do you need the physio—”

  “No. I’ll be all right. I may never be able to have children, but I’ll be all right.”

  I offer him my hand. “I’m really sorry. I don’t have an excuse—I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

  Alexsandr grabs my hand and lets me pull him to his feet.

  “What’s up with you today?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re murdering the ball. Did it, like, sleep with your girlfriend or something? Because that’s how bloody hard you’re kicking it.”

  I dig my hands into the hair on the back of my head. It’s slick with sweat.

  I hold a breath in my cheeks. Let it out.

  “Rachel,” I say. “The girl you met—”

  “A couple weeks ago. Yeah, I remember her. She’s the pretty brunette.”

  “Yeah. Wow, you’ve got a good memory.”

  “You never bring girls round. Rachel stuck out.”

  “Yeah, well…I’m in love with her.”

  Alexsandr’s grimace softens into a grin. He pounds me on the shoulder. “So I wasn’t very far off, asking for an invitation to the wedding. Good for you, mate.”

  “Thanks. She’s…she is everything to me. She means everything.”

  “But?”

  “How’d you know there was a but?”

  He motions to his groin. “Because you just knocked my dick inside out. That’s how.”

  “Oh. Right. Yeah, there is a but. I’m in love with her, but there’s a very good chance she’s heading back to the states—for good—next week.”

  “That is a pretty big but.”

  I roll my eyes at the joke.

  “Then you’ve got to make her stay,” he says. “Use your...er, German wiles or what have you and convince her she can’t live without you. Have you talked to her about it?”

  I shrug. “Not recently. I think it’ll just hurt too much for the both of us. Our strategy, I suppose, has been pretending that December is going to last forever. It’s the
only way I’ve been able to cope.”

  “No offense, mate, but that’s just stupid.”

  “I know,” I say. “I know I’m being stupid. Which is part of the reason why I’m so out of sorts. I’m angry with myself.”

  “It’s fucking with your head, and that needs to stop.” Alexsandr looks me in the eye. “You’ve got to talk to her. Come up with a plan to keep her here. Everyone thinks footballers have got girls coming out of their ears, but the ones you want to keep around—the good ones—they are few and far between.”

  “I know. Rachel is a good one. The best.”

  “Then make your move. Make her yours. If only so my dick can survive the season intact.”

  I laugh. “All right. I’ll talk to her. I’m just worried—”

  “No more worrying. It’s time to do, Fred. Do what needs to be done.”

  “All right.” I look at him. “Thanks. For talking me out of being an idiot.”

  He grins. “No problem. Now go and talk to your girl before I steal her. All’s fair in love and war, and considering the sorry state of my balls right now...well. You owe me, mate.”

  ***

  I’m making my way through the training facility, determined to call Rachel as soon as I’m showered up, when I pass the hall that leads down to Valentina’s office. I shouldn’t—Rachel told me not to meddle—but I find myself backtracking and weaving through the maze of physio offices anyway. It’s on the way to the locker room.

  Sort of.

  My heart skips a beat when I see Valentina at her desk. She looks up as I approach.

  “Fred!” she says, smiling. “Might I help you?”

  Hello, I reply, switching to Spanish. It’s easier for her. No, I’m just…uh. Coming in from training. About to hit the showers. How are you?

  I am well, she says. Her smile fades. I’m sorry about your friend Rachel. She was a fantastic candidate, really top notch, but we only have one spot for an intern this spring, and Antonio’s nephew—

  “Wait,” I blurt, my stomach turning to ice. “Wait. Waaaait. Rachel didn’t get the internship?”

  Valentina’s eyes widen. “I am sorry, I thought you knew? This morning, I send the email—”

  “I didn’t know,” I say, more harshly than I mean to. What the fuck?

  What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

  Valentina is looking at me funny. “Is everything all right?”

  “No.” I start to panic, wave after wave of thumping heartbeats. “I mean. We—Rachel—she was really hoping to get it. The internship. There must be some mistake. She got everything in on time. She’s got fantastic grades, and a stellar résumé….”

  “All this is true,” Valentina says. “But Antonio, his nephew—”

  “Who the hell is Antonio?”

  She looks at me like I have two heads. “Antonio Gonzalez. The club—he is the owner of it? Surely you know Antonio.”

  Of course I know Antonio. He’s a Spanish billionaire—tires, I think, or maybe telecommunications?—and the majority stakeholder in this football club. He’s one of the most powerful, and most well connected, people in Madrid.

  And I know—I just bloody know—he used those connections to get his wanker nephew this internship. He made the calls Rachel wouldn’t let me make.

  Goddamn it. The irony of it—the unfairness of not being able to be unfair—does not escape me.

  Still. I wish I’d made those fucking calls.

  The fluorescent lights seem to press in on me, making me dizzy.

  “Antonio Gonzalez’s nephew is nowhere near as qualified for this internship as Rachel.”

  “Pardon me,” Valentina replies, suddenly stern. “We vetted each candidate very…how do you say…with much care. We choose Antonio’s nephew. I am sorry.”

  I look at her, my mind racing. I’m still sweating, but somehow I’m cold, too. It’s a cold sweat, and it’s awful.

