“Am I enjoying myself?” I repeat. It feels like I have wings fluttering in my stomach, like every hair on my body is raised, like I’m so much more alert and real and alive when he’s around.
He pops the croquete in his mouth and chews, his eyes watching me intently. He nods, swallows. “Simple question.”
“Well it doesn’t have a simple answer,” I tell him. I gesture at the crowd. “As you can see, your brother is mingling and I’ve been left to fend for myself. Again. Seems the Ribeiro brothers are more alike than they care to realize.”
He looks momentarily apologetic, then eyes my dress, his gaze lingering on my chest for just a second, a look of fire passing through his eyes.
“God, was that so hard?” I mutter.
He blinks up at me. “Sorry, what?”
“I feel like you’ve been refusing to look at me all night.”
The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes drift over my body. It feels like flames licking over my skin. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. It’s impossible not to look at you in that dress.”
“So, you like it?”
His expression turns serious, nostrils flaring for a moment. “Very much so,” he says quietly.
“Luciano,” someone calls out from behind us.
We both turn to see some people waving him over.
“Excuse me,” he says to me, before he goes and joins them.
I let out a harsh breath, wishing he could have stayed by my side. There’s so much I want to talk to him about. I just want things to go back to normal between us, back to that easy banter and connection we had, even with the heavy dose of sexual tension that comes along with it.
But there’s no use having a pity party for myself if everyone else is having fun. I eat a few more petiscos, then head over to the bar.
I’m waiting in line when my phone starts vibrating.
It’s my father.
Immediately my heart lurches. He hasn’t called me once since I’ve been here, nor texted, and we’ve only emailed twice. I quickly do the calculation in my head, trying to figure out what time it is back in Houston, but my mind refuses to do the math.
I quickly answer it, walking away from the line and to a less crowded corner of the room.
“Dad?”
The line is scratchy and I quickly glance at my phone, seeing it only has one bar.
“Dad?” I repeat again, my pitch higher.
“Ruby,” he says, sounding echoey. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I don’t know what time it is there.”
“It’s almost midnight,” I tell him. “It’s fine. What’s wrong?”
He sighs loudly. “It’s your mother.”
Everything in me stills. I stop walking. “What happened?”
“She overdosed.”
My hand flies to my mouth, a gasp escaping. A couple walking past me give me a funny look.
“She’s dead?” I cry out softly, lost in the moment before he tells me yes or no and everything changes forever.
“No,” he says. “She’s alive. In the prison hospital.”
I exhale hard, breath shaking, flooded with relief.
“She’s alive…how the hell did this happen? How did she get drugs in prison?”
“Ruby…come on. You’re not that naïve.”
“What was it? What drug?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
I hesitate, the words waiting in my mouth. “Do you want me to come home?”
“I never wanted you to go in the first place,” he says sharply.
“Okay, but I’m here now.”
“And that’s where you’ll stay. I don’t want you coming home Ruby.”
Fuck, that stings.
“So you didn’t want me to come here and now you don’t want me to come home?”
“Do you have a plan for when you come home? Are you going to get a real job? Are you going to straighten up and act like an adult for once in your life? Where are you going to live?”
“With you?” I whisper, feeling so pathetic.
“That’s not an option,” he says. “You know Sharon and the kids have moved in.”
The mention of his girlfriend makes me feel even more forgotten. “Okay, well I’ll rent a place somewhere.”
“With what money? How is your blog Ruby? Making any money? Are you even working at all?”
My mouth opens and closes, feeling like my tongue is laden with sawdust. “I need to go home. I need to see my mom.”
“Ruby,” he says harshly. “She’s not your mother anymore. She’s chosen her path. It wasn’t you.”
Everything inside me runs dry, empty, hollow.
“Then why did you call and tell me this?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“Because you deserve to know. You need to know. I can’t be burdened with this alone. This is your responsibility too.”
I don’t even think.
I hang up the phone.
Squeeze it in my hand like I’m trying to break it, my head lowered, trying to breathe. I can hear people passing around me, looking at me, but I don’t care. I don’t care.
Ever since I was born, it’s like my father has been trying to blame me for my mother’s drug habit, all her mental problems. I know what he thinks, that my birth was the cause of all this, that somehow I became too much to handle, or her postpartum depression spiraled out of control, which then led to her abusing drugs. I know what he’s always inferred, and I believe it too. I know it’s my fault.
“Ruby?”
It’s Marco.
I look up as he puts his hand on my back. “Are you okay?”
I nod, straightening up. Then I shake my head. Because I’m not okay. Not even a little.
“My dad just called me,” I say, my breath coming out ragged.
“Oh? What did he say?”
“My mom overdosed.”
Marco stares at me for a moment, trying to make sense of what I said.
“Overdosed on what?”
“I don’t know. Drugs. She’s in prison.”
