Chapter 19
nineteen
Delilah grinds to a halt in front of me two days later, so fast, I slam into her back. Matteo’s arm stops her from falling, and in turn, prevents my own tumbling over her onto the rectangular stones of Plaza Mayor.
Like she doesn’t even realize she nearly fell, she cries, “Guys! Look!” The chatter of our massive party quiets.
Taking a step back, I crane my neck to see the store she’s gesturing at. A lit-up circular sign ensconced between hanging greenery reads Madrid Duck Store and features a giant rubber duck in the center.
“Can we go?” she asks Matteo quietly. Like he would deny her anything.
He’s already leading her inside the small shop, flipping his hat backward over his curly dark hair so he can nod at each one Delilah points to on the shelves lining the left wall.
Harper traipses behind them, followed closely by Sahar and Noah, though the latter appears less impressed.
It’s two days before the Madrid Open kicks off, and our final chance to spend an entire day exploring the many places Delilah and Harper chose for us from their list. We’ve seen the Royal Palace, a gothic cathedral, and visited every kitschy tourist shop one could imagine.
It’s the most I’ve done in Madrid, and though I wondered if there might be something here that speaks to my mother’s heritage, speaks to me, it’s like any beautiful city I have no ties to.
“Do you need to head out now?” Aleks asks, standing beside me as Austin follows behind our friends reticently. The rest of our party—coaches, managers, family members—keep walking to a café down the plaza.
I check the time. “I can stay for a few more minutes.”
My mother promised we’d talk about Charleston today, so I’m going to take a car to the hotel before everyone else.
Though our calls have never lasted more than ten minutes on a good day, I’m hopeful that this time might be different.
Maybe she’ll compare it to one of her wins.
Or maybe she’ll have recommendations for places to visit while I’m in her hometown.
I step inside the duck store. Birthday ducks become Star Wars ducks become doctor ducks. Everything I’ve ever imagined, and many things I’ve never imagined, have been turned into a rubber duck.
“They have a tennis player!” Delilah says, holding one up triumphantly. It has a white visor and blonde ponytail, a racket tucked in one wing and a ball in the other.
“We should get matching ones,” Harper adds, pointing to the male equivalent.
Sahar turns to me. “I don’t think we’re going to be allowed to leave here without at least one.”
As she says it, I find a white duck with black cow spots on it, a purple beak, and a yellow bell around its neck. “They might be on to something with these,” I murmur in response.
Sahar picks up a snail, scrutinizing it from all angles with a smile that grows wider over time, if not a little mischievous. “Look at this guy. Doesn’t he kind of remind you of Noah?” She holds it beside his face. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
“I see it,” Harper agrees.
“You’re behind me. There’s no way you see it,” Noah says, flipping around.
A few feet down, Austin holds a pug up to Delilah, saying something that makes her throw her head back and laugh. Matteo watches them with a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his eyes tracking her movements. That pang I’ve grown used to hits, but it’s not as sharp or deep.
Especially not when Aleks sidles up to me. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a cowgirl.”
“What would you have pegged me for?” I ask, my eyebrows raised. “And be very careful how you answer.”
Aleks’ laugh is deep, little lines pressed beside his eyes, and the sound of it breaks out my own smile.
We’ve spent the last couple of days training hard, getting dinner with Karolína and Pen, acting as though nothing has changed, then ending the night with our clothes scattered on the floor of my hotel room.
It should be awkward, uncomfortable, should feel weird that our relationship has changed so drastically, yet it’s the same as it has been since we started training together: easy and enjoyable, even when he pisses me off.
He points at one. “The hedgehog is cute. As is the unicorn.”
“And here I was thinking you’d go for the penguin.”
“It is a serious contender, I’ll admit.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. In a panic, I whip it out, but it’s just my alarm.
“Want me to come with you?” he asks.
I smile thankfully. “I’m good. You keep having fun.”
After a moment’s thought, I grab one of the tennis ducks in addition to the cow.
