CHAPTER SIXTEEN ALARA #2
“I know,” I whisper. I’m now holding his hand between both of mine, right atop my thigh. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away. “You can’t keep lying, especially to yourself.”
“Yeah.” His attention drifts to my mouth for a fraction of a second before moving back up. “I’m failing everyone around me, Alara. Myself included. I feel like I’m barely progressing, that my pain doesn’t want to go away. Pretending is so much easier than facing reality.”
“You’ve been in denial and that’s okay. You just have to be patient.
Everybody heals at a different pace, but you’ve got to put your mind to it too.
You’re such a determined and persistent person, and you’ll get there if you keep working hard, but you can’t rush the process.
And you’ll also get there if you allow yourself to rest, breathe, and unwind.
When’s the last time you really rested? Took time for yourself?
You haven’t stopped once ever since you got here because of what Coach Wilson asked of you.
I know he’s the one holding your entire future in his hands, but if he only knew how well you’ve been progressing, he’d be proud. ”
Diego takes a few seconds to process what I’ve said. “He wouldn’t be proud of what I just did.”
“No, he would certainly be furious. But you know why? Because he doesn’t want to lose you and he cares about you.
You’re his best rider, and your health is what matters most. Fuck the medals and titles – your top priority now is yourself.
You won’t be able to train and compete if you accumulate injury after injury. ”
He sniffs. “What if I can’t ever compete again? If I can’t join Team USA for the Olympics? If it’s all over now?”
“Hey, no.” I cradle his jaw with my free hand, as the other one is held tightly in his grip. “Don’t go into that spiral of negativity. You will ride again. You will be another three-time gold medalist and Olympian. But not if you don’t listen to your body.”
He grunts. “Why do you have to be right?”
I chuckle at that. “I care about you – you know that?” His expression softens, his eyes going to my lips again. “And I want to see you on your board again. I want to see you happy. But you have to be honest with me and everyone around you and, mostly, yourself. All we want is for you to be okay.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand. “I’ll do my best.”
And I hear it in his tone, see it in his eyes: that he’s sincere.
I stand up and he stares at me, confused. “Are you in pain right now?”
For a small moment, he doesn’t answer, his lower lip trembling. He conceals it by swiping his hand over his mouth, then nods and, with a strained voice, says, “Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.” His tone is thickened with emotion.
He tries to look away, but I take a step between his parted legs and wrap my arms around his shoulders as gently as I can. Winding his arms around my hips and resting his forehead below my breasts, he holds me tightly, letting a tremor rush through his body.
My fingers sift through his hair that’s grown slightly since he came back, and he sighs in contentment. I massage his scalp, inwardly smiling at the thought of him finding comfort in such an idle, simple gesture. “You’ll be okay. You’re capable. You’re strong. Just let me help you.”
Diego carries the world on his shoulders, his responsibilities weigh him down, and he constantly puts everyone else above him, but he doesn’t ever let himself be taken care of. I realize that, as he clings to me like I’m his lifeline. As a sob racks his chest. As he lets me see every piece of him.
I lean down and kiss the crown of his head. “I’ve got you. Is that okay with you?”
He nods. “Yes, please.”
“Good.” His walls are entirely lowered, and I hope that he never lets them rise again when he’s around me. “I’m going to take you to the hospital. You need some x-rays. But no more lies and secrets, okay?”
Pulling away just enough to let me see his teary eyes, he sighs. “I promise.”
Thankfully, nothing is broken and there is no sign of concussion either.
While we waited for his x-ray results, I called my dad to let him know Diego wouldn’t be coming in until Monday, and that I’d be there for the afternoon shift.
It was apparent that Diego felt unsettled at the idea of letting my dad down, but when my dad texted him to let him know that he could take the time he needed to sort things out, he’d exhaled in relief.
My dad isn’t one to ask questions either.
I know he’s very fond of Diego – very protective of him for some reason unbeknownst to me.
Maybe it’s because he was close to his dad before he passed away.
