“I don’t think there’s much left of my career. With my age and that fucked up knee, they’ll probably release me and send me right back.”
“Remember that match in Madrid?” Simon asked suddenly, his voice quieter. “When your knee was fucked the first time, and they told you to sit the last ten minutes out? And you insisted on going back in because you couldn’t stand watching from the sidelines?” He shook his head. “You’re not someone who lets things happen to him, Owen. So don’t start now.”
So, it wasn’t just that he could name-drop my flings—but also remember the moments I shined? That felt more like the Simon I knew.
“Besides ...” Simon continued.
I waited.
“Besides, my sister wouldn’t want someone giving up everything for her. She’d feel like it wasbecauseof her.” He met my eyes. “That’s not a great foundation for any relationship if you have to give up a part of yourself. You wouldn’t want that either.”
I recalled Rio’s words and the look in her eyes when she told me this was mine to see through.
These two were more alike than they knew.
I stared at my half-empty pint. “I love her, Simon.” As I said this, I hoped he wouldn’t stomp on the bud. “I know you don’t think I’m right for her. I understand why. But ... I want to be.”
Simon didn’t answer right away, just watched me.
“I built this career. With my own hands. Feet. Blood. Sweat. Whatever.” I exhaled. “This injury. Feels like I’mclawing at something that’s gone.” My jaw clenched. “I still have to try. Or it’s really gone.”
Simon let out a slow breath. “You’ll figure it out. Same way you always have. Regardless of anything else I said or think—shewouldn’t have it any other way.”
I huffed a short laugh, shaking my head. “I know.”
Simon clinked his glass against mine. “To life being a hell of a puzzle.”
His phone buzzed again. Simon pushed his empty glass. “Have to head back, before Nicole sends the dogs after me.”
“If only you had dogs.”
“The neighbors do. Two vicious poodles.”
Laughing, we bro-hugged.
“Let us know, yeah?”
“Of course.” I tapped on my fucked-up knee.
Simon gave a slow, pensive nod.
He left, and I followed soon after.
For the remaining time, Rio and I were inseparable. We didn’t talk about my leaving or what might happen, if and when. We strolled on the beach, went out for lunch and coffee, spent our nights together, and our mornings until she had to head for work. We blended our new routine—one that had quietly formed and felt fresh yet familiar, like the pieces of a puzzle we hadn’t known we were putting together—with what was there before. Walter—driving him to swim class and to the seniors’ center, making his meals, losing Scrabble to him. Rio did most of that, keeping her usual rhythm with him, as he was mostly avoiding me.
I went to my final physiotherapy session and made a few travel arrangements.
The night before my flight, I knocked on Walter’s door. He’d been avoiding me—not out of anger, but guilt, according to Rio.
When he answered, I pushed the door open but stayed in the doorway.
“I’m leaving early tomorrow. Just wanted to say goodnight. Take care of Rio. And yourself.” I smirked. “And don’t dance-gloat.”
He waved a dismissive hand at my joke. “Good luck, Owen.” Then, softer, “For the record, I want you to be healthy, happy, and ... Iamproud of you.”
“I know,” I said.
I didn’t always know.
