CHAPTER TWELVE DIEGO
CHAPTER TWELVE
DIEGO
A high-pitched scream jolts me awake.
Is someone dying? Being kidnapped? Stubbed their toe against their bed frame?
With my heart ready to lodge in my throat, I scramble out of bed, but my feet get tangled in my comforter. Attempting to rush toward my door and unable to extricate myself from those knots, I faceplant on the floor and groan.
It’s way too early for this shit.
I was having such a nice dream. Did it involve Alara? Fuck, yes. Was my brain reminiscing about our sensational kiss? You bet. Were my hands exploring her body? Well, I guess we’ll never know, because of whoever decided it was a good idea to yell on a Saturday morning.
Storming out of my room, I rub the fatigue out of my eyes and pound on the bathroom door, from where Valentina is shrieking like a fucking banshee.
“Val,” I grumble, dropping my forehead on the wood. “Is there a spider?”
“Worse,” she replies, with dramatic suspense.
“A snake?”
“Be for real,” Gaby mumbles from behind me. I turn around to find her standing in the doorway to her bedroom, her pastel pink robe tied around her waist and her hair completely disheveled.
“Valentinaaa.” I knock again. I’m not in the mood to have my patience tested today. “Mierda. ?Qué chingados pasa? You did not wake everyone in this house surely just to piss us off.”
The door abruptly opens and Valentina rushes past me with a towel wrapped around her body and another one in her hair. The expression she wears tells me she’s angry for some reason. “There’s no hot water. Happens at the beginning of every month and I’m so tired of this.”
Slamming the door to her room, Valentina disappears and leaves me in a haze of confusion. I raise my brows, cross my arms over my chest, and wait for Gaby to explain.
“What did she mean by ‘it happens every month?’”
Gaby yawns, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Mama has probably forgotten to pay the bills. It’s been like that for a while, but I’m sure she’ll have it fixed by Monday.”
I frown. That doesn’t make sense. With the money I monthly transfer, they should be able to get through the month without a shadow of struggle.
I even give them enough to put some savings aside.
Unless . . . Has Mom been lying to me about how much she truly needs from me? “Wait, what? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re already doing too much for us, D.” She turns to go back into her room. “We don’t want you to worry about the bills or the water or whatever needs fixing here. It’s not a big deal.”
It’s not a big deal? As if I don’t feel contrite enough as it is. My family has been relying on me for years, and I had no clue they’ve been struggling financially. What the hell have I been doing wrong?
I am such an egotistical piece of shit. My focus has been solely on competing and becoming the best, and I’ve completely neglected my family.
Gaby is already closing the door by the time I process the information. She peeks her head out and smiles widely. “Happy birthday, big bro.”
Yeah. Happy fucking birthday to me.
I head back to my room, still tired and in dire need of rest. Slumping onto the mattress and allowing myself a few minutes of calm before I have to worry about my family, I reach over to the nightstand and unplug my phone from its charger.
There’s a series of notifications lighting up my screen, but there’s only one text message that I open.
A picture of Alara lying on her couch with Tabby curled in her neck fills my screen. She looks fucking perfect. Hazel, sleepy eyes brightened by the morning light streaming through the window. Lazy smile and a dimple on her right cheek. Silky brown hair I want to wrap my fist around.
Pretty girl: Happy 26th, superstar. Have the best day. Don’t get yourself in trouble :)
A broad smile blooms on my face as I shift to lie on my back. I stare at her picture again, just because she’s completely mesmerizing and I’ve never seen someone quite as pretty as her. Saving it to my gallery, I reply.
Me: Thank you, beautiful. And me? Getting in trouble? Not my style.
What are you up to today?
She doesn’t instantly reply, and while I wait, I feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. I toss my phone to the side, giving myself permission to go back to sleep. Because I’m allowed to be selfish today.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face, the memory of Alara’s lips on mine sending me into a deep slumber where sweet, sweet dreams erase all my worries.
Mom is busy unloading the groceries when I walk into the kitchen a few hours later. I’m assuming she went to her yoga class this morning, which would explain why she didn’t hear Valentina’s mad scream.
