“I think so?” I say, feeling so helpless.
“Oh, yes I see Ruby’s name down as her guest. I’m sorry but it appears they checked out this morning.”
My breath stills, throat closing up.
“What?” I manage to eke out.
“They’ve checked out,” she says matter-of-factly.
“What…what time?”
“Seven thirty,” she says. “Quite early.”
“But…” I trail off. Silence.
My mind spins.
This can’t be right.
“Sir?”
“Sorry.” I try to breathe. “Do you know where they went or if they said anything?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any notes here. Is there something else I can help you with?”
I can’t even respond. I hang up the phone and it slides out of my hand, clattering onto the laptop.
What the fuck?
She left?
She just left without saying goodbye?
“What the fuck?!” I yell, my voice booming across the apartment, my hands making fists in my hair. “What the fuck?”
Who does that?
I mean, Ruby. Ruby does that but I never in a million years thought she would do that to me.
I can’t even think. I’m so fucking livid and hurt and FUCK.
I start pacing, trying to come to terms with what’s happening, not understanding any of it.
Ruby is gone. She and her friend left this morning. Early. So early. She hasn’t texted, hasn’t emailed, hasn’t called. She left the game early.
What the fuck happened?
You fucked up. You did this. You brought this on yourself.
I don’t want to listen to that voice, I want to blame it on something else, someone else.
But I know that voice is right.
Because I did fuck up, didn’t I?
I moved too fast with her and scared her off and now she’s going back to fucking Finland and leaving me behind.
But why didn’t she tell me? Why not at least say goodbye?
Why leave me in this hell?
In a flurry of rage, I pick up my laptop from the table and launch it across the room. It smashes against the wall, bits of it flying off, and then they scatter on the floor.
“FUCK!” I roar, wanting to rip my fucking arms off.
Why did I have to fall in love with her?
Why did I let my motherfucking guard down and let her in?
I knew this was going to be doomed from the start, I knew it, and I ignored it because I believed it would be different this time, that we would find a way.
But there was no way, not with her.
I was just her latest impulsive thing.
I was that cliff she went to the edge with, just to see what it would feel like if she fell.
She turned around so fast.
She had no intentions of ever going over.
But what if you’re wrong?
What if what you had was real?
I decide to call back the hotel. Maybe I can get them to give me Elena’s phone number. I can be pretty convincing. Maybe if I tell them who I am, and cross my fingers that they aren’t Benfica fans…
I call back.
The same woman at the front desk answers.
“Oh it’s you,” she says brightly.
“Yes, sorry, I was wondering—”
“You hung up before I had a chance to tell you,” she interrupts. “There was a message for you,”
“What?”
“Or it’s for someone, anyway. Are you Luciano?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling hope slide through me.
“It’s from Ruby. She gave it to my colleague. It’s written on the stationary, so I missed it.” She pauses. “Do you want to hear it?”
I did before. But from the way the tone of her voice just changed, I’m now scared to death, gripping my phone like I’ll break it in two. “Y-yes.”
“It says, ‘Luciano, I’m sorry. I had to go. I can’t explain what happened, but I hope you know that I’ll never forget you’.” The woman pauses. “That was it. I’m sorry it doesn’t sound like the kind of note you were hoping for.”
Silence fills the line.
I’m close to breaking.
“Thank you,” I manage to say, and then hang up the phone.
I fall back against the fridge, slowly sliding down it until I’m on the ground, curling into a ball, my muscles screaming from the strain of last night’s game, my heart screaming from pain.
It’s over.
It’s over before it even began.
Again.
Sorrow seeps into every vein, snaking through me like poison, bringing my soul to its fucking knees.
I opened up my ribs for her.
Let her crawl into my chest, let her stay.
All the while knowing she was going to crawl right back out.
Dragging my heart behind her.
Part Three
Madrid, Spain Seven Years Later
“While the sun is bright
Or in the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and goes”
- “Ruby Tuesday” The Rolling Stones
Eighteen
Luciano
“Luciano, are you ready?” Mateo Casalles asks me.
I glance over my shoulder at my coach, adjusting the giant silver cup in my hands. “Always am.”
“If you drop that,” our forward, Alejo Albarado, shouts over Mateo’s shoulder, “you’ll bring great shame to this country!”
“Good thing I’m from Portugal,” I tell him with a grin. I turn back around, giving the flight attendant a quick smile as she finishes opening the door of Real Madrid’s custom airplane, bright sunshine and fresh air spilling into the cabin. I take in a deep breath, then step out onto the gangway that’s been pulled up to the door.
Barajas Airport is absolutely packed. Not just with the usual airplanes, but the media has crowded around the plane, cameras and microphones as far as the eye can see. They all erupt into a cheer when I start walking down the steps, the cup in my hands. I wave and smile at the cameras, which isn’t an easy thing to do when you’re carrying a monstrous trophy and you’re trying not to take a tumble down the narrow stairs.
The squad and coaching staff follow behind me, the crowd going wild, a cheer of “Hala Madrid!” going up. I glance at the crowd again, taking in this moment, one of many that we’re about to have today.
Two nights ago, we were in Istanbul for the final game of the UEFA Champions League, playing against Juventus for the cup. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we had a chance. We fought like dogs
