one thing. But the fact that this will have been the second time I’ve let personal relationships with a co-worker screw me out of a job, is something else. I know how it would look to everyone.
And I know how it looks to myself.
Vera had said not to care about what people say, to give no fucks, but when you’ve been dragged through the mud before, you’ll do anything to prevent that from happening again.
But even though that’s something that would have happened if we had been found out, if Dr. Costa discovered us in a more compromising way and turned it into something more, something Mateo couldn’t cover up, I don’t think it would hurt me as much as this hurts me right now.
Alejo hates me.
He loves me and yet he hates me.
I know he’s beyond hurt that I had to be the bearer of bad news and break us apart, I know it makes me the bad person, the villain in the story. I know he doesn’t really understand how big of a sacrifice this is for me and that I lose either way.
I just didn’t realize how much my choice would ruin everything, not just my heart, but everything else I held dear in my life.
I…I just can’t work here anymore.
I’m going through the motions, concentrating on the players as much as I can, trying to pretend Alejo isn’t there, while also soaking him in at every opportunity. It’s like my soul is being split in two.
But he’s given me the deep freeze, and the few times our eyes have met each other, his gaze is empty. It holds nothing for me.
I’ve never seen him like that before. It’s like all the joy and the life has been sucked right out of him, and I’m the only one to blame. It’s only on the pitch that he comes alive again, going after the ball like a madman, channeling everything into the game.
At least, there’s that. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I fucked up his game as well as his heart.
Not sure when I’ll forgive myself for fucking up my own.
Cut yourself a slab, I tell myself, but I can’t even smile. You had no choice.
But I did have a choice.
“Thalia,” Luciano calls from the physio bed after everyone goes up for lunch, lunch that I’m once again eating in my office, like a motherfucking squirrel. “Can you do the needling on my shoulder?”
I blink at him in surprise. He hadn’t seemed in any pain lately and David was just working on his upper thighs.
“Sure,” I say, coming over to the wall and pulling down my kit. I go beside him and give him a small smile. “Take off your shirt.”
“It’s been a while since a woman has told me that,” he says with a grin before pulling it over his head. He lies down on his stomach while I start feeling around on the same area as last time, looking for the bumps and knots.
“So what seems to be the trouble?” I ask. “Is it playing up like last time?”
“A little,” he says. “I’m not getting any younger.”
“Neither am I.” I find the knot and then swab it down with solution. “Ever wonder when you might retire?”
He looks at me aghast. “We don’t say that word around here.”
“Right,” I say. I totally get it. To retire would be the end of everything Luciano holds dear. Something I know a little bit about. “You’ve got a lot of game left in you.”
“You’re fucking right,” he says, but there’s a hint of trepidation in his eyes, his smile faltering just a little. I know it must weigh on him. He is such an important player and such a great captain, but he’s thirty-seven and that’s almost unheard of in this game.
Nothing lasts forever.
I take in a deep breath, my heart pinching at that thought, and turn to slip on my gloves.
“Can I ask you something?” he says as I bring out the needles.
“Claro,” I say.
“What happened?”
I swallow the thickness in my throat and try to compose myself before I look back at him, needles ready. “What do you mean?”
He gives me a sweet smile. “Something happened to you. To Alejo. What changed? Are you not…” he looks around the room and when he sees there’s no one lingering, he goes on, “together anymore? I haven’t asked him because I’ve been waiting for him to bring it up but…”