Though I’ve been doing things to prove that tennis isn’t all I am, it’s still what I love most in the world, more so every day.
They’ll go nicely in my poorly decorated room in our apartment, and since I rarely buy myself anything on these outings with the girls, it’ll also get its spot on the growing list on my nightstand.
I say my goodbyes with a small paper bag in hand, smiling when I hear Matteo talking Delilah down from buying ten to a more manageable eight.
The moment I walk through the door of my suite, I text my mother, turning on my ringer so I don’t miss her response or call.
I wait five minutes. Then ten. Then thirty.
I prepare what I’ll wear to train tomorrow, then tidy my room.
Another half hour passes. After sending a second message, I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at myself in the mirror until my vision goes blurry.
It’s been exactly two weeks since she sent flowers, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the note saying we’d call was fake. If it was performative, who was she performing for? Was it her way of passing off her guilt? A bouquet of flowers that cost around $100 to make up for years of this?
I shouldn’t be surprised. And yet, here I am, waiting for a call that, I’m growing certain, isn’t coming.
When my phone does go off, it’s a text from Aleks.
Aleks
I’m back if you want company.
I do not.
Aleks
I’ll leave my door open for you. 1832.
Don’t.
Nonetheless, when, an hour and a half later, I’ve still heard nothing from my mother, I end up in front of his room, noting the metal piece holding his door open.
“Idiot,” I mutter, pushing through the door and closing it properly.
His suite is similar to mine. The living area is dark, though the light from the television in his bedroom is enough to see by. His back faces me, like he’s sleeping, and I take a beat, considering going back to my room.
Before I make a decision, his arm lifts. “Get in here,” he says when I don’t immediately join him.
Sliding under the covers, I grumble, “I only came because I didn’t want you to leave your door open all night and get killed.”
“Aw, how sweet. Admit it, you care about me.” Aleks’ voice is raspy, like he was on the verge of falling asleep.
I scoff. “I do not. I’m just here to have sex with you.”
“Alright, let’s do it.”
Neither of us move, and it takes me a second to realize that the blanket I’m under isn’t the one provided by the hotel. “Where did you get this?”
Aleks turns around to face me. “I noticed the one you had in your room and thought you might like one here if you came over. I figured it’s a texture thing.”
It’s so simple, and yet it’s everything.
My heart swells so big, it might explode out of my chest and keep going, up up up like a hot air balloon.
Throat scratchy, eyes burning, I don’t shy away when he moves an inch closer.
Because though I should, though I’m allowing myself to enter sticky, messy, potentially heart-wrenching territory, being around him is a comfort in so many ways.
Like being with someone who knows you inside and out.
Who knows what you’re thinking without you having to say.
It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, and it now feels like it could be in touching distance.
“What happened?” he asks quietly, as if he’s already guessed.
“She didn’t call.”
“Did she give an excuse?”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t even worth that.”
“You’re worth so much more,” he says angrily. A moment later, he asks, “Are you going to keep trying?”
“I should, shouldn’t I? She’s my mom.”
“I…don’t really know the right answer to that.”
Sighing, I sink further into the mattress.
“Today was the first time I realized that all our calls over the years have been for her benefit and not mine. That they’re more to assuage her own guilt over being a bad mom than to check in on how I’m doing.
” I need to stop caring so much. Focus on the circle of support I already have.
“I just want to matter,” I whisper. “I’m terrified I’m going to leave behind a legacy of nothingness.
No one remembering who I am or anything I did. ”
“Short of trauma-induced amnesia, there is nothing in this world that could make me forget you. Even then, I’m not convinced it would work.
” His mouth quirks. “I wouldn’t know my own name, but I’d know the different shades of gray of your eyes.
I’d know that when the right corner of your mouth dips down, you’re about to give me hell.
I might not remember anything about my own life, but I’d know you, solnyshko. ”
I’m fucked.
I’m so fucked, because instead of making me want to run with fear, the words make me want to burrow. To hide in his chest and never leave.
