Fair Game: A Football Romance (87 page)

His quiet, gravelly voice breaks, and my cold, angry heart lurches, but I shove that pity far away, because the pain and loss I’ve experienced at his hands can’t compare to his sudden realization.

“King, the life you thought I wanted isn’t the life
I
wanted. I love music. My dream was to be a professional musician, but dreams change. You should have told me about the danger, you should have given me some choices, you should have come back the instant the danger was gone, but instead you railroaded my life, twisting and molding it into what
you
thought it should be.”

I cover my face with my hands and rest my elbows on my knees. I’m so angry and hurt. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I just want to start making up for lost time with Juliette.

King is quiet. When I look up, he’s slumped back into the couch with one elbow on the arm holding his head, with his hand shielding his face. I see a tear fall from behind his hand and land somewhere in his lap, and I wonder how many tears he left me. They can’t compare with mine. I could have filled an ocean with my tears, maybe two. I cried every day for six months. I cried when I woke up, and then in the shower, I cried when I moved to New York, I cried in the bathroom between classes at Juilliard and on breaks during performances, and finally, every night, wherever I was in the world, I cried myself to sleep until one day, I just stopped. I can’t say I gave up hope because I never did, but something inside of me was broken.

I surrendered to my fate and became a robot. I accomplished goal after goal, but I never enjoyed the rewards. I had no one to comfort me when I moved to New York, but King had Juliette, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.

I stand to leave. I’m finished talking. There isn’t anything left to say really. I know why he did what he did, and I realize he was protecting me, but he knows the way he did it was wrong. He doesn’t move until I pass him, and he reaches out to grab my wrist.

“Don’t go.” He doesn’t even look at me when he speaks. He has no right to ask me to stay.

“I wish I had been given the chance to say those words three years ago,” I say and shake free of his grip.

“I’m sorry.” His words dissolve in the air behind me as I walk across the living room and open Juliette’s door.

Sebastián is almost finished dressing her in a grey and pink jumper with grey tights. He’s buckling her little black Mary Jane shoes. Her hair is parted perfectly down the middle and French braided down each side. I’m impressed.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

He looks up, and Juliette follows his eyes to me.

“Thank you, lots of practice.”

I wince, and he drops his eyes.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to rub it in.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t have a choice. King gets what King wants. So tell me why you refer to yourself as Grandpa Sebastián. I never took you for much of a family man.”

He stands and helps Juliette down from the edge of the bed. She runs to me and I pick her up. She snuggles against my neck, and when she pulls away, she signs something in the space between us. Her signs are so small and cute. I wish I could understand what she’s saying.

I look at Sebastián for help.

“She says she wants you to go with us to the ballet. We are going to see Cinderella this afternoon. You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

I nod yes, and a smile that would light up the darkest night spreads across her face.

“Would you like to go home and get changed and cleaned up first?” he asks.

I cock my head to the side and give him an ‘are you out of your fucking mind’ expression.

“We can go with you, Holland. I swear I’m not trying to keep you apart anymore. I never was. I told him to talk to you, but you know him, he wouldn’t listen. I’m his father, Holland. I had an affair with his mother, and we could never tell anyone he was mine. Arturo would have killed me—her too, probably. I had to stand on the sidelines and watch Arturo put his drug business ahead of him when I wanted to claim him as my own. I participated in his life as much as a security guard could without looking suspicious, so believe me when I tell you that I want you to be with your daughter.”

“You’re . . . his father?” Juliette has been swinging her eyes back and forth between Sebastián and me, trying to catch some of our conversation. She takes my face between her hands, forcing me to focus on her. When she has all of my attention, she begins to sign again.

“She wants to go to your house, she caught that much of our conversation. If you have more questions, we can talk in the car.”

“Okay.” I nod so Juliette knows we are leaving. She squirms out of my arms and bolts out of the room. She’s probably going to tell King our plans.

“Is King going to the ballet?”

“Yes, he takes her every year when they come to watch you play on her birthday.”

“They come every year?” I think he mentioned that before, but things are just now starting to sink in.

“How many of my performances does he come to?”

“Since you became concertmaster, all of them. Before that, he came to as many as he could without disrupting Juliette’s schedule.”

