“It was about as hard as you can imagine.”
She nods, her gaze momentarily going across the stadium and I can see the glow of the low sun in her eyes. “I was eight when my mother was arrested. One day she was at home and the next day she wasn’t. It’s not the same and I’m not trying to one-up you. I just know what it’s like, that’s all. Sometimes you think it would be easier if they were dead instead of still out there, living away from you.”
It’s impossible to keep my eyes off of her. When she’s not looking at me, I find it easier to take her in, like I’m watching some rare creature through a blind, a creature that I understand. Because I do understand. After my father left my mother for another woman and jetted off to Brazil to start a new life, with little to no contact with me, I sometimes thought it would be easier if he had died, then at least it wouldn’t be rejection, then at least it would be some closure.
Of course, I never dared voice that to anyone before.
And yet here is this Ruby, a stranger to me, so plainly speaking the things I don’t dare say.
“Anyway,” she says, flashing me another breathtaking smile. “I promise you I’m not a downer. Just wanted you to know that you can trust me, that’s all.” She glances down at her phone for a second. “So then how old were you when your mother remarried?”
I raise a brow. “You really are getting into the dirt, aren’t you?”
“The best interviews are the ones that showcase someone’s humanity, who they are, not what they do. I’ve read a lot of interviews about you. They all talk about the same things…your injury, your future. I want to know who Luciano Ribeiro is, the heart of you. You just have to trust me that I know what to do with it. I’ll protect you.”
There’s a strange worldliness about her, and yet she’s so young. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” she says. “Six years younger than you. And before you ask your next question, my blog is called Ruby’s Replay.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that but that’s a good name.”
“Thanks,” she says enthusiastically. “Now, where was I?”
“You said you’d protect me.”
“I’m not a vulture, is what I’m trying to say.”
No. You’re definitely not.
“Okay. I trust you. Ask away.”
She sucks in her bottom lip for a long, heady moment. I swallow. The air around me has gotten hotter suddenly.
“So, how old were you when your mother remarried?” she asks, launching into it.
I have to give her credit, she’s good at what she does, making me want to answer the personal shit.
“I was five. My mother and Tomás, my stepfather, got together very fast.”
I try not to sound bitter about that. It’s hard to blame my mother for wanting to move on when my dad left, I just wish…well, no point wishing at this point.
“Tomás Ribeiro,” she says knowingly. “I heard that he saw your mother standing at his stables one day and instantly fell in love. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No,” I say slowly.
“Because you’ve never fallen in love at first sight.”
“Is this your segue into my love life?”
“I don’t do segues,” she says with a laugh. “I jump right in. And anyway, everyone who says they don’t believe in love at first sight has never had it happen to them.”
“Well, do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Nope. But it’s never happened to me. Maybe one day I’ll believe.”
“Guess it won’t be with me,” I tell her, flashing her a warm smile.
“Too bad,” she says, making her lower lip pout in a mocking gesture.
Christ, I wish she wouldn’t do that. She has no idea how hot she is, does she?
Or maybe she does.
“So,” she says, looking away. “At the time, Tomás was just thirty and running his own father’s stables. Breeding and training Lusitanos, right?”
“That’s right. I’m surprised you know what a Lusitano is. Everyone always gets them confused with Andalusians.”
“I know horses,” she says, then looks somewhat uncomfortable for a moment. She taps her fingers rapidly against her knee. “Then your mother gets pregnant and they get married and then, bam, they have your brother, Marco. And then when you were six, they shuttled you off to boarding school to play football. I just can’t believe that. Six. How did you handle it, being so young?”
I paste a smile on my face, the one I put on when I need to bury the truth.
“I handled it just fine,” I tell her.
She tilts her head, her eyes running over my face, searching.
I know she doesn’t believe me.
How can any six-year old handle being sent away, while their baby half-brother is doted on and allowed to stay? I was basically abandoned. Marco came into the world and Tomás decided I was extra work and off I went. This sport became my family. I had nothing else.
But I keep those truths locked inside.
“Okay,” she says carefully. “Your father, Tomás—”
“Stepfather.”
“Your stepfather is still a very prominent man with Ribeiro Stables. And Marco, he’s now your agent. Seems like everyone in your family is successful.”
I nod. They are successful and prominent and exactly why I’m not about to slander them to her, or to anyone. I have a lot of baggage I carry with me, baggage no one else knows I still deal with, but it’s mine alone to tackle. I won’t let my pathetic childhood steal the spotlight from this interview, because that’s what it will do. It’s why I get so annoyed when journalists try to dig deep, because they know there is so much to work with, so many soundbites I refuse to give.
Even though Ruby here seems different, she’s still the press. A small sports blog might not seem like much, until they get the interview that no one else can.
Suddenly I’m aware that this may have been Ruby’s angle all along. Pretend to be
