Chapter 3

Rico Silva watched as giant sprinklers dropped down from the absurdly high ceiling and rained water on the mud pit, where bikini-clad women wrestled with a bunch of his mates. There was nothing quite like a bachelor party to strike terror in any sane—or sober—person’s heart for the future of humankind. Across the room at the giant bar, Josh—wearing horns of some sort—watched a woman—wearing the most minimalist of sequined pasties and thongs—take a shot from between his knees. Needless to say, Josh was in his underwear, which made how much he was enjoying this evident to all present.

Rico threw a look around the room to make sure no one had their cameras out. This was the Hold, Vegas’s most elite and secret club, and the lighting used a special wavelength that made taking photographs impossible. Even so, for every technology invented to protect privacy, there was a countertechnology invented to violate it. It was the world they lived in. You didn’t have to be a Premier League football player to know this, but if you were, you knew it well. Not that any of these knobs remembered their names right now, let alone the lessons they had learned. Most were young enough to still believe themselves invincible after enough whiskey recklessly mixed with every other kind of alcohol.

Del was on top of the bar and about to grab a rope dangling from the ceiling to take a Tarzan-style swing across the room. Fortunately, the season was over and they didn’t have to get back on the pitch for training for a few more weeks.

Well, not them, exactly. Rico was never getting back on the pitch. The torn iliotibial band and shattered kneecap had made sure his career was good and over. Not that he could complain. At eighteen he’d moved Sunderland from the relegation zone back up to the Premier League, kicking off the kind of career he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams. He’d won the World Cup and the Champions League, and been purchased by Manchester United for a record sum. At thirty, he’d had a run he was more than a little proud of.

The part he wasn’t proud of was how badly he was handling the pain. His knee hurt as though the screws and plates substituting for bones and tissue were made of solidified acid. As always, the pain sharpened when he thought about it.

He had read somewhere that human nerves blocked out chronic pain after a while, but the sensation of pain returned when you were reminded of it, like when you heard someone else talk about theirs. It was as though the knowledge of another person’s pain reminded the nerves of what they were trying to forget.

Rico was here to tell all skeptics that the theory was indeed accurate. He adjusted his leg on the booth couch. The body-armor-style brace itched like the depths of hell and he couldn’t wait to get it off in a few days.

“What’s got you all grumpy?” Zia, his best mate and the groom—which made him the man of the hour—slid into the booth Rico was hogging all to himself. Not that the other guys had any interest in leaving the dance floor, or the mud pit, or the bar with the Tarzan vines hanging over it.

“Nothing. Just jealous that I can’t join the guys in making such perfect arses of themselves.” Much as Rico detested the brace, he was grateful for it today. He was in no mood to get out there and prove how much of a party animal he was. Not that he wasn’t perfectly adept at that. As a Carioca born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, knowing how to have a good time—while preserving his dignity—was in his blood.

Zee knew he was joking, but he still looked at Rico in that way good friends looked at you when you were off your game: one part concern, the other part impatient hope that your affliction would pass fast. Zee looked ready to bodily shake off this ridiculous blue mood that had been clinging to Rico recently.

“Thanks for being here.” He thumped Rico’s shoulder and threw a wince at his leg, which was more than the rest of them dared to do. Their other teammates avoided the topic of the surgeries and the sight of Rico’s knee as though torn connective tissue that ended your career were contagious.

Rico shrugged. A brace and crutches wouldn’t keep him from his best mate’s bachelor party. For a few moments, the two of them took in their teammates acting like this was their very last opportunity to hold on to the stupidity of their youth.

“Tell me again why you let Del plan this?” Zee asked. “Wasn’t it your bloody job as my best mate?”

“I was in the hospital, remember? And Del and Josh thought it was the perfect excuse to take over. I don’t think any of the guys were stoked about catching Hamilton in New York to celebrate you losing your bachelorhood.”

Zee laughed. “That actually sounds fecking brilliant. Except Tanya would kill me if I went without her, even though she’s seen it four times.”

As always, that fuzzy I just took a hit of something potent look crossed Zia’s eyes when he talked about Tanya. It was well deserved, of course. Tanya was possibly the best woman Rico had ever met. Steady and badass and madly warm and nurturing.

“How the hell did I get so lucky?” Zee said.

“I don’t know, mate. How did you?”

“I guess we caught each other young and watched each other grow, eh? Luckiest break of my life.” Tanya and Zee had been college sweethearts.