That’s a lot of traveling. I’ve been in almost every country at least once over the past three years, playing in concerts and auditions. I can’t believe he followed me everywhere.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but he loves you, Holland. He loves you so much, and he’s so incredibly proud of you. He never shuts up about how talented you are, and he constantly fills Juliette’s head with stories about you. He shows her photographs and videos. He wanted her to know you. He was planning on contacting you this year, but I was tired of his plan. She was growing up, and you were missing it. She needed you, and so did he, so I betrayed him, and I don’t regret it for a second.”

I pace back and forth while he talks. He’s right. I don’t want to hear that. I don’t care what he wanted or why he wanted it. His plan robbed me of three years with my daughter, and I’ll never forgive him.

“I’m glad she knows me, but I was never allowed to know her, and I can’t forgive him for that . . . ever. There were other ways. He could have talked to me. He could have kept us safe together. I didn’t need to be a fucking professional violinist. I would have chosen Juliette a million times over my career. He has a fucked up way of loving people, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that kind of love. I just want my daughter back. I want to get to know her, learn how to communicate with her, and have her in my life.”

I stop and turn to face Sebastián. His eyes are sad and defeated. He must have thought there was a chance for King and me.

He was wrong.

“I was afraid you’d feel this way.”

“Can you blame me?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him hard.

“No, I guess I don’t. You have no idea of the danger you were in, though, and I just hoped . . .” He slides his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor.

“I can’t believe you’re his real daddy.” I narrow my eyes and look closer at Sebastian’s features. King has his strong chiseled bone structure and his dark eyes. I can see the resemblance now.

“I know; it’s been so good to finally get it out in the open. It’s what got him out of the drug business.”

“He’s out of the business? How?”

“He wasn’t a Romero. His connection didn’t trust him anymore. He was of no value to the cartels anymore, so they backed off.”

“When? When did they know?”

He shuffles his feet.

“A year ago.”

“A year? He could have brought her back a year ago?”

“I’m telling you, Holland, everything he does, he does it for you or that little girl in there. You were doing so well he—”

“Sebastián, just stop. I don’t care anymore. I stopped loving him a long time ago. I almost died when he left. And then when Dax gave me hope, he swooped in and squashed that too.”

“Dax? You should thank King for getting rid of him. He wasn’t worthy to breathe the same air as you. He was a major player. He saw you as a challenge, and when he conquered you he would have left you more broken than before.”

“I couldn’t have been more broken than I already was.”

“I hear you're going to the ballet with us,” King says, entering the room with an ecstatic Juliette.

“Ah, yeah . . . I need to go home and get cleaned up first, but I’m not letting her out of my sight, King, not for a second, do you understand?” I’m standing my ground on this. I may never let this child out of my sight as long as she lives.

“Of course, absolutely. The car is waiting for us downstairs. Are you ready?”

“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

King

It’s been one month since Holland and Juliette were reunited, and I’m no closer to convincing her that everything I did was to keep her alive. We’ve been staying in Puerto Rico for two weeks, and she has all but ignored me every single second since we stepped off the plane. I’m not complaining, really. She’s building a relationship with Juliette, learning sign language, swimming with her, watching movies, playing games . . . I just wish they would include me once in a while. It’s torture living in the same house day after day, seeing her in her sexy bikini, smelling her perfume on the cushions of the couch long after she’s gone to bed, and watching her absentmindedly run her fingers through her hair when she concentrating.

How could I have been so wrong? It’s so easy to see now that this is where she belongs, raising our daughter and living under my roof. She seems to have come to life these past few weeks. She laughs often her skin glows, and I’m always catching her humming. I’ve even heard her play her violin for Juliette. She’s fascinated with the instrument. She may not be able to hear, but she loves to touch it, pluck the strings and feel the vibrations when Holland plays for her.

I find Sebastián drinking coffee on the terrace.

“Morning,” he says, lifting his cup. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Retirement agrees with you, old man.”

“Thanks.”

“Where are the girls?”

I pull out a chair and sit across from him under the perfect, warm Puerto Rican sun. He points toward the beach, where Holland and Juliette are building a sand castle. They stop occasionally to sign to one another, and my heart melts.

“I have to take them to Houston.”

Sebastián stares quietly as Juliette dumps water on Holland and Holland shrieks and sprinkles sand in Juliette’s hair.

“She’s never going to let it go, King.”

“I know.”

“Then why the trip home?”

“I have to keep trying. I love her. Now that I’ve seen how it should have been, I can’t give up on us.”

