everyone else and I know at some point during today someone is going to think, “Oh hey, Thalia used to live here,” or “Thalia used to be married to the manager of United,” or “Thalia used to fix those boys.” I’ve already fielded a few curious looks from the players.
I also wish that I could just lean into Alejo and have him take care of me, but that won’t ever happen. So I have to deal with the feelings on my own. He’s already got his noise-cancelling headphones on, getting into the right frame of mind for the game, a frame of mind I would never dare interrupt.
The day moves fast though. We get to the hotel, we check into the rooms, and there’s some media stuff and interviews some players have to do, including Alejo. I just hide out in my room, wishing I could drink on the job (that’s a big fat no), so instead I raid the mini bar for sour candies and eat a bag of them while watching the BBC, trying to keep my mind off things.
Then it’s time to go. We get on a bus and are shuttled to the infamous Old Trafford stadium.
The place I spent so much time.
The place I fell in love with Stew.
The place I couldn’t face anymore after I lost that love.
And now I’m here, in support of Los Blancos, getting fucked by one of their football stars.
Funny how life works.
My nerves don’t calm down once inside the stadium, and even walking in I already heard a few reporters and photographers calling my name, which is so fucking crazy considering I’m nobody. I’m just some forty-year-old woman they want to pick apart, which is par for the course for them.
At one point, I could see Alejo ahead of me as we walked to the locker room, hanging back to see if he was needed. I just gave him the eyes that I was fine.
Something that managed to catch the attention of Mateo, who gave me a discerning look in return.
I need to be more careful.
I don’t go into the locker room when they’re changing if I can help it, so I hang around outside until I see a staff member, Freddie, who notices me.
“Thalia,” he says, throwing his arms out for a hug. “It’s really you!”
“In the flesh,” I tell him. Freddie was always a good guy.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You haven’t seen the papers? Oh god, load of rubbish they are. They said you wouldn’t come because of Stewart.”
“They said what now?”
“All speculation of course. Said the chances of you showing your face and being here were low. Glad to see you just proved all those wankers wrong.” He smacks my shoulder hard. “Good to see you again. Keep that chin up.”
He walks off, and I am livid.
I go into the locker room, not caring about whose dong I happen to see, and I pull Mateo aside.
“Have you seen the papers? The local papers here?” I ask him in a hushed voice.
“No. Why would I?”
“There were stories about me, wondering if I would even show up. Said the chances of me showing my face were low.”
Mateo looks sympathetic and dismissive at the same time, and I can’t really blame him for the last part. “You’re here now. You showed them. Don’t let this worry you, okay?”
“What’s happening?” Alejo asks, appearing at my side.
“It’s nothing. Just the fucking press,” I tell him.
“She’s fine,” Mateo says, putting his hand on Alejo’s shoulder and trying to push him away.
“I’ll see if she’s fine,” Alejo says, giving him a hard look, not moving. I stiffen at that because Alejo more or less just talked back to his coach, and that’s usually a no-no.
Mateo holds his gaze for a moment and then moves on into the rest of the room.
“What did the press say?” Alejo asks.
“It’s nothing. Really. I shouldn’t even care, and it’s definitely nothing for anyone else but me to worry about.”
But Alejo does seem worried and a little worked up.
I want to kiss him, hug him, even just put my hand on his shoulder, but we can’t do any of that, especially as I feel Mateo’s eyes boring holes into us, so I just step away and say, “Have a good game, okay?”
Alejo frowns and nods, and I’m terrified that I’ve already distracted him in a really bad way.
The game is getting ready to begin.
I go out on the pitch with the rest of the medical team,