Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

Every chance I get to practice my Spanish felt like a supreme test.

  “Hola.”

  I passed. I gave myself an internal high five.

  “¿Quieres saber más de yoga?”

  I understood that. Did I want to learn more about yoga? “Sí,” I said, a bubble of fucking delight going through me because a stranger in this town understood me.

  “Aquí está un folleto de nuestras clases. Vos invito a la clase de yoga. Tenemos acroyoga, también, si quiereis venir con vuestra amiga. Es yoga de parejas.”

  I didn’t know what any of that meant. I think she meant I could do yoga with a friend.

  “Gracias,” I said, and then stood there lamely folding the pamphlet, not sure how to say anything more. Could I take the class if I didn’t understand the teacher?

  Guess I already was doing that in Dani’s class. Maybe I should check this out, too.

  She smiled again, said, “Adios,” and pulled down the metal door to close up for the night.

  I went up to my room and flopped on my bed, staring at the ceiling as usual. I’d go running tomorrow. Get back into my disciplines.

  One thing hadn’t changed—my desire to protect her. It didn’t matter what she thought of me. It just mattered that she was secure. Always. Even if she hated me for the rest of her life, even if she never spoke to me again, I’d always watch over her. She’d always be cared for.

  If my heart never sewed itself back together after being broken by Degan’s death and her rejection, that was a small price to pay for her to live free.

  In class on Wednesday, she ignored me.

  “Learning Spanish in Granada is like learning English in New Orleans. There is a strong drawl. It’s not at all like the textbooks,” she said. “Spoken language, interpretation, is informal, fast-paced, and difficult.”

  I’d half expected a substitute teacher for bereavement. But I guess not for someone as deep in denial as Dani.

  “The advantage to learning a language in a place with a strong accent or dialect is that once you learn it, you can do it anywhere. Like learning to drive a stick shift in the hills of San Francisco.”

  Great. I was learning Spanish in the extra-challenging place. Fantastic.

  The only attention she gave me was to hand me an article to translate, touching my shoulder with the slightest graze. Like you’d touch the center of a daisy.

  Despite the temperature, we both shivered. Electricity passed through her to me, up and down my spine and along my arms to my fingertips.

  Goddamn.

  Except for that moment, she very obviously avoided looking at me or acknowledging my presence in any form. I might as well have been a ghost. A very unwelcome ghost.

  “It can take at least two or three years living in a country to become fluent in another language. Here, we are trying to learn how to connect two languages together. You’re not going to know all of the vocabulary by the end of this week or the end of this class. Just do your best.”

  Although she didn’t call on me, I wasn’t going anywhere because I was completely under her rule. I’d forgotten what that was like. I hadn’t been under submission like this since I was a new recruit in boot.

  In the army, they told us when to eat peanut butter sandwiches, take a shit, and sleep. Of course in my unit, you’d sleep fitfully for three hours and then be roused at one in the morning to position a mortar to fire at a couple of members of the Taliban who had a homemade bomb. So there wasn’t much sleeping going on.

  But now I’d come full circle and was right back into being ordered around. A stupid fucking bastard ceding authority, again, voluntarily. I seemed to always let something be in control of me, whether it was the army, a teacher, or my daily schedules.

  I raised my hand. “Dani?”

  “Professor,” she corrected with a glare.

  Chastened, I said, “Professor Anderson. May we use Google translate to check our work?”

  Her response came back snippy. “No. You can use a Spanish-English dictionary or your partner.”

  I turned to Didi, who normally fared better than me. Time for me to focus on translation. I might as well learn something while I was here.

  “Practice, practice, practice,” she said. “You need to practice your translation every chance you can.”

  I was gonna need that practice or my Spanish would stay awful.

  That Latin lover came over to me during the mid-section break—a two-hour class was too long to go without one—and extended his hand, all formal and shit.

  I stood too, and ended up being about a half a head taller than him. He made up for his typical-for-Spain height with a firm, macho grip. Mine was stronger, though.

  “I am Gustavo,” he said, pronouncing each word importantly, as if it were an honor for me to meet him.

  “Trent.” He bowed, a gracious movement. We sat and he gestured at me, his machismo giving in to his eager desire to practice his English. For once I was a fucking expert in something.

  But his next words made me laugh for real. “You look like James Dean. With the Levees and your white T-shirt. You are Rebel Without a Cause.” He grinned like he had bestowed upon me a royal whatever-it-is you bestow on someone. A friend of his behind him bobbed his head in agreement.

  And I had no clue what the hell he meant. Jesus, I even had trouble understanding English in this country. “Levees?”

  “Your blue jeans.” He achingly formed the words individually, like it pained him to say each one. Amazing how they just rattled off my tongue. I’d never thought about how hard it was to speak. He kept going. “They are very expensive here.” The h really seemed to give him trouble.

  And I finally got what he was talking about. My jeans. Funny how we say the same word two different ways. “Oh! Levi’s?” I, of course, pronounced it the right way.

  “Yes. Levees.”

  I nodded.

  Yeah, this class will be no problem for the next two months. Dani hates me. I don’t understand the way they speak English. Translating Spanish shit should be no big deal.