  “Then create another position,” I blurt. “Surely you can have two interns at a time? This place is massive, and you’ve got loads of staff to help.”

  She shakes her head. “I am afraid that is not very possible. We desire to give the intern the best training possible. Also, it is very much work for me, yes? I am busy already without an intern to look over.”

  “Who do I have to call to open up another position?” I grind out. “Who? Antonio? Because I will go that high to get Rachel a spot here.”

  “Rachel, she is your…” Valentina furrows her brow. “Friend?”

  “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “No, you don’t see. I need her—I need—” I spear a hand through my hair. Where to even begin?

  “I am sorry,” Valentina repeats. “But there is nothing I can do for you, Fred. Rachel might apply for next year, if she likes.”

  “She’ll be gone next year!” I shout.

  Immediately I regret raising my voice. Valentina’s hands clutch the edge of her desk; her knuckles are white. I’ve scared her.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Look, Valentina,” I begin, softer this time. “I didn’t mean to shout like that. I’m sorry. There’s just a lot on the line for me here, all right? I need this to work out.”

  She just looks at me. “I’m afraid it is out of my hands.”

  I tap the side of my fist against the door jamb. There’s got to be someone I can call. Some way to make this right.

  I can make this right.

  But deep down, I’m not so sure. How can I compete with the bloke who owns this bloody place? I’m important to the squad, yeah, but it’s not my billions keeping us afloat. My agent is working to renegotiate my contract, but it does expire next year. If I cause a fuss, they can cut me loose without much trouble.

  Fuck me.

  Seriously, seriously fuck me for life.

  “I’m sorry, really, I am,” I say, turning to go. “Thank you very much for considering Rachel for the internship. We—I—appreciate it.”

  I move back into the hall.

  I can’t breathe around the sharp, black pain inside my chest, my belly.

  This is bad news. Really, really bad news.

  Chapter 18

  Fred

  My fingers shake as I tear my bag out of my locker. A couple of the lads are hanging about talking, laughing; they go quiet and stare as I rip open the zipper. I dig for my phone, sweat dripping in my eyes, making them burn. Where the hell is this bloody thing—

  I pull it out from the bottom of the bag. I’ve got a missed call and three texts from Rachel. I don’t bother reading them. I stalk to the nearest empty room—massage therapy—and slam the door shut behind me. I dial her number.

  It rings. And rings. All the while my mind is racing. It’s difficult to breathe. I pound the flat of my hand against a nearby wall. Shit.

  Shit. This was not supposed to happen. Things were not supposed to go this way. What are we going to do?

  I am so fucking in love with this girl.

  But I also love my job. That job is here, in Madrid. That job is with this club.

  I gave a lot up to get this job. I left my family behind. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. Years—almost a decade—of sacrifice have led me to the stadium where I play football every weekend with the best players in the world.

  I can’t give that up.

  I also can’t ask Rachel to give her career up.

  Shit.

  “Fred.” My heart trips to a stop at the thin, high sound of her voice.

  It hits me then just how fragile this whole thing’s been since the beginning.

  How did I not know we’d inevitably cut ourselves on broken pieces of promises we didn’t have time to make?

  “I got an email this morning—” she says.

  “I know. I just spoke with Valentina.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where are you?”

  She starts to cry. “Fred, I didn’t get the internship. You know what that means.”


  “It doesn’t mean anything. Not yet.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Where the hell are you, Rachel?”

  “I’m in my dorm room.” She sniffles. The sound sucks my heart right out of my chest. “I skipped my last class. Couldn’t stop crying, so…yeah. I went home.”

  “I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Fred,” she says. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to call everyone in this bloody organization for starters. See if we can’t work something out.”

  “I don’t want you calling in any favors, remember?”

  “Jesus Christ, Rachel! The kid who got the internship—you know he’s the owner’s nephew, right? You think Antonio Gonzalez didn’t hound Valentina day and night, throwing his billions in her face? You think he didn’t call in every favor he had? Please.” I let a beat pass. “Please let me fucking do this for you.”

  For us.

  I’m begging now, but I don’t care. This girl has got to bloody stay in Madrid. I am going to get my girl, and get my contract, and we’ll live happily ever after. I refuse to believe we can’t have our cake and eat it, too.

  “Okay,” she says.

  But we both know this is not okay.

  I have a feeling we’re not going to be okay.

  ***

  Rachel

  This morning started off so freaking great. Fred went down on me for about an hour (no joke), and then we got out of bed and made some eggs. We’ve burned through all six seasons of Tournament of Kings, and we talked about what we wanted to watch next. Fred mentioned another vampire show we’d read about on a Tournament fan blog we visit religiously every day after coffee.

  “Apparently there are even more boobs in this show than in Tournament,” Fred said.

  “Then we definitely have to watch it. Because…art.”

  “Art.” He smiled his handsome, squinty smile. “I like art. Your art, in particular.”

  I made it to school a little earlier than usual, so I had some time to check my email before class. Truth be told, my stomach has flipped every time I’ve opened my inbox this week. I knew I’d be hearing from Valentina about the internship. It’s the only time of the day I let myself feel nervous.