“By that definition, it’s pretty much too late for the rest of us.” Rico took a sip of his club soda, wishing for something stronger, but his meds didn’t mix with alcohol.

For all his reputation for being a rule breaker on the pitch, Rico was, in fact, never stupid about which rules he broke. His father hadn’t had a chance to teach him much, but the one thing he had taught Rico was that you couldn’t win if you got thrown out for committing fouls. Staying in the game was a requirement for winning.

“Does that mean there’s no chance of you and Myra getting back together, then?” Zee asked, running his hand through his blond-highlighted hair, his very obvious worry tell.

“That would be hard given that she just got engaged to her new boyfriend. Apparently, he wasn’t emotionally unavailable.” To her credit, Myra had tried not to break up with Rico before the spate of surgeries started almost a year ago. But he hadn’t wanted her nursing him through sickness if she was done with him in health.

Zee gave him the kind of look only a happily-in-love person could give a single friend, especially one they believed had no idea what being in love felt like.

“So, on to the next relationship, then?” Zee said, meeting Rico’s gaze over his almost-empty glass. “Frederico Webster Silva and his string of lovely women, each one of whom has gone on to make someone else a lovely wife.”

“You sound like you’re trying to say something, mate. Blokes like you who have it all always have something to say about things you know nothing about.” Rico held up his club soda and clinked glasses with his friend.

“Hey, all I know is that you’re my best mate and you have no interest in playing the field. You’re an excellent boyfriend—my old woman’s words, not mine. I don’t understand what it is you’re waiting for.”

“I’m waiting for someone like Tanya who keeps the ball and chain tight without letting it chafe.”

Zee let out the deepest sigh any human should be allowed to sigh. Seriously, if all those rabid female fans saw him moon over Tanya, there would be a serious threat to the poor woman’s life.

“I do love my ball and chain.” Zee punched his phone screen and a sleepy “Baby? You all right?” came across the phone.

“Never all right without you, love. My mates are knobs. I want to be home, baby. Home with you, not here with these hairy, stinky bastards.” Then he dropped his voice. “All I want is to be buried deep inside you right now.”

Rico turned away and started scrolling through his phone, blocking out the lovestruck whispering.

“You can stop pretending to check your phone now, I’m done being a sop,” Zee said when he was done, and Rico had to smile.

“It’s okay. But only because Tanya deserves a sop like you,” he said less lightly than he’d intended.

Zee didn’t notice, lost as he was in his groom raptures. The general belief was that only brides went into a wedding haze, but men were worse. Where brides tended to get lost in the wedding details, Rico had noticed that men tended to get hit on the head by the idea of getting to hold on to the woman who made them come apart.

“I’m telling you, man. I want this for everyone. This single-minded need for a woman. No other shit in life comes close to this. You know what I mean?”

I know exactly what you mean.

It was a thought Rico hadn’t had in years. He didn’t allow himself to have it, ever.

Zee was wrong in thinking that no other shit came close. Rico had spent the last decade proving that a lot of shit came close.

It’s just that none of it came close enough.

Rico shifted in his seat. The immobility from his propped leg made him restless in a way he couldn’t explain. Restless in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time.

He reached for Zee’s drink. Not drinking had to be messing with his brain.

Zee, being Zee, moved the glass out of his reach. Not that Rico would have actually broken doctor’s orders and taken a sip, but it was good to have someone to nudge you back into place when you slipped.

“Bloody hell, I’m being an arse,” Zee said. “Here you are with Myra marrying someone else, and I won’t stop going on about things. Talk to her. She was really into you. It’s not like there was closure. You’re still friends. Maybe it’s not too late.”

Rico had to laugh at that. “This isn’t one of your Bollywood films. I’m not going to ride into her wedding on a horse and whisk her away. As a matter of fact, there was closure. That’s why we’re still friends.”

“You’re really not broken up about her marrying someone else, are you?” Zee looked abjectly disappointed, but Rico wasn’t sure if it was at not getting to witness the drama of a filmy reconciliation or at Rico’s inability to feel deeply enough.

“Myra’s exactly where she wants to be. And I want her to be happy.”

This was true. But Zee’s other assumption wasn’t. Rico would never admit it to Zee, or to anyone else, but Rico did, in fact, know exactly what Zee meant about single-minded need. Or he had once. Maybe pain receptors weren’t the only things that worked like jealous mirrors. Maybe pain wasn’t the only thing your brain refocused on when it was reminded of it.

Zee and Tanya had always dug up memories of something. Someone, rather. Someone who deserved neither the comparison nor the single-minded devotion Rico had felt.

