Chapter 29
Carla
“Llámale, carino,” Abuela says as she places another wallpaper sample book in front of Marlowe. Call him.
I ignore her advice and shove half an ensaimada pastry into my mouth.
Marlowe bites her bottom lip. “I can’t imagine Luca doing something like that without a good reason.”
I snort. But still, don’t respond.
“You can’t avoid him forever,” Abuela murmurs, switching to English for Marlowe’s benefit.
“I’m not—” I start but at Marlowe and Abuela’s looks, both with raised eyebrows and judgey eyes, I pause.
“I’m angry with him. He had no right to go behind my back and handle a situation I didn’t want him getting involved in.
In fact, I asked him not to do anything and he agreed. He broke a promise.”
“Pfft,” Abuela sighs, flicking her wrist. “He did it to protect you.”
“I don’t need his protection,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Maybe not but don’t you want it? Isn’t it nice to know that you have a man who loves and cares about you so much that he would risk his own career, his own reputation, to do battle for you and yours?” Abuela shoots back.
Marlowe’s eyes ping-pong between us and I know she’s enjoying our exchange more than she should.
I give her a dirty look.
She smiles. “I’m taking notes for motherhood.”
Abuela chuckles and pats her hand. Then, she turns her eyes on me once more.
Her voice is solemn when she says, “Carla, Luca is a good man and has been through more loss and grief than most men his age. He made a mistake, yes. Maybe he was even wrong for interfering the way he did. But he would never knowingly hurt you, carino. What is this really about?”
“You think it’s about something else?” Marlowe whispers.
Abuela nods slightly, keeping her eyes on me.
I stuff my face with another bite of pastry and chew slowly but even when I’ve polished it off, Abuela’s and Marlowe’s eyes are trained on me.
I sigh and throw a hand in the air. “I was invited to train with a team in Alicante.”
“Squad Alicante Atléticas?” Abuela asks, well versed in all things fútbol since her entire life revolved around it. She was also born and raised in Alicante.
“Sí, yes,” I say.
Abuela beams at me. “Enhorabuena, Carlita! This is wonderful news.”
“Carla!” Marlowe shrieks, reaching out to pull me into a side hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
I nod, feeling miserable.
“Why are we not celebrating?” Marlowe asks, her eyes shifting between Abuela and me once more.
“Do you think I’m relying on Luca too much?” I ask.
“No,” they reply in unison.
“But I’ve been so wrapped up in him that I’ve been…distracted. And now, with the girls’ final game approaching and this opportunity to earn a spot on a club team and play professionally again…”
Marlowe peers at me. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Yes, carino, put the dots together for us,” Abuela demands.
“Connect the dots,” I gently correct her.
“That,” she agrees.
“I think I’ve come to rely on Luca too much. I’m making him the center of my world. I feel so…caught up in him. It’s like being off-balance half the time. I mean, I stood by his car in a parking lot in the middle of the fucking night with a 104 degree fever to see his smile,” I nearly wail.
Marlowe snorts as Abuela grins.
“That’s called…being in love,” Abuela spells it out.
“And it’s beautiful,” Marlowe gushes, her cheeks tinging pink. “It’s the best feeling. Like free-falling.”
“Until you crash and burn,” I point out.
“You’re too cynical,” she shoots back. “Enjoy it. Savor it.”
I shake my head. “The timing is all off.”
“It’s always going to be off,” Abuela offers.
Marlowe nods in agreement. “Do you think the timing was good for me to fall in love with your brother? With everything I had waiting for me in Rhode Island? With everyone I love counting on me?”
I pick at my pastry. “What if I can’t focus on the training sessions the way I should? What if I mess up my chances because I’m too busy daydreaming about Luca?”
Marlowe shakes her head. “Loads of people have successful careers and stable relationships. Look at—”
“Don’t say Alejandro. You and he are outliers, not the norm,” I protest.
Marlowe shrugs. “Being successful in your career doesn’t mean you have to be miserable in your romantic life.”
“I was never miserable,” I say, indignant.
“You were never in love before,” Marlowe points out.
“I—” I try to think of a comeback, but I’m cut off.
Abuela clucks. “No woman breaks up with a man she loves because he wears a holster for his cell phone.”
I roll my eyes, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “Chris also called guacamole green salsa.”
Abuela jerks back like I pushed her. “Well, maybe then,” she concedes.
“The point is,” Marlowe says, getting the conversation back on track, “that you can simultaneously have the big career and the big love story. I promise, it’s possible.”
Abuela nods. “You just have to be brave enough to take it, carino.”