Maybe it’s because of his connection to Wyatt Wilson.
He’s promised me he would simply let Coach Wilson know that Diego is sick. No questions asked, no answers needed.
Diego’s knee is swollen. So swollen that, when he saw it, he’d muttered a quiet “fuck” before tipping his head back against the wall, slamming it a couple times, and then staying silent until the doctor came back.
But, surprisingly, the tear isn’t worse than it used to be.
He’s hurt himself because he didn’t warm up, and because he needs some rest.
So, that’s what the doctor told him. He needs to rest, needs to go to his physiotherapy sessions, needs to be honest and to follow the instructions without pushing himself to his limits.
According to the doctor, he needs more time to recover – probably more than a few weeks, but anything’s possible if he puts his mind and body to it.
This little note of encouragement has lifted his spirits.
I’m currently driving him back to his house, his hand on my thigh just because he has this need to constantly touch me, and it makes my chest tighten. His thumb brushes lazy circles on my leg while he looks out the window, silent and lost in his thoughts.
When I pull up in his driveway, I ask, “Is anyone home?”
“No.” His voice is hoarse. “Mom’s at work, so is Gabs. Val is at school.”
“Okay.”
We get out of the car, and as I open the trunk to gather his bag and board, he frowns. “What are you doing?”
He reaches for the bag I’ve slung on my shoulder, but I tap his hand away. “Let yourself be taken care of,” I say firmly.
He huffs but doesn’t fight me. He’s still slightly limping as we walk to the front door and, as he unlocks it, he turns to me. “I’m not used to having someone taking care of me.”
“I know,” I respond softly. “You’ll see – it’ll feel good.”
After putting his belongings away and grabbing him some water and painkillers from the bathroom, and an ice pack wrapped in a cloth, I join Diego in his room. He’s busy undressing himself, and as much as I try not to look at his corded forearms when he unbuttons his snow pants I fail miserably.
He sits on the edge of his bed in nothing but boxer briefs while I pull the curtains closed, leaving a tiny sliver of space in order to let the morning light stream through the room.
I love that his room is still the same way it was when he last lived here – I once took a peek when I was sleeping over years ago.
I can’t even count how many times my teenage self fantasized about making out with him on this very bed.
How it’d feel to sneak in to cuddle with him.
“Do you want something to drink or eat?” I ask, forcing myself to stay in this reality.
He shakes his head, bringing the ice to his knee. “Just come here.”
Sitting by his side, I caress his bare back, his muscles relaxing under my touch. I let my fingertips dance across the toned surface as he closes his eyes. There’s light bruising on his ribs from his fall, but nothing alarming.
I still can’t fathom the panic that took over me when I found him. The relief when the doctor announced he was okay. I care a lot about him – way more than I should.
“Alara?” he whispers.
I swallow. “Yes?”
“Can we keep what just happened between us?”
He looks at me, and I nod. “Anything you want.”
“It’s just that . . . I don’t want my mom and sisters to worry.
” He pauses, and I can feel that he wants to share something else.
Leaning forward and placing his elbows on his thighs, he pushes his hair back and sighs.
“You probably don’t know this, but I’ve been taking care of them since my dad passed away.
My income as a snowboarder is what predominantly supports my family.
I’ve been paying for Gaby’s tuition, and I also make sure to put some money aside for Val, for when she goes to college as well.
I don’t want Mom to stress about the bills.
Last week, I learned that she’s been struggling with money and hasn’t been able to pay bills in time, and the fact I wasn’t even aware of it— I’ve been trying to make life for her as easy as possible, but I’m failing her, Alara.
I’m failing my sisters. I’m failing my dad. I’m failing at everything.”
It makes everything clearer now. Why he puts so much pressure on himself. Why he’s rushing to recover and go back to training. Why he’s lying and so desperate to leave. If his career is over, it affects not just him, but everyone.
“I had no idea,” I whisper, my brows pinched together. Gaby has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, but she’s never talked about her family’s financial situation. “Is that what you’re worried about? Money? Disappointing them?”