  What the fuck was I doing here? I should just leave.

  That evening, I went running. The long June days made it light late, although the Spaniards wouldn’t have dinner for a few more hours.

  First, I passed by her place and pressed the buzzer. Her curtains moved, but no response. So I took off running on the sidewalk until my feet crunched the decomposed gravel of Parque Federico García Lorca at the edge of town, a huge park teeming with roses.

  I needed the escape, the runner’s high. I also needed to get the fuck out of my Dani-obsessed brain and into my body.

  Fast, faster, fastest I went, my legs pistoning, the blood thundering in my veins. My ears wanted to pop, my side got a stitch, and I ran through it. I kept going, passing little old ladies and families sitting on benches. Everyone was out at this time, the first cool of the evening. Getting into the natural cycle of day and night would help the last vestiges of jet lag.

  I wasn’t wearing a shirt, just cut-off sweats. I’d heard that very few people exercised in Spain, so I knew I stuck out, but I didn’t care. My brain needed to take out all the garbage of the day, of my life, and start over. I pounded the trails, the flat park dominated by the leafy, colorful roses, glowing in the orange-pink sunlight. Their fragrance infused the air.

  After twenty minutes or so, I stopped and started doing burpees. Down into a push-up, jump up, and repeat. Fifty of them. Then I set off to run again, my heart rate elevated.

  A lithe, little blonde wearing short-shorts and a jog bra ran past me, her pert ass shaking as she took the lead.

  Well, fuck, it was Dani. Seeing her made all sorts of thoughts and feelings arise, not the least of which was, what a sight. I liked girls who took care of themselves. They inspired me. Those girls at the gym doing squats in tight leggings that left nothing to the imagination?

  Hooah.

  Even better, though, was that it was Dani, no shit, the girl of my dreams, just running ou
t of reach. Always one step away from me. Always just too far for me to grasp.

  Not this time, though.

  “Hey!”

  I sped up and caught up with her, clipping along at a fast pace. After nine laps around the park, I struggled to keep up, but I pushed through.

  She glared at me. “Oh. It’s you. Are you stalking me?”

  I didn’t say anything, matching my pace with her.

  Goddamn, she was incredible. No wonder her body was so tight and tiny.

  “Dani, how long you gonna keep this up?”

  “Until I shake you off of me.”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” I wheezed. “Are you going to hate me forever?”

  “Yes.”

  I let out an involuntary laugh, my breath forced out through exercise. “So, no debate about that?”

  “Nope.” She stopped running and pointed a finger in my face. “You are the worst thing that ever happened to my family, Trent Milner. I never want to see you again. I don’t want you in my class. I don’t want you in my life. I want you gone. Now.” She turned and started up again, and I felt sick to my stomach.

  Dani’s words pelted me in the gut. But since I’d already lost everything, there was nothing left for me to do but fight.

  “Ooohkay,” I said, and I kept running next to her. I wasn’t backing down from this challenge.

  9

  Dani -- Running

  The sweet, stunningly good-looking bearer of bad news kept following me.

  “Why are you still here?” I demanded, then immediately wanted to take back my words. I wanted to take back all my rudeness since he’d been here. I didn’t know what came over me around him, and I didn’t like acting this way. He garnered anything but indifference from me. I’d turned into a class-A bitch that I never wanted to be.

  Although I’d told Trent repeatedly that I never wanted to see him again, that wasn’t true. He was just too much for me to handle. Was it a Pavlovian response? See Trent, and instead of salivating, I yelled?

  To be honest, he made me salivate, too.

  He apologized with his eyes. Those mesmerizing eyes. “Look. I didn’t come to Spain without warning you. I sent you an email,” he breathed, jogging next to me. “I hoped you’d respond so we could meet at the airport.” He smiled. “Guess I should have known you never check it.”

  “You did? What did you say?”

  “It just said to get in touch with me as soon as possible. I would’ve come wherever you were. It was too important. I didn’t want to tell you by phone or an email.”

  That earned him a small smile. “I appreciate that.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for having to deliver the news.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, noncommittal. We kept going. Having him so close to me meant I could check him out while pretending I wasn’t. Those muscles that had been suggested but hidden by his T-shirt in class were now on full display—a broad chest and back, narrow waist, and flat abs going to his sweatpants waistband. His belly moved in a sensual way when he inhaled. A taut V-line stretched over his hips and dipped down to what was surely goodness below. Instead of dropping in his face, his thick hair slicked back with sweat, showing off his eyes. Perspiration glowed on his golden chiseled torso—no blotchy redness for him.

  Goddamn beautiful man.

  We passed by rows and rows of fragrant roses in every color, almost up to my shoulders. In silence, we completed another half turn around the park together.

  Running brought me the clarity I lacked earlier.

  Just seeing him in Spain changed me. I liked to go through life living in my own fairytale, creating my own pretty world. In the past several years I’d been all over the world—Peru, Ecuador, Japan, Vietnam, Italy, and now Spain, just to name a few of the dozens of places.

  Meeting people. Experiencing the moment. Moving on.

