Out for the Holidays and Out for Gold (Out in College 8.5)

“He uses the other arm too. His father taught him to throw with both. They need players who can score like that. And he’s a leader. Gabe will go to the Olympics. No worries,” she said vehemently. “He will find a way. If only to keep his father happy.”

I frowned. “This is Gabe’s dream. Not his dad’s.”

“We do things to please, though, don’t we?” She stood abruptly and smiled. “I go. I have much to do. I’m going to bake these cookies again and add ancho chili. Muy delicioso! Tell him to call his mamá when he knows. Hasta mañana.”

Maria kissed my cheek and hurried to the kitchen.

“How late are you staying, Boss?”

I shook off my worry, refocusing when Jackson sashayed forward, skirting the bar as he dried a bowl. He set it on the counter and reached for another one but kept his gaze on me.

“Not late,” I replied. “I’ve been here since five, and my eyes are tired. How about you?”

“Drew has me closing with him tonight.”

“Great. We’ll be in good hands.”

“Yeah. Hey, how’s Gabe’s shoulder?”

“Okay, I think. Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I overheard you and Maria. I have a friend on the national team who said Gabe’s been throwing left-handed exclusively lately. And killin’ it. Don’t worry about him, Der. Ambidextrous players are in high demand. Coach G is going for gold for sure.”

“I hope so.” I tapped his outstretched fist and smiled.

When he walked away, I glanced at my screen. The numbers and columns blurred ominously. Once my mind started wandering, I was pretty much useless.

Yes, of course, I knew Gabe was a great shooter and that his left-handed cross-cage shot could be lethal. But I also knew that if he was almost exclusively using his left arm, he was in a lot more pain than he’d let on.

Damn. This might be bad.

Before I could spin over how much stress he’d been under and what kind of damage he’d done to his shoulder, the doors of the bistro swung open and a posse of water polo players sauntered in with their arms raised in triumph. Gabe led the pack, and his ear-to-ear grin told a story.

I shut my laptop and stood, watching as he wound his way to me through the maze of bistro tables. Gabe paused for a beat, letting the cacophony of cheers and the steady chant of “Tokyo, Tokyo” build like a personal soundtrack. Then he opened his arms wide and grinned. “I made it, Der.”

I crashed into him, pulling him to my chest in a tight embrace. “Congratulations, baby.”

“Thanks. It was a closer call than—”

I fused my mouth to his in an unapologetic and uncharacteristic moment of PDA. Gabe and I had come out a long time ago. Our relationship wasn’t a secret, but we were very private. One of my regular customers recently told me she thought it was so cool that I’d gone into business with my best friend. It was true, so I didn’t bother clarifying that I slept with him too. She probably wouldn’t have cared, but it wasn’t something I felt I needed to talk about. We knew who we were, and that was all that mattered.

But some occasions called for a little more emphasis. I broke the kiss and rested my forehead on his briefly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t have a chance without you and—” His gaze darted to someone or something over my shoulder. He squeezed my elbow, then stepped aside to greet his mom. “Voy a las olimpiadas, Mamá.”

Maria froze with her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, glistening with unshed tears. He hugged her tight and murmured something in Spanish. I’d gotten more proficient at understanding the language, but Gabe and Maria tended to speak Spanglish unless the conversation was serious or emotionally charged. Like now.

I understood “I love you” and “thank you” very well, though. I smiled at the sight of my big jock of a boyfriend bending to hug his petite mother as she sobbed in his arms.

I turned to give them privacy and surveyed the impromptu celebration in the dining room. Customers high-fived the athletes while Bonne Terre’s staff of water polo players congratulated their friends. Drew caught my attention and held up a bottle of champagne. I nodded my approval with a huge, goofy grin on my face. I started to move toward the bar area, but Gabe grabbed my hand to stop me. He pulled me against his side and wrapped his other arm around Maria.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Gabe knew better than anyone that the hardest part was ahead of him. But he’d been given a chance…and that alone was worth celebrating.

We brought the party to our house. I ordered pizza and texted a few friends. We gathered in our backyard, toasting Gabe and his teammates with champagne and sparkling water, listening to their war stories about crazy practice schedules and the fierce competition ahead of them. Gabe was on cloud nine all night.