“Hello, boys,” she chirps. “Which one of you is gonna buy this lady her first drink?” If these asshats weren’t bumbling idiots with their tongues hanging out and drool dripping down their chin, they are now, jumping and pushing each other around to buy her a drink.
“Mind if I sit here,” asks Sasha with a whisper in my ear and pulling out the empty chair next to me. My gentleman instincts kick in and I finish pulling it out for her and pushing it in when she’s seated.
“You lads staying out of trouble?” I hear the hum in her voice. Maybe one of these guys will get lucky. She shifts to look at me. “How are you doing Santo Feo?”
“I’d say I’m about one more round away from heading home and crawling into bed with—”
“With that fine ass wife,” interrupts Matt. He’s one of the very few that’s not as enamored by Sasha. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re still doing here man when all of that,” he slurs, “is at home in your bed—” he pauses to finish the sip left in his glass—”waiting for you.”
“You know, Matt, I’ve asked myself that a dozen times while sitting here with you boys,” I answer. “And I’ve determined one thing. Someone had to bring the hotness level of the group up.”
Sasha mumbles something under her breath and Jay just gives me a smirk. “Spoken like a true asshole,” quips Gabriel behind me. He puts the next round of Redbreast on the table. “So Sasha, what made you change your mind about slumming it with the likes of us?” he asks redirecting his attention to her.
I tune them out, thinking about my Izzy while I finish one glass and pick up another. The chatter continues, but I’m daydreaming about Izzy naked in our bed waiting for me. “Diego,” Jay interrupts my thoughts. When I lean in to hear what he has to say, I realize I’m now sporting a major fucking hard on and that not only is it time to go, but I’m in need of some sweet Izzy.
“Yeah,” I finally answer.
“We’re taking off. They want to hit up another bar that Krista and Neevy are at. I need to make sure these,” thumbing in the direction of the youngsters of our team, “little shites stay out of trouble.”
“Have Ken take ya where ya need to go,” I can hear the Southern California in my voice. They fucking love teasing me about it. “He can come back and get me. I should be done with this,” holding up my glass, “by the time he gets back.”
“I could give you a ride home,” offers Sasha. I’m about to accept when I see Jay shake his head at me.
“No worries, Sash,” I’m definitely feeling the alcohol now. “Ken will be back in no time. Jay, call me tomorrow.”
“You sure?” he questions with a weird look. I’m probably supposed to be understanding something, but the whiskey has shut down my ability to see past the surface.
“Fine,” I tilt my glass to him. I watch him round up the guys over the edge of my glass. They were chatting up a couple of cougars sitting at the bar.
“So, why don’t you go with them?” Sasha asks breaking through my alcohol-fueled haze.
I shrug the first part of my answer. “I don’t do all that anymore,” I add, not wanting to be rude, but I don’t explain any further. “I’m really sorry about your dad, Sasha. If anything like that ever happened to Lito…” I don’t finish the thought as it squeezes my heart even while under the influence of one too many rounds.
“Thanks, Diego. I can tell you really care about him,” she shifts in her chair, the action pushing us closer together. She giggles at the bewildered look on my face.
“Of course, I do,” I scrub a hand over my face. “Being here? Playing for his team? I’m so grateful he took a chance on me.”
“He’s not the only one, you know,” she says while rubbing my shoulder. I look up from where her hand rests on my bicep to look at her face. I can’t make sense of her words right now. “Diego,” she slowly rolls my name across her tongue. She’s got her manicured nail trailing back up to my shoulder and hooking into the loose collar of my shirt.
“Sa—”
The words are halted as her mouth closes in on mine, her tongue licking at my lips—
“No.” I push her off, trying not to draw attention to us. “Sasha you don’t want to do this,” holding her by the shoulders at arm’s distance. I find myself rambling to neutralize the situation. “I know you’re upset. I can imagine that things feel a bit—”
Something flashes in her eyes and in the next moment, she’s mumbling her apologies into her hands. “I’m sorry, Diego. I don’t know what came over me.” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Probably one too many of these,” she shakes the empty tumbler.
Ken’s number flashes on the screen of my phone sitting on the table. Talk about a saved by the bell moment.
“Look, Sasha, it was a mistake that went nowhere. Ken’s here. I’ll see you later.”
I toss a tip on the table and leave. I can’t get away from the situation fast enough. I’m anxious to get as much distance between me and that awkward moment.
The cold late night air knocks the breath I’d been holding from my chest. I’m grateful that Ken is waiting at the curb, the crisp air stings my lungs, but what I’m going to tell Izzy about tonight constricts around my heart and the expensive whiskey is threatening to come up. I plop down, masking the pain with drunken antics.
Fuck. I can’t risk Izzy’s health or the baby’s. It’s what’s best for everyone. No harm, no foul.
Right?
Chapter Twenty-One: I Can See Clearly Now
January 2007
I look at the picture from the rag that Kyle enhanced. “What the fuck?” I don’t know if I’ve said that out loud or not. The sound of my blood pumping through my veins is like being in a tunnel with a never-ending freight train speeding through it. And it’s the only sound I hear.