“She’s in prison?” he exclaims, then immediately looks around. He puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me down to one of the corridors that head toward roped-off rooms. He looks around again and then frowns, whispers. “What the hell are you talking about? What did she do?”
“Possession of drugs. This was years and years ago. I was only six.”
“She’s been in prison since you were six?” he cries out. “How is that even possible? Drugs aren’t even criminalized here in Portugal.”
“How nice for you,” I say blankly. “She’s been out on parole a few times, but she always fucks it up.”
“Well, shit.” His brow furrows. “You never told me this before.”
“Because you’d think differently of me. You are already. I can see it.”
“I’m not,” he says, but it’s unconvincing. There’s a shift in his eyes. “Listen, I’m really sorry Ruby. That must be rough.”
Rough? My mother overdosing in prison is rough?
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll be okay, right? You see that guy there?” He points at a tall dude in a suit, girl on his arm. I recognize him as the winger from Benfica. “That’s Paulo Moreira. He’s a free agent right now. This is my chance.”
“You’re leaving me?!” I cry out in a hush.
“I’ll come find you later,” he says, walking off. “You need some time to process all that, yes?”
I stand there dumbfounded, watching him approach the player.
What the actual fuck?
As the two of them shake hands and start talking, I realize there’s no point in me staying here like a good little girl, waiting for her boyfriend to pay her attention, or, hell, maybe give me some comfort when I’m obviously going through something?
Fuck this shit.
I’m out of here.
Nine
; Luciano
“What do you think, Luciano?” Teresa, the wife of Benedito Cadete, Sporting’s goalkeeper, asks me. I can’t say I’ve been paying much attention to what she’s been talking about, because I was watching Ruby and Marco disappear around the corner. I couldn’t tell if they were fighting or what, but something was obviously wrong. Now Ruby’s walking fast toward the doors, and I have no idea where Marco went.
“Luciano?” Benedito asks.
I give him a quick smile. “I’ll be right back. Excuse me.”
I talk to Benedito on a daily basis, so I know he won’t feel slighted by me bailing on him like this. I have to know why Ruby just left.
I spot Marco talking to this asshole from Benfica, Lisbon’s other team. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get another client, even though I personally would rather him not go for one of my biggest rivals.
“Marco,” I say to him, giving Paulo a stiff fuck off smile. I can’t tell you how many times this asshole has done some dirty foul moves to get the ball past me.
“Luciano,” Marco says, looking annoyed. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“I just saw Ruby leave.”
“She probably needs some time alone,” he says flippantly.
“Why?”
Marco gives Paulo an apologetic smile and then leans into me, whispering in my ear. “Her mother overdosed or something.”
Holy shit.
“Or something? Is she alive?”
Marco motions for me to keep my voice down. “I don’t know. But her mother was in prison. Prison, Luciano. Did you know that?”
I look him dead in the eyes. “Yeah. I did. And I can’t believe you’re just letting her walk off like that.”
“Of course you knew.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, she needs time to figure it all out. I’ll see her later.”
He pats my shoulder and then goes back to talking to Paulo.
I stare at my brother, feeling rage flood through me.
I’m usually so even-keeled, but it’s taking everything in me not to punch him right in the fucking face for that. With Paulo here and all the cameras, it would do more harm than good.
I turn and stride toward the doors, stepping past the cameras and into the night.
Only a few of them take my picture—from my posture and expression, I think most can tell I’m not in the mood.
I have no idea where Ruby could have gone, so I start walking in one direction, texting her as I go. Where are you?
It feels strange to text her after going so long without it. When she left me that morning after the horse show, I had to stop myself many times from reaching out to her. When she was working for me, it felt like second nature, and I’d come to look forward to it. Every text put a smile on my face, especially the nonsensical ones, so the last few weeks having no contact with her at all have been hollow, to say the least.
But seeing her tonight? That’s been a tonic to my spirit. She’s the breath of fresh air in that whole stuffy room, and it’s been hell to try and keep my eyes off her all night.
I’ve walked down one block and am about to turn around and head back down the other when she finally texts back.
By some playground
That doesn’t help me much, but then I remember seeing a playground when we drove in.
I keep walking and go around the corner and there she is, lit beneath orange street lamps, sitting on a swing set, her red dress trailing on the ground as she slowly moves back and forth.
Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.
I want to go over to her, pick her up in my arms, comfort her, tell her everything is going to be alright, even if it isn’t. But that’s not who I am to her. That’s not my place. That’s Marco’s job.
But I am here as her friend. At least there is that.
“Ruby,” I say gently as I approach her. She’s got her fingers wrapped around the chains of the swing, and she’s staring dejectedly at nothing.
I slowly sit down on the swing next her, even though I barely fit on the seat. I glance up at the creaking beam above and hope I’m not about to bring the whole thing down.
When she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge me, I say, “Marco told me what happened.”