But at least Aleks seems equally fucked.
Things will change. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe after clay season. I won’t make it out of this unscathed, no matter when it happens.
But I can’t bring myself to care right now. Not when Aleks is looking at me like I’m the planet around which he orbits. Not when he just told me he’d remember me through amnesia.
“Kiss me,” I beg, and that’s all it takes.
He slips a hand into my hair, gently dragging my face to his until our lips press together in a tender caress.
My hands fist the fabric of his shirt, pulling him over my body until we’re slotted together like we were made for this and this alone.
His arms rest against the mattress, holding his weight off me while he kisses a slow rhythm down my jaw, neck, and to my chest.
His fingers brush over the mati pendant on my necklace before he pushes up my T-shirt, continuing the path he’s blazing until he reaches below my navel, where an intense heat uncoils, begging to be released.
Aleks takes his time, sliding my shorts off slowly, like I’m made of porcelain and one wrong move might shatter everything.
Anything is possible at this point.
My underwear is next, at a pace so unhurried that I groan my dissatisfaction.
“Patience,” he whispers against my inner thigh.
I jolt at his warm breath, my body turning to pliable clay in his hands.
His to hold and mold. Aleks chuckles like he knows it, licking from my clit down, his tongue painting the prettiest picture.
At one point, I’m squirming so much, he has to pin me to the bed to keep me from twitching, my pleas growing louder.
Pleasure builds along my spine, his steady rhythm enough to bring me to the edge, and the moment he sinks the tip of his finger in, I’m gone. My vision goes black for a moment, my breaths irregular.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Aleks says, kissing his way back up to my mouth. After a chaste kiss against my lips, he amends his statement. “You’re so beautiful all the time. But particularly when you’re begging me to make you come.”
My eye roll is halfhearted. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers gliding through his hair. I slant my hips just right, and Aleks groans into my mouth, his kisses turning from sweet to hungry.
He rips down his sweatpants and boxer briefs, rubbing himself against where he left me wet. “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this.”
Aleks’ mouth is on mine again a moment later, our moans meeting as he slides into me easily, filling me until I have to pull away and pant, my head thrown back as my hips rise to meet him faster. His chain smacks a rhythm against my collarbone.
“You take me so fucking well, solnyshko. Fuck.”
“A—Aleks can you—”
His thumb finds my clit before I finish the thought, his mouth against the column of my throat, kissing the spot that turns my whole body to jelly.
Aleks finds a rhythm he likes, whispering against my skin.
When it turns choppy, his groan visceral, he rasps, “Can you come again? One more for me, baby.”
“I—I don’t kn—” My breath hitches as he shoves all the way in, his thumb circling me so perfectly that I arch, my eyes closing with the pleasure that rocks through me. This time, it’s slower, crashing in waves rather than zipping through me all at once.
“Fuck,” he moans again. “I’m gon—” His lips find mine, biting, his fingers digging into the flesh of my waist. He spills into me, and it’s so intimate, I can’t do anything but kiss him through it.
A few minutes later, after we’ve caught our breath, Aleks grabs a wet towel from the bathroom to clean me up. The smile on his face could rival the sun, his happiness so infectious, I find my own lips tipping up as I watch him.
“Stay?” he asks softly, his eyes midnight blue. “I’m hanging with Dima and Natasha tomorrow morning, but for tonight…?”
I should go, should stop getting used to falling asleep with his warmth beside me, but I’m sad and exhausted and tired of the aching loneliness. So I nod.
Once we’re both clean and ready for bed, I drift off with his corded arm wrapped around my stomach. As I kiss unconsciousness, he murmurs something in Russian I’m too tired to question.
In the morning, I wake to an empty bed, a box of baklava on the nightstand, a paper tucked underneath it with a sketch of me, asleep with my hair strewn across the pillow. I smile, happier than I’ve been in a long time.
But when I check my phone, the perfect illusion of my life forming in my head cracks to the sound of Anya on the Tennis Broadcast, calling me a bully.