The moment she sees me, she throws the packet of pasta she was about to put away to the floor, and cradles my cheeks in her small, cold hands. “Feliz cumpleanos, Diego.”
Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I pull her in, and she melts into my embrace like she needed it. “Gracias, Mamá. Te quiero. ?Pero, podemos hablar de algo?”
Her eyes widen when she looks up at me. “Oh, no, mijo. I do not like this tone.”
She knows I’m going to bring up the bills, and the fact that I wasn’t even aware of any of that makes molten guilt pool in my stomach.
I’m supposed to have my family’s back. I’m supposed to take care of them, yet here I am discovering they have to take cold showers once a month because Mom can’t cover the bills in time.
The realization blows up in my face like a gust of wind. If I’m cut off from the team or unable to compete again, my sponsorship deals will fall through. It means I won’t be able to provide for my family. Before I can let panic seize at my chest, I inhale calmness. I can fix this. I will fix this.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks sheepishly, continuing to put the groceries away. I think it’s cute that her accent is more prominent whenever she’s troubled.
Thinking of a way to broach the subject without upsetting her, I lean the small of my back against the counter, but a plate filled with cookies catches my attention. “Did you make these?”
Mom peers back over her shoulder, following my line of sight, a little smile blooming on her face. “They’re from Alara. She just dropped them off.”
The simple mention of her name makes my heartbeat speed up. “She’s here?”
“She came to pick up Gaby. They left to go Christmas shopping.”
Fuck. I would have liked to see her, maybe pull her into my room just to taste her lips again.
Our magical moment had been cut short last night. After the man pointed to my ruined jeans, Jordan and Gaby found us, and we spent the rest of the night sneaking glances at each other and fighting our blushes.
This girl makes me act like I’m a goddamn teenager again.
I don’t know what I want, but I do know that I want something with her.
It could be a fling – hot, fun, intense – which wouldn’t lead to either of us getting attached.
We both know I’m leaving soon, but I’d regret not seizing the opportunity of having a good time with this beautiful woman if I continue to draw a line between us.
Alara makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Makes me forget about all the burdens that lie heavy on me. Makes me smile, for fuck’s sake.
I’ll have to talk to her. Soon. Time is already ticking.
“. . . like her?”
I blink, suddenly realizing I’ve been staring into space and that Mom is talking to me. “Sorry?”
“Never mind.” She shakes her head and closes the fridge. “What did you want to talk about?”
As I take a seat at the table, I reach for a cookie. The specific taste of dark chocolate and pistachios blends on my tongue, a burst of flavors that makes me see stars. I slump in the chair, tilt my face to the ceiling, and groan with contentment.
“Fuck, yes. How did she even know these are my favorite cookies?”
Mom shrugs and sits down across from me. “You used to eat those every day after school during your senior year. Alara would usually steal one when she tutored Gaby.”
“She remembers that from all those years ago?” My brows shoot up in surprise.
“It appears so.”
The fact that she took the time to bake these for me this morning does something unfathomable to my stupid heart.
She thought of me, and it’s such a simple act and yet it makes my pulse quicken.
But when I think of her potentially doing this for another man, vines wrap themselves around my lungs, squeezing and tightening enough to make my breath stutter.
Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I getting jealous over a nonexistent man she isn’t even involved with?
Depositing the half-eaten baked good on a napkin, I dust off my fingers. “Mamá, are you having trouble with money?”
Her silence, however brief, is all the confirmation I need. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve paid a few bills a day or so late, but it’s really nothing alarming.”
I shake my head, not wanting to argue with her today.
I’ve been taking care of my mom and sisters for years, and I’m not going to suddenly stop today of all days.
I genuinely thought the money I transfer monthly was more than enough, but it appears it’s not.
“How much more do you need to make it through the rest of the month? An extra five grand?”
“Diego—”
“Mamá, por favor. Don’t fight me. I don’t like that you kept this from me, so let me help. You should have told me you couldn’t cover everything in time.”
“You already have enough going on with your recovery and—”