to dealing with his emotions in a mature way or compartmentalizing them, I still think he’s got work to do. It would take a lot, probably too much, to have him see it from my point of view, to understand without the emotions clouding his judgement. Love is such a volatile and potent emotion that it’s very easy for it to warp and bend to the heart’s desire. It can easily change if the person wills it hard enough, the energy morphing to the opposite side. Two sides of the same coin, and right now it’s not love.
And the real truth is…I’m scared to go back to him.
I’m so scared to put myself out there.
I’m scared that he’ll crush my heart because it’s easier than opening up and forgiving me.
I’m scared that my heart will end up bruised and battered beyond recognition from just a look.
The look that says it’s too late.
I’m too late.
It doesn’t matter. I’m a coward.
And I’m running again.
Chapter 28
Alejo
Whether during a game or during practice, all I can see is the pitch.
The ball.
Luciano running toward me with it.
I know how he moves, how he operates, I know he’s going to go to the left, and I also know that he knows that.
So I wait until the last minute and then try to get the ball from between his legs.
He uses his arm to brush me off, a penalty if a ref decides it so, but I’m quicker with my footwork and manage to get the ball back, twirling around, one foot, the other foot, and then it’s under my control and I’m off and running in the opposite direction, taking the ball and shooting directly into the goal.
I run around, arms in the air, showing off at my goal to the rest of my team, while Mateo claps his hands.
“Okay, good work, keep it up, Alejo,” Mateo says. He gives Luciano a sorry look. “You could have tried harder. Don’t think I didn’t see that arm.”
We’re just about wrapping up our training for the day. It’s cold and the weather has been threatening rain all day, rain that never came. There’s a game tomorrow here in Madrid against Leganes but I feel as focused on the game as I ever will be.
It’s all I have at the moment. When I step off the pitch, my reality will come slamming back, making my heart feel like a hollow drum, just empty space where Thalia used to be.
And so I’ve been throwing myself into practice. I’ve been going the distance after training. I’m always on the pitch, I’m here even after it’s dark out, sometimes shooting balls with Rene, other times by myself. I just can’t let my mind focus on anything but this game.
I can’t let it focus on her.
To be honest, it’s the only way I’ve been able to get past the last ten days without feeling like I’m literally dying on the inside. I’ve learned to look past Thalia, never at her. I’ve learned to pretend she’s not there, forcing my mind to switch to the sport.
It doesn’t always work. Sometimes it’s pure torture. Even when I’m not looking at her, I can feel her near, I hear her voice, a voice that should be whispering in my ear and telling me she loves me. I close my eyes and I see her smile, the way her eyes would take me in right after I kissed her, like my kiss had the power to change her whole world.
She changed my world.
I blink it away just as Luciano comes over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“Not bad,” he says. “When you make the Spanish national team and we have to play each other, I’m going to be in some serious shit.” He moves his shoulder back and winces.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Not really, just stiff,” he says. Then he frowns at me, his expression uneasy.
“What?”
“Have you seen Thalia lately?”
My veins turn to ice. I raise my chin, automatically defensive. “No.”
“Yeah, I figured,” he says. “I know…I mean, I don’t mean to pry and I’ve been trying to give you space thinking you’d bring it up with me. I know something happened with you both. She told me. She’s been looking so sad lately.”
There’s a vise around my heart, growing tighter. “When did you talk to her?” I ask stiffly.
“Three days ago.”
“What did she tell you?” I ask, lowering my voice as we start walking over to the rest of the team, to do one