“Both.”
“Diego.” I continue tracing circles on his skin, watching chills appear in the wake of my touch.
“I don’t think you see yourself the way I see you.
You’re a beautiful man, beyond measure. You’re caring, driven, passionate, and selfless.
The way you care for your family isn’t defined by how much money you make to get them through the month.
It’s defined by the way you show up for them, even if you think you haven’t done enough because you live in another state.
They love you so much,” – I take a shaky breath in, my fingers hovering over his back as a fleeting thought rushes through my mind, warming my chest and wrapping around my beating heart, but I don’t voice it – “and they are all so proud of you.”
He shakes his head, cupping the back of his neck with both hands, fingers threading together. “I’m not enough for them.”
“Have they expressed this sentiment? Have they told you they’re upset with you for living your dream?”
“No,” he answers quietly.
“Look at me.” His warm brown eyes are veiled by such raw sadness that my heart breaks at the sight.
“They are your biggest supporters. Gaby constantly shows me your tournament videos, and she always tells me how happy she is for you. But you are so much more than a talent on slopes. Maybe you’ve been used to that praise coming from your fans and your teammates and your coach, maybe you’ve ingrained in that pretty head of yours that all you’re good at is snowboarding.
But, trust me, you’re so much more, and you’re more than enough. ”
His features soften, and a small exhale leaves his mouth. There’s a long stretch of silence as he looks back and forth between my eyes, and I know he can see how sincere I am. Then, he shifts again to look at that spot on the carpet. “I feel like I’ve lost myself these past few years.”
“I know what you mean, but I know the old you is still there. Your sisters and mom know it too. You’re so brave for taking care of them, but you shouldn’t bear all that weight and pressure alone.
And if it’s the money that’s really stressing you out, I can help you look into collaborations with brands.
I think I’ve gotten a DM or two because of that video gone viral, so maybe that can help? ”
His shoulders slump. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“We’ll figure this out. Step by step.” I swallow. “Together, if you’re okay with that.”
He finds my gaze again. Only, this time, he straightens up and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. His featherlight caress makes my heart go into racing mode. “I’m more than okay with it. Thank you, Alara. You have no idea how much your words and everything you’ve done mean to me.”
Diego thinks he’s so jaded, so scarred, but every glimpse he gives me of his true self, every time he steps out from the shadows, renders him so beautifully unique to me.
“I’m here for you,” I murmur.
He nods. “Thank you.”
Pushing away some rogue curls from his brows, I say, “You’re not alone. Accept the help. Let me take care of you.”
A soft smile touches his lips – small, but heartfelt enough to let his dimples pop. “I’ll try.”
That’s enough for me.
“Alright, then.” I stand from the bed just as he catches my wrist. “Start by going to sleep. Get some rest. Watch your favorite movie. Eat whatever you want. Don’t worry about anyone else but you.”
After kissing my palm, he tries to stifle a yawn and crawls under his sheets, making sure to keep his knee iced. “Thank you,” he repeats in a whisper.
“It’s nothing.” Checking the time, I sigh. I wish I could stay, wish I could give him the affection he needs. “I have to go. Text me when you wake up.”
“I’ll call you,” he says sleepily. “Because I love your voice.”
At that moment, I’m grateful for the dim lighting and that his eyes are already closed, because the blush crawling its way from my neck to my cheeks is embarrassing.
“Works for me.” I lean down and kiss his forehead.
I can practically feel him melt, a smile spreading across his mouth.
“See you, superstar. Thank you for sharing those parts of yourself with me.”
“Wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to know the real me,” he mumbles, before tugging the comforter to his chin.
Once I’m out of his room and leaning against the closed door, I sigh, my chest still aching from witnessing him so dismayed. So open. So vulnerable. And as I descend the staircase, wishing he would’ve kissed me, wishing he would’ve asked me to stay, I realize how much trouble I’m in.
But it doesn’t matter, because, for the next couple of weeks, Diego Ramirez is mine, and I intend to give him what he deserves – the world.