Sebastián sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He thinks it’s hopeless, but he hasn’t seen the glimmer of our old love in her eyes. He doesn’t know that sometimes she stops to watch me before she enters a room. I can feel her there. He doesn’t know her tells, but I’ll never forget the way she rubs the side of her neck or how she puts her finger on her bottom lip when she’s thinking about me.

“It couldn’t hurt to make sure things are running smoothly at Ecstasy I guess,” he says.

“We could stay a night or two in the apartment and a few at the house.”

“Why did you keep that club, anyway?”

“Sentimental reasons. I couldn’t sell the place where I met her.”

He lifts his eyebrows skeptically. “I don’t think she’s going to go for that. She’ll never let Juliette stay in a dance club, King.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. We will go to the house then.”                            

“I’ll call Candy and tell her to stay in Houston with Leo. She was planning on coming back tomorrow, but this will save her a trip. Does she know?”

“About Leo and Candy? No, I feel like she’s had enough to process lately. It can wait.”                            

“She’s going to be pissed when she finds out Candy was in on this.”

“Another reason not to say anything just yet.”

“King, Candy’s my wife now. You can’t keep avoiding her. Holland is going to find out about Candy’s involvement as soon as she talks to her.”

“Then she won’t talk to her for a while. I need time.”

He shakes his head and takes a drink of his coffee.

“Forever isn’t long enough for her to forgive you, King. I’m sorry, but I think the sooner you accept, that the better off you’ll be.”

“Never. If it takes forever, then I’ll spend forever convincing her that I love her.”

He stands to leave and rests his hand on my shoulder.

“I admire your tenacity, son, but I’m not sure what you’ve done is reversible. Some damage is permanent.”

He squeezes my shoulder and leaves me alone to watch my girls . . .
my
girls,
as in both of them. They’re mine . . . I will never give up.

***

“Why can’t we go together, Daddy?” Juliette signs.

“Because Daddy has to go tonight to get some things ready, and Mommy doesn’t like flying in our plane.” I sign back to her.

“Why doesn’t she like our plane?” she signs with her adorable brown dimpled hands.

“Mommy likes people, she likes to be with lots of people when she travels, and she likes big planes.”

It’s not true. She prefers the jet, but it’s the first thing that came to mind when she asked, so I went with it. Holland doesn’t want to fly in the jet because of me. She said she couldn’t stand to be in such a small space with me for that long because she hates me that much. She agreed to go, though, so I didn’t argue about it. I just need her in Houston, in our old house, so she will remember how it was before I destroyed her life. I wanted to go back ahead anyway to make sure the house is in order, and a few special things are waiting for her when she arrives.

Juliette’s bottom lip sticks out in a pout. She’s not used to being separated from me. Whenever I have traveled in the past, she has come with me, but Holland refuses to allow her out of her sight. She still doesn’t trust me. She sleeps in the same room as Juliette every night. She even goes so far as to lock the door when they go to bed.

Sometimes I think Sebastián is right. She’ll never forgive me if she can’t even trust me not to take Juliette from her bed in the middle of the night.

“I have a surprise for you there. I have to go first so I can get it ready,” I sign, trying to make her forget about traveling separately.

“A surprise? I want a surprise,” she signs with excitement.

“Okay, then Daddy has to go tonight, and you and Mommy will come tomorrow.”

She nods her head up and down and her eyes sparkle with anticipation. I’ve tried not to spoil her with material things like my father—or I guess I should say Arturo—did with me. I keep the gifts down to a dull roar unless it’s a birthday or Christmas, so a surprise is a big deal for her.

I kiss her on the nose and then each cheek. She hugs me tight and signs, “I love you.” I sign that I love her back, and Holland guides her into their bedroom without a word—no goodbye, no safe travels, no fuck off, dickhead, nothing. I’m not sure what else to do to win her back. I’ve sent her flowers—lame, I know. I’ve left her gifts of jewelry, trinkets, electronics, music. She returns them all to the floor outside my bedroom each night. I’ve pledged my love and loyalty. The only thing I have left in my arsenal is something I don’t want to give to her.

I kept a journal every single day we were apart. I wrote down all of Juliette’s milestones and her daily activities, from how many times she burped to what day she learned which color of the rainbow. At the end of each entry, I wrote her a love letter—not a note, but a
letter—
every day. Every feeling and experience I had for three years is written down in those books.

It’s a double-edged sword. If I give it to her, she will see how much I thought about her and that I never stopped loving her for one second, but she will also know everything she missed, everything I took from her.