It all comes down to that fucking night.
Bean’s heart attack.
Sasha’s kiss.
My decision to not tell Izzy.
And the picture seen around the world.
That vile fucking bitch. She had this made while we sat around waiting to take more pictures. She used this to—
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Show Must Go On
February 2007
As the saying goes, it rains when it pours. Both literally and figuratively. The sky closed up at the beginning of the service, shrouding the already somber day in gray ominous clouds and the promise of rain. During the service, the clouds delivered and the cathedral was pelted with rain and hail.
Figuratively, I’m in the midst of a media storm over our marital discord and I’ve just spent the day saying goodbye to one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.
Last Thursday, Bean suffered a fatal heart attack. The loss of my friend and my boss rocks the foundation that made playing here in England’s Queen’s Premiere League a great experience. The one person that didn’t look at me differently, treat me differently, the moment that rag posted that picture.
“Look here, son,” he’d started. “You live a life in the public eye. There will be those that will monopolize on whatever opportunity you afford them to make your life a scandal. I’m not sure what’s going on in that picture, but I’m certain it’s not what it seems. I’ve seen the way you look at your wife.” He shakes his head and continues, “I don’t get why she’s at home and you’re in the Orcutt Hotel, but that’s between you two.” I couldn’t hide my shame and he claps me on the back. “We’re men, Diego. We’re born flawed and at the mercy of the opposite sex. Our only saving graces are our ability to grovel and to admit when we’re wrong. If you can’t do one and the other, you’ve got nothing. Hell, if you can’t do one and the other, you’ve got no business settling down with one woman.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’ve been groveling since the day I left. I beg Izzy every sin
gle day to not give up, to trust that I will make things right in her eyes.
Today, I don’t have it in me to grovel.
Today, I watched them bury the man single-handedly responsible for having a team to play for here in England.
Today, Izzy stood beside me as we said goodbye to the father of the woman that’s caused so much havoc in our lives.
Today, she held my hand as speaker after speaker talked about Bean’s integrity, his commitment to his people, and how risk was his middle name. How picking up a twenty-seven-year-old mid-fielder from the United States was not the risk everyone else thought it’d be.
Today, with all the shit that’s going on between us, today, Izzy was there for me.
Now, we’re sitting silently in our living room. I insisted on making sure she got home, but really I just wanted as many minutes I could get with her. This is the first time we’ve been together since the night I left and she hasn’t poked and prodded for the proof I’m still lacking.
“I miss you, Diego,” Izzy says, curling up in my lap.
“Izzy, you say the word and I’ll come back home.” I can hear the eagerness in my voice, I don’t doubt she does, too. But I won’t hold my breath—ha—for it to be that easy.
“Hold me, D.”
I loosen the tie around my neck and undo the first couple of buttons. Settling into the back of the couch, I bring Izzy with me. She shifts to get comfortable and the action brings life to my cock.
The fucking appendage has zero sense of appropriateness or timing. I shift myself to adjust before Izzy realizes what’s poking her. Her breathing is slow and slowing more. She’s falling asleep in my arms and I relish in the moment. The comfort of holding her and the sound of her breathing are lulling me to sleep. I’m a hopeful man with the sigh she lets out as she squeezes me in her slumber.
I need to fix this and fix it fast. My patience is running thin and my body is aching for what I’ve had every day for the last nearly eight years. Ken thinks they’ve found the individual responsible for taking the photograph. He’ll be heading out to him once he gets confirmation of his location. He’s hoping he’s also the one responsible for the photo doctoring. In hindsight, there’s no way the night Sasha kissed me could there have been enough light to snap this photo. And as bits and pieces of the drunken night come back to me, I remember they’re being some photographers following Sasha. I didn’t care to give them a shot so I kept drinking.
Still, it means nothing to Izzy. She nuzzles into me more when I turn to stretch out across the couch. She needs the tangible. We need the original image. I have to have that proof.
I can feel the weight of the day—and Izzy—pulling my heavy lids shut. I squeeze Izzy, appreciating that this moment exists even under the tragic circumstances.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Pretender
February 2007
Yesterday, we buried Bean and I spent the time after with Izzy in my arms. I didn’t deserve it, but she comforted me as only she could. For the day, we left the baggage the New Year has brought us at the door.
An uncertain amount of time passed, the dreary day turned dark as day became night. From the angle I took on the couch with Izzy tucked into my side, I couldn’t see the time on the clocking hanging on the wall. Holding her while in such a painful place triggered a memory.
I had left Izzy the morning she said, “Fucking or nothing.” I could hear the pain in her words. I could see how much she wanted to ‘fuck to forget,’ but I couldn’t have done that to her. To us. I would have given anything for her to forget what she walked in on, but fucking to forget isn’t a pick-and-choose game. It’s an all-in thing and I didn’t want her to forget us. I startled when Izzy shivered. The unexpected reaction from her was ominous. I asked the fates to not repeat the mistakes of our past.
