CHAPTER 005

RAFAEL

“Diego is driving me crazy, Rafael. I tell him every day to focus on his studies, but all he wants to do is play with his little friends. Por que ele não pode ser mais como a Sofia? Why can’t he be more like Sofia?”

Rafael tore his gaze away from the muted television screen, his eyes widening as he registered his sister’s name. “What did you say about Sofia?”

His mother let out a loud scoff on the other end of the line. “Você não está prestando atenção em mim! You are not paying attention to me! If you are not going to listen to your mother, why do you always bother me about these calls?”

Rafael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He wanted to listen. He really did. He loved his family more than life itself.

But he could not wrap his head around whatever the fuck he was watching on the television screen.

Winning?

Oliver Hayes did not just play to win. Sure, Oliver hated losing, but he had an undeniable joy for the sport. Rafael knew that deep down.

He had seen the way Oliver’s eyes lit up during a good pass, and he knew he respected the beauty of the game.

So what the hell was this interview about? The dead look in Oliver’s eyes made a shiver run down Rafael’s spine. And the match itself?

Rafael couldn’t believe his eyes when he watched Oliver ruthlessly tackle Argentina’s main striker with an aggression that bordered on violent. That was... not Oliver.

“Desculpa, mãe,” Rafael murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, Mom. My head’s away from here today. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Tudo bem, meu filho,” his mother said gently, sensing his distraction. “Take care of yourself.”

Rafael cut the call, tossing his phone onto the couch as his brow remained furrowed.

Should he call Oliver? He wasn’t sure. Oliver was strict about keeping their digital interactions to a minimum during the season, terrified of getting hacked and stuff.

So what was he supposed to do?

He stifled a deep sigh as a sudden knock echoed from the door of his suite.

Rafael groaned, throwing his head back. He swore, if it was Miguel trying to drag him to the gym again, he was going to be really pissed.

He marched over to the door and pulled it open, a scowl already forming on his face. But the scowl vanished instantly.

It was Oliver.

His dark hoodie was down, leaving his blonde hair completely exposed. He wasn't wearing his silly glasses, his cap, or any of the usual disguises he put on. And as Oliver stepped into the room, a bitter scent hit Rafael’s nose.

He was pretty sure he smelled alcohol on him.

What the fuck.

Rafael quickly locked the door behind them. “What are you doing here, Oliver? It’s broad daylight. Anyone could have followed you! And were you drinking? You hate drinking.”

Oliver didn’t say a word. He just stood in the middle of the foyer, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, keeping his head lowered.

“Oliver,” Rafael pressed, his tone firm but laced with growing concern. “I am speaking to you.”

Slowly, Oliver lifted his head.

His blue eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles, and swimming with unshed tears.

Rafael’s heart dropped like a stone. A cold wave of fear washed over him. He had never, in three years, seen Oliver look so broken.

“Meu Deus... What’s wrong, meu amor?” Rafael stepped forward instantly, his large hands gently cupping Oliver’s face. “Why were you crying?”

“I just miss you,” Oliver whispered, his voice cracking as a single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. “I’m sorry for coming like this... but I just—”

“No, no, no. Don’t apologize,” Rafael said softly, pulling Oliver against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around him. “I should have known something is not good with you. I’m sorry. Come, let me get you water.”

•>>>•>>>•>>>•

They were curled up together on Rafael’s large couch, the dim light of the television casting soft shadows across the living room.

A romantic comedy was playing on the screen.

Oliver was the one who had surprisingly suggested they put it on, which was weird enough because Oliver hated romance movies. He always grumbled that they never seemed realistic to him. Yet, here he was, resting his head heavily on Rafael’s chest, watching the screen in silence.

Rafael gently stroked Oliver’s blonde hair. “Do you feel better, my love?” he asked softly.

Oliver nodded, a barely perceptible movement against Rafael’s chest.

Rafael placed a tender kiss on top of his head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you, okay? Always.”

Oliver nodded again, his fingers lightly tracing a random pattern over the fabric of Rafael’s shirt.

Rafael let out a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling. He should have known something was terribly wrong with Oliver when he watched that match.

The aggression, the coldness in the interview—it had all been a cry for help. But what could he do now? What could he say to make his sadness disappear?

“Somehow, I can hear how hard you’re thinking,” Oliver murmured quietly. “I’m fine, Rafael. I just want to stay like this. In your arms.”

That made a soft smile break across Rafael’s face. “Okay, then.” He pressed another, longer kiss to Oliver’s hair, breathing in his scent. “I love you, Oliver.”

“I love you too, Rafael.”

A silence settled over them for a moment.

“I’m uh… going back to Brazil tomorrow. And I probably won’t be back till the World Cup qualifying matches,” Rafael said gently.

Oliver nodded, pressing his face deeper into Rafael’s chest as he bit his lower lip hard to keep from crying.

“Hey...” Rafael gently tilted Oliver’s chin up, his dark eyes filled with warmth. “Please don’t be sad, my love.”

“I’m fine,” Oliver sniffed, forcing a fake smile onto his face. “See? I’m fine.”

Rafael frowned, his thumb brushing over Oliver’s cheek. “What have I said about these fake smiles? Don’t lie to me. I’m going to miss you, baby.”

Oliver’s fake smile crumbled. He leaned up, resting his forehead against Rafael’s jaw.

“I’m going to miss you too, Rafael.”