hefty fine. But when you meet the love of your life, money is no object.
Her hands have continually taken adventures of their own up my arm—exploring my muscles and making me burn from within as she plays with the hem of my shirt. Her skin tingling against mine. The sexual tension is off the charts, but she’s content to continue talking. Therefore, so am I. I want to know everything she wants to tell me.
“I am doing all the talking. You should do more,” she’s saying, resting her head on my arm like she’s done it a thousand times before.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, and attempt to casually smell her hair like the total creep I am right now.
She thinks for a moment and then replies, “Tell me your saddest memory.” Her eyes soften around the edges as she stares up at me.
“How about a happy one instead?” I retort, facing forward and offering an easy smile. “I have loads of those.”
“No,” she quips, squeezing me tighter. “Sadness shows the truth. I want some truth from you.”
I inhale deeply, because with one simple statement, she has struck a nerve that I don’t often allow myself to strike. A sharp pain builds in my chest as the memory assaults me. “I guess it would have to be the day my parents died.”
She stops midstride and pulls me backwards so I’m forced to face her. Her brows knit together with concern. “What happened to them?”
I look away, wishing I didn’t care about this woman so much because then I wouldn’t have to be so honest with her right now.
The truth is, I don’t discuss my parents’ accident. Not with the media, not with my teammates, and not with my brother or friends. Not with anyone. It’s a darkness I don’t often stoke because it doesn’t take much for it to turn to fire. But telling Vilma feels important. It makes her and this evening all the more real.
I meet her gaze and squeeze her hand tightly. “They died in a car accident when I was seventeen. I was training with United at the time, so I wasn’t close when it happened, and I didn’t get to the hospital in time to say goodbye. My father died before I was even out of Manchester, and my mum died just as I arrived in London. They were on their way to Manchester to see me when they crashed.”
A silence descends for a long, painfully awkward moment until Vilma reaches up and brushes the hair off my forehead, cradling my cheek in her palm. “Vaughn, I’m so sorry,” she says sincerely.
For a moment, I close my eyes and lean into her touch, letting her warmth seep in. When I open my eyes, I see the glimmer of tears reflecting in her gaze and it’s hard to look at. I turn away, pulling out of her embrace and letting the coolness of the night replace it. “It’s all right. I’m over it now.”
“Of course you’re not over it,” she snaps, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her. “You experienced a great loss.”
“It was five years ago,” I argue, trying to soothe her so we can move on from this horrible conversation.
“What is five years when it comes to grief?” Her lips thin with anger as her eyes dart back and forth between mine. I’m amazed at how fiercely she sees through my façade. “Grief has no timeline and no expiration date. It lives here forever.”
She presses her hand to my chest, over my heart, and a warmth once again runs through me at her touch. I cover her hand with mine and nod. “You’re right. It’s still there.”
Her eyes rove over my face knowingly. “Do not tell people you’re over it. To say those words minimises the memory of your parents.”
I swallow the painful knot in my throat because she’s right. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just be honest with me.”
Her blue eyes hit me with such intensity that it’s difficult to breathe. Christ, who is this woman? Where did she come from? What was my life before I felt her in it?
I reach up and touch her cheek, gliding my thumb along the curve of her jaw. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Vilma Nyström.”
Her eyes narrow as though she’s trying to catch me in a lie but can’t. She licks her lips, and replies, “Then you should kiss me to change the thinking into the knowing.”
The corner