  When he showed up, he obliterated my fairytale. Poof. Now I had to deal with the real world. Not only did he remind me of people I’d lost, he reminded me of people back in California I hadn’t thought of since I’d left and hadn’t looked back. Like, I wondered how Trent’s parents were doing, how old friends were nowadays. Had I been so self-centered in my own little world that nothing else mattered?

  Mierda. I liked my world. It kept me safe. I didn’t have to deal with ugly things. There was a reason why we created our own worlds. They protected us. It wasn’t selfish to do that.

  Right?

  Then my stomach sunk.

  Wrong.

  As I ran, I internally cringed. Memories came flooding into my brain that I’d suppressed.

  The last thing I’d shouted to Degan before he left.

  The crushing guilt from our argument.

  How I could never get any of that back. Ever.

  I’d really fucked up.

  If I didn’t do something, I’d start crying for the millionth time since Trent had shown up. I was never much of a crier, but the past two days I’d gone through a whole box and a half of Kleenex.

  No more. I was gonna run it out of my system.

  Lifting my knees, I sped up, needing to make yet another loop around the large park.

  “Jesus, Dani, hang on,” he called, and hastened his pace to keep up with me.

  Faster and faster we went, passing people on park benches, grand fountains, and hundreds of scented rosebushes. The evening sun faded into dusk. Lights started to come on in the buildings lining the park. And still I pounded the trail, and he met me step for step.

  No matter how fast I ran, I’d never escape what I’d done.

  My lungs were going to burst, and I had a stitch in my side. The gates of the park were in sight. I slowed to a jog, wiping my brow.

  “I could barely keep up with you,” he panted, still not red-faced. “You’re amazing.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t amazing. Try, horrible.

  The blood pumping in my veins right now though told me that I was alive, and if I was still alive, I had an opportunity to fix my mistakes. Even those that weren’t fixable.

  Or at least I could try.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded again. I wasn’t okay, but I would be.

  He went to reach out to grab my hand, then stopped. “I’d like to talk to you some more.” His powerful gaze made me realize that even though he was being polite and asking, he wasn’t gonna take no for an answer. Not any more.

  “Okay,” I said. I wanted to stop feeling these violent, erratic mood swings that I’d felt since I learned he was coming. I knew from yoga—and Lulu’s lecture—that sometimes the only way out of something was through. So I’d go through whatever I needed to with him.

  He smiled like he’d just won the Spanish lottery. “For real?”

  “Yeah.” And I gave him a true smile back. Feeling comforted by his presence, I had to admit that he gave me a sense of security I hadn’t felt with anyone else for a long time. If I could only reach out and touch his soft, supple skin, shining under his perspiration. Give him a hug. Dissolve the tension. But no, I just needed to work out some things with him. That was all.

  “I haven’t been fair to you,” I continued. “I’ve been so pissed at you because you got my brother into the army.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I interrupted him. “Not a word. Let me talk. He’s between us. Degan is between us.”

  His eyes pierced mine. “Yeah. He is.”

  “He might always be between us. I don’t know. But I want to try to work things out with you.”

  “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

  “Don’t get too many ideas. You’re the annoying friend of my little brother, who’s all grown up now.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a sarcastic snort. Then his gaze locked on mine. “You’re the phenomenal sister of my best friend, who I’ve wanted my entire life.”

  Oh. Heavens. If he kept that stuff up, I’d melt into goo before I made it back to my apartment. I didn’t know what to say to that.

  W
e reached the end of the park and slowed to a walk, our chests still heaving from the run.

  “Maybe we can meet up after class Friday,” I said.

  “I’d like that. I’ll walk you home.”

  The background noises of Granada, while muffled in the tree-lined park, returned as we crossed the busy street and headed back. Mopeds, scooters, small cars, and small trucks roared up the streets and prowled at the stops, willing the lights to change to green.

  A normal, noisy city.

  Trent, though, tensed. The muscles in his arms flicked, his shoulders straightened, and his eyes darted from place to place, wary. As we made our way back to the central part of town, Trent flinched with each loud engine—and there were a lot of them.

  A stream of four mopeds went by, and he cowered.

  Then a Vespa scooter dallied past us with an underwhelming Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner beep-beep horn, but I could see his breath becoming erratic.

  When a larger delivery truck thundered by, I thought he’d pass out.

  While my breathing had returned to normal from our run, his stayed elevated, and his face whitened.

  Suddenly Euro-police sirens went off, seemingly all around us. Eee-oh, eee-oh, sounding like Minions. Two passed by, the Doppler effect of the sound getting louder and then fading.

  I watched them go. There must have been an accident.

  The blades of a helicopter cut through the night, hovering over us and then going off into the distance.

  Under a streetlight, I glanced over at Trent, who’d gone so pale I thought he’d faint. His legs shook and his hands trembled.

  What on earth was going on?

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

  He wasn’t. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “No. I just need a minute.” He leaned over and put his hands on his knees.

  “You’re not okay. Maybe that run was too much. Come with me. Let’s sit.” I guided him to the alcove of a building with a little step. He grasped the wall behind him for support, then sank to the ground, sitting against the building, his knees up, his head between them, breathing hard.