Until my Last Breath

103

Barcelona, Spain

"Slow down," I murmur, looping his arm tighter around my shoulder as we shuffle toward the car. "One step at a time, Gavi. Watch where you're putting your foot."

"for gods sake you're ticking me off."

He mutters under his breath, sharp and jagged, words he probably doesn't mean but can't help letting out. I know it's not for me-it's the injury talking, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Still, it stings in the air. I press my lips together and let it slide. He's going through hell; the least I can do is be patient.

His father opens the back door and I help him ease down into the seat, my hand never leaving his arm until I'm sure he's steady. He leans back, legs stretched as far as they'll go, jaw tight with frustration.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask softly, leaning over to adjust the seatbelt across his chest. My fingers linger there, waiting for a flicker of acknowledgment. Nothing. Just silence.

I exhale, a quiet sigh, and close the door before slipping into the passenger seat. His father greets me with a kind smile, starting the engine, and we roll out into the morning.

The ride is quiet, but not peaceful. I can feel him behind me-fidgeting, restless, his anxiety vibrating through the car. My chest tightens. I can't sit here and just listen to him fall apart inside his own head.

So I reach back. My hand finds his, warm and tense. His fingers twitch against mine before finally lacing together, like he can't fight it. I brush my thumb along the back of his hand in slow, steady circles, grounding him.

For the first time all morning, I feel him ease. A shift in the air. He bends forward, pressing the faintest kiss to my hand, and my heart twists. In that fragile touch, I hear everything he can't say out loud-that he's scared, that he hates this, that he needs me.

And I don't let go.

The car rolls to a stop outside the training facilities, and within moments his father and I are helping him out. He grips my side almost instantly, as if afraid the ground might give way beneath him. His arm stays hooked around me, his weight leaning into mine. I can feel his frustration in every tense line of his body, but then, out of nowhere, his lips brush against my cheek-gentle, lingering, almost desperate.

I don't need words to know what's coming. I can already read it in the way his shoulders drop, in the sharp inhale before he even speaks.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough, eyes fixed on the pavement as though he can't quite face me. "I'm sorry for before. This is... it's making me go crazy."

I shake my head, ready to soothe, to tell him I understand. "Gavi, it's fine. I know you-"

But he cuts me off, almost sharply, forcing the words out before I can silence his guilt. "No, it's not okay. Don't do that. Don't make excuses for me." His gaze finally lifts, pinning me in place. "You're spending your entire off-season here-your time. You could be with your family, your friends, living your life. But you're here, with me. Because of me. And the least I could do is be nice to you, and I failed at that."

My chest aches at his honesty, at the way his voice wavers on the last word. I reach up, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead, holding his eyes steady with mine.

"Moments like this... they come with ups, but a lot of downs too," I say softly. "When I told you I wanted to help, I didn't mean only the easy parts. I meant all of it. Every single thing. Because I love you, Gavi. I'm not sacrificing anything-I'm right where I want to be."

For a second, it's just silence between us, thick and trembling. Then he exhales, chest shuddering, and his hand slides up to cradle my jaw. "Te quiero, Rita," he whispers, almost breaking. "I love you too. And I promise, I'll work on my temper. You deserve that. You deserve better than how I've been."