She nods once, licking her lips. “Did he now?”
“He said your mother overdosed. Is she…is she okay?”
She finally looks at me, her eyes look glazed and tired. “You know, he didn’t even ask me if she was alive or not.”
I swallow down the anger. “Is she?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking down at the hem of her dress covered in dirt. “She’s alive. That’s all I know.”
“How did you find out?”
“My dad called.”
“How is he taking it?”
She shrugs. “Beats the hell out of me. The only reason he told me is so that I could suffer over here, not being able to do anything.”
My first instinct is to assure her that her father loves her and that I’m sure that’s not what he tried to do. But then I remember the things she’s said about him before. And I know my relationship with both my father and stepfather. How shitty those relationships can be, how easily people can dismiss it. The world loves to pretend that your parents are perfect and can do no wrong, but parents are nothing but human beings. And sometimes they’re the type of humans you wouldn’t want to be in a dark alley with.
So I ask, “Is your father really like that?”
She sucks in her lower lip and glances at me sadly. “Yeah. He is.” Exhaling loudly she looks away. “And now Marco knows that I’m white trash. Not that he didn’t suspect it before. I don’t know why he fucking brought me here.”
To spite his father.
But I don’t say it.
What a fucked-up bunch we are.
“I’m sorry he’s been acting that way,” I tell her, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, but it’s hard. “Marco gets into a certain zone when he’s around people in the industry.”
“You can say that again. I think I hate it.”
“I think I hate it too.”
She gives me another soft smile. “Have you always gotten along with Marco?”
The question takes me by surprise. “What makes you think we get along?”
“For one, I’ve never seen you fight. And I assume you do because he’s your agent. How did that even happen?”
I give her a loaded look. “It happened because of my stepfather. He basically wanted Marco to follow in my footsteps but that never happened. While I was out at boarding school and Sporting Academy, Marco could barely even kick a ball. He had no athletic leanings at all, not like I did. Marco didn’t do well at school either. Barely graduated. Didn’t go to university. Didn’t care. He wanted to enjoy the lifestyle his father gave him, but he didn’t want to work for it.”
“So, your stepfather thought, I know, he can be your agent.”
“That’s pretty much it. I mean, Marco is young. Not much older than you. He has a lot to learn, too, but he’s coming around. He’s got the drive, which is good, but none of the heart. He doesn’t care about the sport, he cares about the sports stars. He cares about being seen in that crowd.”
“He wants to be you.”
I nod. It’s never easy to admit that truth.
“He does. And he doesn’t even know the real reason why.”
“Because he looks up to you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I tell her. “But I know my stepfather wishes Marco had what I have. I know he hates the fact that his own son, his real son, is my agent, and that I’m the one with the talent and the money and the career. In fact, the more successful I get, the more he despises me.”
She stares at me for a moment. “Wow.”
I shrug, pushing back on my feet a bit to move the swing. “It’s the truth. It’s the truth I’ve known since the day he walked into my life and told me to call him Tomás. Not Papá. Not Father. But Tomás. And I would never be his son.”<
br />
“He said that?” she says, her eyes wide.
“Not in those exact words. But yes. And then I was sent away to boarding school. My mother didn’t even shed a tear when I left. All she could think about was Tomás and Marco. I suppose…” I trail off, trying to put my feelings together. Sometimes they feel so fragmented, like some past version of myself shattered long ago, and I’m forever picking up the pieces. “I suppose she blamed me for my father leaving. Who knows, maybe it was my fault. What does it matter in the end?”
I stare straight ahead at a stand of oak trees, barely visible in the darkness, their leaves dancing in the light breeze. Even though it’s past midnight, all around us the city buzzes on, cars passing on the road, people yelling in their apartments, windows open wide to beat the heat. All of this and yet I feel quite alone with her, like we’re the only two people left in the world.
Silence throbs between us, the weight of my words hanging, and I glance at her.
She’s staring at me with a torn expression, the streetlights glinting in her eyes.
“What?” I ask.
She gives me a sweet, sad smile. “We are too much alike.”
“You’ve said this before.”
“I know. And it made you upset.”
“It didn’t make me upset.”
“Then I made you upset. You fired me. And then I didn’t see you or hear from you for weeks. Was I that easy to forget?”
Fuck. I twist my fingers over the chains of the swinging, trying to say the right thing. “I never forgot you.”
“Why am I only seeing you tonight?”
“Because we’re both busy.”
Because you’re screwing my brother.
“Why did you fire me?”
Because you’re screwing my brother.
“I would hardly call that firing you. You barely worked for me.”
“But you didn’t want me to do it anymore. Why?”
“Because…come on, Ruby. You know things were getting complicated.”
Her head shakes, a strand of dark hair falling across her eyes. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
I won’t.
I avert my eyes, staring at the ground.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 11