Unfortunately, the bubble we lived in yesterday was burst when Sasha’s name flashed across the screen of my phone. However, where in the past, I would have immediately answered, I sent her to voicemail instead. As commendable as the gesture was, Izzy never completely recovered from being startled awake to see Sasha’s name on my phone.
“I’m sorry, Izzy.”
“It’s fine, Diego. She’s your boss.” I hated hearing her so disconnected. It wasn’t just from her words but from me. “I’m going to go to bed. You can stay in the bab—” Her voice faded just before she was going to offer for me to stay in the baby’s bedroom. In the weeks, I’ve spent at the hotel, she’s managed to get a full-sized bed in there. She told me she donated the furniture to an international charity that helps women. I wanted to ask her about saving it for when we finally did have our baby, but I knew the argument that would ensue.
“That’s okay, Izzy,” I remember saying when she couldn’t finish that particular sentence. “While every part of me wants to stay here with you, I know that it won’t help us. Because when you’re done pretending our life hasn’t been pulled apart, you’re going to be mad at me all over again. And it’ll just be one step forward and two steps back.” She remembered the other time I said those words to her—I saw the memory dash across her sad gaze; the day I walked out when it was ‘fucking or nothing.’
“Diego, could we take the step forward without the back?” she enticed me with undressing right there in front of me.
“How…can,” I stuttered my question, “y-y-you ask that, Izzy?” She robbed me of my ability of coherent thought and speech. “How can you be sure that doesn’t—” She stopped me with a press of her index finger to my lips.
“Diego, we’re not those young adults anymore. Besides, when we got married it was for better or for worse. I think that,” she trailed a finger across my chest and around my back as she circled me, “I think that also means we get to use each other.” At this point, Izzy had her tits pressed against my back and her hand snaked into the pocket of my suit pants. It was challenging enough to think straight with a naked Izzy, but her fingers curled around my cock through the thin fabric of my pocket, set my dick on hard and chased away reason and rationale.
I had spun around, releasing Izzy’s hold on my hardened cock, and crushed my mouth to hers. I acquiesced to the not so subtle request she laid bare before me. We spent the night twisted and knotted up with each other. More than a time or two, I made silent pleas with fate to keep the night from ever ending.
It didn’t work.
It’s officially the morning after. After our bedroom workout session, I stayed the night with her, curled around her, doing my best to keep from holding her too tight for fear of losing her. As she lies in our bed now, the guilt sets in. She deserved to have me be stronger, to show her that sex wasn’t the only thing that kept our hearts together.
Unfortunately, duty calls, as did Sasha. When I retrieved the voice mail she left last night, I was less than eager to see what the conniving bitch wanted now. “Diego, it’s Sasha. Of course, you knew that already.” Her voice was filled with self-importance. “We need to discuss some things…about your future.”
It took everything in me to keep from stringing together a list of profanities at my phone before I chucked it against the wall, but Izzy stirred in the bed beside me and I couldn’t risk waking her up to this.
A bonus about playing sleep over in your own house is having a selection of wardrobe options. I walk back to our closet to grab the dress shoes that match this suit. I smile to myself, remembering what Izzy said about how I looked in it the day I brought it home from the tailor. It was something about it being a power suit and wanting to play my submissive.
“Diego?” I can hear the panic in her voice.
“Izzy? What’s wrong?” I ask rushing to her side of the bed.
“I thought you left without saying anything,” she says incredulously.
“I didn’t nor would I ever,” as the words tumble out they feel like
a lie after the way I left New Year’s Eve. “But…” I’m running short on the courage to tell her I have to leave. To see Sasha. “I have a meeting with Sasha.”
I see Izzy’s spine stiffen and mirth flood her eyes. Leaning down so she can see the truth in my eyes, “We haven’t talked about this much, but I know she’s behind this Izzy. I know it and I’m going to prove it to you and the rest of the world just what kind of person she is.”
“How are you going to do all that, Diego?” Her doubt sounds a lot like defeat.
“Izzy? Do you trust me?” The pained look I get tells me she’s on the fence about this, but I press on. “Do you know how much I love you? How much I’d do to prove to you that not only did Sasha set out to do this on purpose but that you were right about her from the beginning?”
I see hope in Izzy’s eyes and realize it’s been the missing element since I started my pursuit of the truth. “Come home when you’re done?”
Whaa—”Izzy is that what you really want?” My voice is flooded with disbelief. “You want me to come home?”
Her eyes don’t lie. She’s just as eager to have me home as I am to be home. “I’m not promising perfect,” she says, her voice breaking with the confession. “But I’ll promise to try. I’m still mad as hell, but you can’t be staying somewhere else if we’re going to fix this.”
I hang onto her every word. There’s no reason this should happen like this. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Doubt gives way to hope and I can’t keep the smile from my face. “Bella,” my voice catches in my throat, but my arms take care of the rest of what I wanted to say. I wrap Izzy in a big hug and bury my face into her hair. I hate to break this moment, but I know the sooner I take care of Sasha, the sooner I can get home to Izzy.
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 13