Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 9

"Emma!" my friend Charlotte called out, waving excitedly as she approached our table with a slice of cake. "They have your favorite today—that lemon and elderflower one you're always talking about!"

I forced a smile as she slid into the seat across from me, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating from Diego's table just a few feet away. Charlotte had been my lifeline these past two weeks—the only friend who'd stuck around during my two-year disappearance into Diego's world.

"Perfect timing," I said, picking up my fork with deliberate casualness. "I was just about to order something sweet."

Diego sat rigidly in his wheelchair, his skin so pale after two years indoors that the sunlight streaming through the café windows seemed to make him glow unnaturally. Our eyes had already met across the room—that unavoidable moment of recognition that had sent electricity through my entire body—but now he was deliberately looking anywhere but at me.

"So what were you all discussing so intensely?" Charlotte asked, glancing curiously toward Diego's table. "I could hear the commotion from inside."

Tiago, Diego's goalkeeper friend, leaned over from their table. "We were trying to convince this stubborn Portuguese mule to apologize to Emma and beg her to come back."

Marco, the team captain, nodded enthusiastically. "Diego hasn't stopped talking about you for two weeks, though he'd rather jump off a bridge than admit it."

Diego's jaw tightened visibly. "I told you to drop it," he muttered, his accent thickening with irritation.

"Not until you fix this," Rui insisted, turning to me. "Emma, he's been impossible since you left. The new caregiver quit after three days. Said he was, and I quote, 'the most difficult patient I've ever had.'"

I took a deliberate bite of cake, savoring the tartness as I considered my response. "That's not my problem anymore."

The words came out colder than I'd intended, and an uncomfortable silence fell over both tables.

I thought about Sophia, the pretty marketing executive who had visited Diego during his recovery. The memory still made me wince—how Diego had deliberately spilled water on her designer dress when she'd leaned in to offer him sympathy.

It was summer, and the thin fabric had immediately become transparent where it clung to her skin.

She had stood there, mortified. I had quickly found a cashmere wrap to offer her.

Diego had looked at her with cold disdain. "You still like me, even looking like this?" he'd sneered, gesturing to his useless legs. "Need to check if everything still works, do you?"

Her eyes had filled with tears as I gently led her out, closing the door behind us.

Outside, she had held her head high, telling me defiantly, "I'm done having feelings for Diego. He's not worth it."

She had walked away with her wet dress, then turned back halfway.

Watching me clean up the water drops from her dress on the living room floor, she had awkwardly added, "But you're wonderful. Thank you for being kind when he wasn't.

"You shouldn't like Diego either. He doesn't deserve you."

After that, we had become friends, exchanging gifts on holidays. Sophia had been right all along.

Diego cleared his throat, pulling me from my memories. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice unusually soft. "Alone?"

His friends instantly fell silent, watching with undisguised interest.

"There's nothing to discuss," I replied evenly.

"Five minutes," he insisted. "Please."

The "please" caught me off guard. In two years, I could count on one hand the number of times he'd used that word with me.

Charlotte squeezed my hand under the table, then stood up. "I just remembered I need to make a call. Take your time."

As she walked away, Diego wheeled himself to the empty chair across from me. He looked better than he had two weeks ago—his shoulders straighter, his eyes clearer. The physical therapy was clearly working.

"You did," I interrupted. "You said, 'When my legs heal, we'll get married right away.' Or was that just something to keep me around while you needed me?"

Diego glanced back at his friends, who quickly pretended to be engaged in their own conversation. When he turned back to me, his expression had hardened.

"Why would you think I would marry you?" he said, loud enough for his friends to hear. "Am I supposed to marry you out of gratitude? I told everyone—I see you as a sister, nothing more."

Three rejections. There's only so much a person can take.

I stood up decidedly and addressed his friends directly: "You've all misunderstood about the marriage. I was just paid to take care of Diego. The job is finished now."

His friends looked shocked, glancing between us with wide eyes.

Diego's gaze never left my face, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Pride? Hurt? Testing me?

It didn't matter anymore. Looking at his deeply furrowed brow, I added, "And you don't need to think of me as a sister either, Diego. Just consider me a stranger who once helped you. We're even now."

I could see the calculation in his eyes—he'd expected me to fight for him, to insist there was more between us. He'd wanted to see how much power he still held over me.

None. Not anymore.

Charlotte reappeared as if on cue. "Ready to go?" she asked cheerfully, deliberately ignoring the tension.

"Absolutely," I replied, gathering my things. "There's nothing left for me here."

As we walked away, I heard Marco mutter to Diego, "You're an absolute idiot, you know that?" For once, Diego had no retort.

In my mind, I was finally showing him what he couldn't see—the red card to his heart. He didn't deserve my love, not even for extra time.