Chapter 17
Iris
I find out from Hades.
Not from Paula, which is how it should have been.
I would've taken a text message. I'm not even asking for a conversation between two adult women anymore, even if it came with screaming and tears.
I find out from my coach in her office, ten in the morning on a Tuesday, two days after the game, two days after I walked out and left Paula sitting on the bench of an empty stadium.
“The contract is over. Delgado submitted her resignation to the security firm.”
She says it just like that. No preamble. Hades doesn't soften things. Hades gives you the information and watches while you process it. Sometimes she yells, but she's scarier when she goes quiet.
“What did you say?”
“She spoke with Alex this morning, and the firm confirmed it later. The original threat no longer exists. We had a contract with them through the end of this month, but apparently Paula resigned over a serious error or something along those lines,” she explains.
I sit there not knowing what to say, staring for some reason at my coach's pen, which is perfectly parallel to the edge of the desk. Hades always lines up anything straight with the edge of the desk.
“Iris, are you listening?” she presses.
“She said she made a serious error?”
“Her boss's exact words, though honestly, we're not sure what he meant and Alex didn't push. Iris, are you okay?”
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. I just stand up and walk out the door without understanding any of what just happened.
***
The police search Derek Linden's apartment while he's at the station. Trent shows me the report, since Paula has decided to vanish from my life.
Six hundred and fifty square feet in Ballard. An entire wall covered in photos. All of me. Press clippings. Screenshots from my social media. Handwritten schedules.
And a note pinned with a red thumbtack in the upper right corner of the wall, written in red marker: “When the bodyguard leaves, I'll be here. I will always be here.”
Six hundred and twelve photos in total. Fourteen months of stalking. A whole wall. A man who knew my schedule better than I did.
I hand the report back and drive home on autopilot. For one tiny second, I think I'll hear her voice. But the apartment is empty.
***
That night I don't turn on the TV.
I sit on the bed where we slept together and stare at the wall. The silence weighs as much as an empty stadium. It weighs as much as six hundred and twelve photos and a red marker. As much as a woman who'd rather leave without a word because she thinks she put me in danger.
And it hurts. It hurts so much that I suddenly understand why I used to fill everything with noise. Because noise covers this. Chaos drowns it.
But I don't turn on the TV.
Her room is completely empty. Bed made. Sheets pulled tight. Not a single wrinkle. Everything in order. Like she never lived here. Like Paula Delgado was something I made up, some kind of fantasy in my head.
Only one thing of hers is left. In the bathroom, next to my toothbrush, she's left hers. I don't know if on purpose or by accident. I pick it up and throw it in the trash.
I fish it out of the trash two hours later.
***
The next day I go to Zoe's house and Wesley meets me at the door. He grabs my leg and looks behind me.
“Pola?” he asks, confused.
“Pola couldn't come, boss.”
"Tomowwow?"
“I don't know,” I sigh.
Wes looks at me. Two and a half, eyes huge. He decides my answer is not good enough and turns around to find a ball.
Zoe hands me a coffee. Doesn't ask. She knows. That's what I love about this team. Almost all of my teammates just know what I need at any given moment. She doesn't say a word, just sits beside me with a look that says if you need anything, anything at all, I'm here.
Wesley comes back with his green ball and a crumpled drawing. He gives it to me.
It's the dragon Pola. Four legs. Fire coming out of its mouth. And next to the dragon, two stick figures. One tall with long black hair. Another with yellow hair and something that looks like a ponytail. They're holding hands.
“Iwis and Pola,” he explains, pointing with his tiny finger.
“Thanks, boss,” I whisper, and turn my face so he won't see me cry.
***
The days pass. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.
I show up to every practice on time. I score in the scrimmages. I train well. Hades says nothing, and I guess that means there's nothing to say. Tina catches my eye in the locker room. Lucía passes me the coconut shampoo without being asked. Jamie punches my shoulder.
Nobody asks about Paula. Nobody says her name. She's disappeared from all of our lives like a magic trick. A collective silence, an unspoken agreement that I'm grateful for and that tears me apart at the same time.
Some nights I sleep on the couch. No television. No podcast. Nothing. Just because it hurts less than sleeping in a bed without her. It'll pass. If anyone asks, I say I'm fine. But I feel completely hollow.
I guess the silence is where the truth lives, and the truth is I'm in love with a woman who left.
It's ironic. The universe has a garbage sense of humor.
I used to be the one who hurt people, the one who broke hearts, the one who never let anyone get close.
Now it's my turn. Karma is a bitch, because there isn't enough noise or chaos in this world to cover how much this is going to hurt.
My eyes sting when I think of her, but I don't cry. Iris Vance doesn't cry. Iris Vance sits on a couch in the dark and watches the rain fall through the window.
I don't sleep either. My head fills with memories of a woman who has a mole below her collarbone that I once claimed as my territory.