I sigh and take a spoon to the flan. I have a sweet tooth that I don’t like to let loose, and I know one bite will ruin me.
Shit. It’s good.
“Well?” my mother asks as she stands there, leaning on the kitchen table like a cop in the middle of an interrogation, eyeing me suspiciously. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I tell her, and proceed to eat the rest up. I swear the sugar does something to my brain.
“You’re going to get fat now,” Armando says smugly.
“You wouldn’t want that,” I tell him. “Who is going to pay for this house if I get fat and can’t run and score goals?”
“I think you have enough money to last forever,” Armando says.
He’s not wrong. I’m already worth twenty-five million dollars. Luciano is close to a billion. There’s a lot of money to be made here, while you still have a chance to make it.
It’s also something I try not to think about.
“I won’t be injured forever,” I tell him. “Each week I’ll be doing more training, enough so I can eat all of Mama’s food.”
“Good,” she says, sitting down with her own flan and a cup of coffee. “You sure you don’t want coffee?”
I wave the offer away. “A good night’s sleep is all I need.”
For now, I’ve been taking it fairly easy. During siesta, when the players are resting in between the training sessions, I go over to Valdebebas and Thalia works on me.
I have to admit, it’s the best part of the day.
Just seeing her face.
That smile.
Having her healing hands on me.
Slowly peeling away her layers and discovering who she really is.
I still don’t know the source of her sadness. I know the source of her anger and bitterness, that’s no surprise. But I want to know the parts she keeps hidden from me.
I want her to know that I’m someone she can invest in. Someone she can trust.
A friend if nothing more.
But I would be completely lying if I say I don’t want something more.
She’s made it clear on more than one occasion that she’s not interested in me, and I know for a fact it’s against the rules of the club.
She’s off-limits.
The forbidden fruit.
And I’m terrible at pretending I don’t want a taste.
“I think I’ll put on a record,” I tell my mother and brother. “Maybe some jazz for the evening.”
“Ugh,” Armando makes a noise of disgust.
That’s exactly why I’m putting on the jazz.
I get up, try to slide my chair back with my leg, and —
FUCK.
The pain hits me like a sledgehammer.
“Shit!” I cry out, immediately clutching my knee. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“What is it?” my mother asks, getting up so fast she spills coffee on the table. She comes around to me while Armando grabs a cloth and wipes it up.
“My knee,” I say, breathless. “I must have twisted it wrong or something.”
“Did you dislocate it again?” my brother asks, coming to my side and putting my arm around his shoulder to help support me.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Is that possible?”
“I don’t like this, Alejo,” my mother says. “Maybe you will need surgery.”
“No,” I tell her, jaw clenched. “I’ll be fine.” I take in a deep breath, trying to stifle the pain. Slowly, I stick my leg out and move it from the knee in a kicking motion. “See. I would not be able to do that if it were dislocated.”
“You need ice. You need to lie down. Armando, take your brother to the couch,” my mother commands.
Armando leads me over to the couch in the living room, and I lie down. He takes a giant pillow and carefully tries to prop it up. I grit my teeth at the discomfort.
Eventually my mother comes back out of the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas and hands it to me. I apply it to the top of my brace, not about to undo it. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get Thalia to take a look at it. I just hope I haven’t done any major damage.
“Alejo,” my mother chides me, sitting on the corner of the couch. “You should be more careful.”
“With getting up from dinner?”
“Yes. Please. You’re all we have.”
I swallow hard and glance at her. My mother has never looked young for her age. Taking care of us when we didn’t have much money, dealing with my father, before his death and after, worrying about us boys constantly, it took a toll on her from