Gia
My student loan debt wasn’t just a paycheck; it wasn’t payable in five years like a car loan. Plus, if a house would also be a form of payment… We were talking a lot of money, a lot of heartache, and a lot of interest. Thirty years on a mortgage. It would be a massive relief.
Wouldn’t it?
Could I just forgive Owen and do this?
I knew people made mistakes, and I understood that you didn’t always know what you had until you didn’t have it; I had learned that myself the hard way about small things I’d taken for granted. But I also knew how resentful I could be, how I held on to grudges sometimes.
I found myself driving to Owen’s house, heart in my throat, risking my life and freedom for a freaking student loan that I couldn’t just forget about or disregard.
The security guard at the gate grinned at me when I pulled in to the community Owen lived in. “I haven’t seen you in forever, Miss Gia,” he greeted me.
“I quit,” I explained after greeting him. “He shouldn’t be surprised I’m here.”
He gave me a look that said he was a little more than impressed. “He’s not. He’s been reminding me every week to let you in if you came by.”
He was either a little too confident or…
Well, there was no ‘or.’ He was a little too confident. I suddenly had the urge to turn my car around to teach him a lesson, but I wasn’t egotistical or dumb enough to do it. With a good-bye wave at the guard, I drove passed the gate and toward the home I’d been to too many times to count.
I knew he’d be home, so I didn’t worry about the absence of cars in the driveway as I parked on the street like I had every time in the past, and marched up to the front door, feeling incredibly awkward as I rang the doorbell.
I wanted to turn around, walk away, and tell myself I didn’t need his money. I really wanted to.
But I didn’t go anywhere.
It took a couple minutes for the sound of the lock getting tumbled to let me know he was there, but in no time, the door was swung open and Owen stood there in his usual attire, his towering body blocking the light from inside the house. His expression was open and serious as he let me in, and led me over to where everything had begun—the big kitchen. It didn’t matter that his couch was incredibly comfortable; he always seemed to prefer to sit in the kitchen at the island or in one of the chairs of the nook to eat, read, or do a puzzle.
He took a seat on his favorite stool, and I took the one furthest away from him. It was weirder than it should have been considering what was at stake.
I was a person, and he wasn’t any more or any less special than I was, and regardless of what happened, I had to remember that point.
So I sucked in a breath through my nose, and just went for it. Honesty was the best policy and all that, wasn’t it? “Look, I’m scared,” I admitted in one breath, taking in his familiar features, the slants of his cheekbones, the thick, short beard that covered the lower half of his face, and that ragged white scar along his hairline.
For two years, I’d seen his face at least five times a week, and not once had we ever had a moment remotely close to this. I couldn’t forget that, because it mattered to me. It would be one thing to have a stranger ask me to marry him because he wanted to become a U. S. resident, but it was a totally different thing to have someone that I knew, who had never cared for me, ask.
Honestly, it was worse.
Owen’s long lashes lowered for a moment, and the man who was as greedy with his attention and affections as I was with the red and pink Starbursts, lifted a rounded, hunk of a shoulder. “What are you worried about?” He commanded the words.
“I don’t want to go to jail.” I really didn’t want to go to jail; I’d looked up marriage fraud on the internet and it was a felony. A felony with up to a five-year prison sentence and a fine that made my student loans seem like chump change.
Apparently the male version of my best friend said, “You have to get caught to go to jail.”
“I’m a terrible liar,” I admitted because he had no idea how bad of one I was.
“You knew you were planning on quitting for months before you did. I think you might be okay with it,” he threw out suddenly in a slightly accusing tone.
That might have made me wince if I felt guilty about what I’d done, but I didn’t. It also didn’t occur to me right then that he somehow knew I’d been planning on quitting for a long time. It just sort of went in one ear and right out the other. “I didn’t lie to you. I only stayed because you had just gotten better, and I felt bad leaving you so soon afterward. I couldn’t talk myself into doing it, and I was only trying to be a nice person. There’s a difference.”
His thick eyebrows went up a millimeter but no other muscle in his face reacted to my comment. “You told Zac,” he pointed out like an accusation. I didn’t get how a visa could be used as an excuse for being a jerk.
“Okay. Did you already send the paperwork to renew it?” The words had no sooner come out of my mouth than I was asking myself what the hell I was doing. This wasn’t my business. He’d made it not my business.
But I still wasn’t expecting it when he said, “No.”
I didn’t understand. “Why not?” Damn it! What the hell was I doing asking questions? I scolded myself.
“It’s a work visa,” his words were slow, like I was mentally impaired or something.
I still didn’t get what the problem was.
“It’s subjective to me playing for the Three Hundreds.”
I blinked at him, thinking maybe he’d taken one too many hits to the skull in his career. “I don’t get what the problem is.”
Before I could ask him why he was worried about his visa when any team he signed with would help him get a new one, he cleared his throat. “I don’t want to go back to Canada. I like it here.”
This was the same Winnipeg native that had only once gone back to his motherland in all the time we’d worked together. I’d grown up in El Paso, but I didn’t go ‘home’ much either because nothing really felt like home any more. I hadn’t had a place that made me feel safe or loved or warm, or any of the feelings I figured could be associated with what ‘home’ should feel like.
I glanced at Giato the side of his head, waiting for the next revelation to help make sense of what he was saying. “I’m still not understanding what the issue here is.”
With a deep sigh, he propped his chin on his hand, and he finally explained. “If I’m not on a team, I can’t stay here.”
Why wouldn’t he be playing? Was his foot bothering him? I wanted to ask him but didn’t. “Okay… isn’t there some other kind of visa you can apply for?”
“I don’t want to get another visa.”
I blew out a breath and shut the refrigerator door, my fingers instantly going up to my glasses. “Okay. Go talk to an immigration lawyer. I’m sure one of them can help you get your permanent residency.” I chewed on my cheek for a second before adding, “You have money to get it worked on, and that’s a lot better than most people have it.” Then an idea entered my head, and before I thought twice about suggesting it, or talked myself out of not saying anything because I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly, I blurted it out. “Or just find an American citizen to marry you.”
His gaze had drifted to the ceiling at some point, but in that moment, he shifted it to scrutinize me. Those broad features were even and smooth, and not even remotely close to a scowl.
“Find someone you like, date them for a little bit or something, and then ask them to marry you. You can always get divorced afterward.” I paused and thought about a distant cousin of Diana’s. “There’s also people out there who would do it if you paid them enough, but that’s kind of tricky because I’m pretty sure it’s a felony to try to get your papers fixed by marrying someone for that reason. It’s something to think about.”
I blinked, noticing his expression had gone from scrutinizing to contemplating. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful. This weird sensation crept over my neck. Weird, weird, weird, telling me something was off, telling me I should probably get out of his line of view. I took a step back and eyed him. “What is it?”
Nothing in this world could have prepared me for what came out of his mouth next.
“Marry me.”
“What?” It came out of my mouth as surprised and rude as I imagined it did, I was positive of it.