Unfortunately, he’d been too young to choose how he reacted to her, and by the time she had proven herself unworthy of those feelings, it had been too late. Now here he was, relationship after relationship, unable to be that Rico again. The one who had no idea how to be emotionally unavailable.

She had taken that away from him. The reckless freedom of being emotionally available.

After all these years of doing all he could to wipe away his memories of her, the realization hit him like a body blow.

All he had succeeded in doing was building scabs, and blocking himself off emotionally. He was running around in a hamster wheel of his own making.

Closure.

The word ricocheted in his head, setting off a raging longing for relief.

He touched his knee, where throbbing pain wrapped tight on the outside even as it pushed from the inside, the brace holding everything in place until he was healed and ready to go on as normal. Maybe it was time to cut open another wound and sew that torn muscle together too. Regain the use of other parts he had lost.

Zee chugged what was left of his drink. His gaze bounced from the empty glass to Rico.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. Go on. I’m fine,” Rico said.

His friend studied him for another second, then opened and closed his mouth a few times. There was nothing he could say that Rico wanted to hear right now. Zee was smart enough to know this. He thumped Rico’s shoulder and headed to the bar.

The guys rushed at Zee and lifted him up above their heads, carrying him to the dance floor, where EDM boomed against the walls and broke into strobes of fluorescent light. They could have done this anywhere in the world. The wedding was in London, where Zee and Tee were from. But they had chosen to come to Vegas for the bachelor party.

Nevada was right next to California.

That could be a coincidence, but what was it they said about coincidences? That there weren’t any.

Rico leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The psychedelic lights continued to flash behind his lids. The pain on Myra’s face as she told him she was done with him danced there with the lights.

I know you try, but it’s not enough. I’m sorry.Her eyes had brimmed with tears and accusation.

Rico’s own lack of sadness at those words had felt like a hole inside him. Then there had been the relief. The worst part was that Myra had seen the relief and it had multiplied the accusatory hurt in her eyes.

What you feel for me is fondness, not love. Love hurts. I can’t hurt you, no matter what I do.

She had been right. He liked being with her, but losing her hadn’t shattered him. He hadn’t asked her why it was important for her to be able to hurt him. Truth was, nothing had hurt him in a very long time other than winning and losing matches.

Sitting up, he pulled out his phone. Before he could think it through, he texted Myra. Did I say Congratulations?

Maybe he should’ve cared what her fiancé thought about Rico texting her in the middle of the night, but Myra wasn’t a bone to fight over and Rico certainly didn’t give a shit about a man if he didn’t trust the person he was with. Myra had insisted they stay friends. He was friends with all his exes. The friendship had always been the best part of the relationships anyway. As was proven by the fact that he was godfather to Ryka’s baby girl, a commitment he took very seriously and an honor he was grateful for.

There was only one ex he hadn’t stayed friends with.

Myra’s response buzzed in immediately. Several times. Aren’t you in America? Isn’t it three in the morning there?

Zee’s bachelor party’s just getting started.

She sent him a smiley face followed by a few dancing-lady emojis, beer mugs, and, inexplicably enough, monkeys.

Are you happy?he wanted to ask her. With this new guy?

Because he wanted happiness for her.

We set a date, she texted, before he embarrassed himself by asking that question. September 30th in Tuscany. You have to be there.

Of course. I’m happy for you.

I know.

Dots danced on the screen as Myra typed more, then erased what she’d typed. For a long time he stared at the phone as dots appeared and disappeared but no new text came in.

Zee shouted Rico’s name from the dance floor and the guys raised their glasses to Rico across the room.

The room in Nevada.

Right next to California. Where Rico had been the unhappiest he’d ever been in his life. But also where he had still known how to be happy.

His best mate gyrated around the dance floor. Zee’s Punjabi Indian half always showed up in his dancing. He turned everything into a bhangra, shoulders popping, feet thumping. The wild beat of the dance captured Zee’s joy perfectly. He knew how to be himself without shutting any part of himself down. He knew how to be with someone he loved without holding himself back. He hadn’t lost that ability.

The skin under Rico’s brace itched. They couldn’t get the darned thing off him soon enough.

He imagined the freedom of having his body back. Of being able to run and bend and move. For all the pain and discomfort, the surgery was going to give him that.

He raised his glass to his wildly dancing teammates. Maybe it was time to stop wishing for things to happen magically and do the work to fix what was keeping him from what he wanted. A family, love, the ability to feel. Maybe it was time to finally leave Ashna Raje behind.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***