I don’t reply and Marlowe gasps as she finds a wallpaper she likes for her baby’s nursery. Even more miraculous? Abuela likes it too.
As they resume their conversation about the nursery, my stomach twists in knots. And an ugly realization washes over me.
I’m not brave enough to take both. Not right now. In this moment, I’m scared of losing everything I worked for. And I’m terrified of losing myself, again, in the process.
Carla
We should take a break.
I stare at the words I tapped out but I don’t press send. I can’t. Breaking up with Luca via text message is worse than all the silly reasons I used to end relationships in the past.
I delete my message, suck in a breath, and call him.
“Carla,” he answers on the first ring, making me feel even worse. His voice is low, laced with exhaustion, and I work a swallow to keep my own voice even.
“Luca, hi.”
“I miss you. I’m so happy you called.”
“You won’t be after we talk,” I warn, giving him a heads-up. In this moment, I hate myself for what I’m about to do. But I also don’t see another way forward. Not with everything on the line. Not when I’m questioning my own identity.
Weeks of paparazzi interrogations, fans’ social media posts commenting on my relationship with Luca, and now this situation between Luca and Sergio have successfully pulled the rug from underneath me.
I don’t know how to move forward and achieve success on the field as well as in our relationship. One of the two is going to suffer…and I can’t allow it to be my career.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I won’t apologize for what I said to Sergio. But I am sorry the situation has hurt you, Carla. I wish it didn’t touch you at all.”
“I asked you not to get involved. And you agreed you’d let me handle it,” I point out. But my snark is gone. Right now, I’m drained.
“I know,” he agrees. “But the circumstances changed.”
“How?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, he clears his throat. “Does it matter? You’ve made up your mind either way, haven’t you?”
I close my eyes, feeling moisture leak out and trail down my cheeks. “Yes,” I agree, my voice cracking. “This is…it’s too much, Luca. Everything feels too big, too messy, and just…too fucking much.”
“You’re overwhelmed?”
“And angry. Furious, really. Terrified—”
“Of what?”
“Of losing…me.”
He sucks in a breath. “We had this conversation already. You know, I’d never—”
I cut him off before he can explain anything because I already know whatever he says will make sense.
And I don’t want to hear it right now. I just want to end this conversation, sob in my pillow, wake up, and play fútbol.
Earn a spot on a professional team and regain the equilibrium I lost. “I was invited to train with Squad Alicante Atléticas.”
“You were?” he breathes. “Of course you were.” The pride in his voice makes my tears fall faster.
Fuck. I dash my eyes with the backs of my knuckles and suck in a breath.
“I have to give it my all, DiBlanco,” my voice wavers. And he hears it.
“You haven’t called me DiBlanco in a minute.”
I hate myself for putting up walls between us.
But right now… “I need to focus on my game. On what I worked for. And I can’t have this drama spinning out of control on social media.
I can’t have people wondering if you’re fighting my battles for me.
Or if I’ve given up on my career to cheer on yours.
I need this. I need to prove it to myself and see it through, all the way. ”
“Carla…” His voice cracks on my name. “You can have both.”
“I don’t know how, Luca. I can’t…fuck, I can’t do this with you right now. I want a break.”
“A break?” His voice hardens. “What the hell does that even mean?”
I don’t know, my heart screams.
But I voice my twisted logic. “It means, I need to focus on my game. And on my team. And you should be focused on yours. That has to come first right now, our professional careers, not our relationship.”
“So, you want to end things between us? For real?”
My heart stutters in my chest and I feel like vomiting.
No, of course I don’t.
“I think that’s for the best,” I say instead.
Luca’s quiet for a long moment. My heart hammers in my temples and my stomach roils.
“Fine,” he clips out. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want,” I breathe.
“Then I wish you every success imaginable. I hope you get everything you want.” He ends the call.
I want you! The words scream in my mind, but I swallow them back on a sob.
I stare at the screen for several seconds before I toss down my phone and rush to the bathroom.
Then, I do vomit, emptying the contents of my stomach.
The back of my nose burns and my stomach feels even worse.
Leaning back against the shower door, I bend my knees and wrap my arms around them.
Dropping my face, I rest my forehead against my knees and sob.
Big, ugly tears. Until I’m too fucking exhausted to cry.
Turning off my phone, I crawl into bed and beg for sleep.
Of course, it doesn’t fucking come.
Instead, my mind spins all night long, ensuring I look like shit when I wake up in the morning and drive to the fútbol pitch to prepare the girls for their upcoming match, the final game of the season.