After a long flight, a thorough ass chewing from his coach, an exhaustive practice, and severe jet-lag, Mesut was ready to collapse by the time he arrived at his hotel. He'd only been on the Real Madrid squad for a month, and he was already being singled out by the coaches and the media for his "excessive" lifestyle; the way he travelled all over the globe to spend time with his girlfriend, Anna. The tabloids made him out as a sex-crazed footballer...and was it really far from the truth? He'd be 22 in a month, he was an athlete; his testosterone was high. What else was expected of him?
He sighed, placing his keys on the table in the entryway, not noticing the second set of keys in the bowl. Making his way through the suite, he settled on the couch in front of the home listings the real estate agent had dropped off earlier in the week. One of his team mates, Sergio, had recommended a neighborhood in Alcobendas, and he really liked one of the homes. It was a fifteen minute drive to the stadium, private area. If only he could get Anna to figure out what she wanted...
Mesut slapped the papers on the table and groaned in frustration, standing and walking into the kitchen. As he was scrounging for something to eat, he spilled the bag of coffee on the counter. When the aroma hit his nose, he was reminded of the innkeeper in the sunlight, with her cup of coffee in the morning. Her hand had smelled like coffee and gardenias. He was pulled from his thoughts by a sound in the back of the suite. Frowning, he called out, "Alo?" Stepping around the counter and moving towards the bedroom.
The ensuite door opened to reveal his girlfriend in nothing but a towel. The sight would normally make him very happy, but with how they left things a few days ago, he wasn't the slightest bit interested.
"Anna," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Silly Mesutti, I live here, too," she smiled a coy smile at him and sat on the bed.
"I thought you would be with your sister longer, especially after..." Mesut couldn't finish his thought. He cringed at her pet name. Instead of bringing it up again, he simply sighed and asked, "Is it done?" Any and all attempts from Anna to be pleasant instantly faded. She stomped off of the bed, dropping the towel intentionally and started rummaging through her suitcase.
Anna was a German model, and a married woman. They had been together for just over a year, and she had excuse after excuse for not finalizing the divorce. There were also tabloid rumours that she was seeing a rapper on the side. Mesut was beginning to feel like he was dating a gold digger.
"I've told you, these things take time. Why don't you trust me?" She whined petulantly, slipping a silk dress over her head.
"Anna, it doesn't take that long for a divorce to go through. I don't want to be in this hotel anymore, I want us to start our lives..." he trailed off, stopping himself before he could blurt out that he didn't want to start a life with her if he couldn't trust her. He was tired, she made him tired.
"We CAN start our lives! This changes nothing!" She wailed, storming through the hotel room.
"Anna!" He chased after her, trying to think of a way to defuse the situation, he just wanted to eat and to sleep. He caught up to her in the kitchen, "Ann, I'm sorry. You know I love you," he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, on that one. "Let's get something to eat, yeah?" He didn't feel like going out, but she loved when he took her to dinner., and he was too tired to fight with her again. She pouted, leaning back against the counter.
"What were you thinking?" she sniffed, her face upturned.
"I'd love a burger."
Anna wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather have a salad, and champagne. Are you wearing...that?" She gestured to his track pants and tank top.
Mesut sighed, knowing he'd lost, "No, I'll go shower and change."
The brilliant November Kentucky sunshine was still warm as it started its descent into the horizon, Jess leaned back from the B&B's front flower beds and wiped her brow with her forearm. It had been a beautiful Saturday, and she had been pulling weeds and clipping various flowers for around the B&B.
"You know you can hire a gardener, right?"
Jess sighed, the sunset suddenly spoiled, and went back to her work, not turning to face her husband. "Yes, but I like this. It's soothing, and I'm proud of my work," she clipped another gardenia and placed it into the brimming basket. She had been out there for hours, and was almost satisfied with her collection.
She heard Jake clomp down the steps, and sit on the bottom one, facing her.
"Hey, can we talk, please?"
She glanced his way, and continued her work, "There's nothing to talk about, Jake, unless you'd like to discuss paying me for room and board, and food, or moving out of my place of business."
"Come on, Jess. I was able to get work, I start Monday. I was hired on by a construction company. You remember when I worked construction, in the beginning of our marriage, right?"
"Yes, I do," she had had enough. Jess sat back on her haunches and rested her forearms on her knees, she looked at Jake; he was wearing his same attire of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. At least he had shaved, and he appeared to be sober. "I remember you constantly complaining that you made all the money while I put myself through school. I remember getting a job, and then you complaining that I was never home, because God forbid you work and clean up anything. I remember how that was an awful cycle with you, one in which I could never win! I remember your drinking. I remember being miserable. Not much changed through the course of our marriage. Are we done, here? I have things to do," she stood, taking her basket with her and walking past him up the steps. He caught up with her at the screen door.
"Come on, I've changed. I'm going to do better, I'll prove it to you, babe," he looped a finger through her jean shorts belt loop, turning her to face him. "Please," he pleaded with her.
"Tell that to Stephanie, or to Chandra, or Nicole, or any number of the other women you had when you were supposed to be married to me," she swatted his hand away. "Just stop it. I signed the divorce papers and filed them yesterday, it'll be final in 60 days. It's over," she stressed. She turned her back and walked into the B&B, that was thankfully vacant this weekend. He followed her through the dining area to the kitchens, where she dropped her basket of flowers on the counter by the sinks, a row of vases already washed and waiting.
"I'll fight it, I'm not going to let you take me to the cleaners!" Jake huffed behind her.
"Oh, that's rich!" She removed her gloves and tossed them angrily onto the steel counter. "You have nothing for me to take you to the cleaners for! You owe ME money, Jacob!"
Jake snatched her left wrist, looking at the large, expensive silver watch that dangled down her forearm. "That's a man's watch."
Jess yanked her arm away and went back to her work. "How shrewd of you to notice," she sneered. Mesut had left the watch behind on the nightstand in his room, Jess was notorious for losing her own items, so she wore it to keep up with it. He had promised to come back, after all...
"Who is he?" Jake pressed, standing too close to her again.
"Stop it! Even if I were dating, it's not your business. We're divorcing. Accept it!" She began stripping leaves and trimming stems angrily.
Jake whirled her around, making her drop her flowers and her scissors in surprise. Before she knew what was happening, his face was against hers, his arms tightly around her. Jess clamped her teeth shut to his invasion, and was able to get her right arm free. With all of the force she could muster in her 116 pound body, she cocked her arm back and punched him in his left cheek bone. He released her, holding his face in shock; she had never struck him before.
Her chest heaving in anger, face flushed, and hair half falling from her ponytail, she seethed at him. "I want you gone in two weeks. Take your first paycheck, and use that for a deposit, anywhere."
"What if I don't have enough?" he asked her weakly, holding his face.
"I. Don't. Care," she seethed through gritted teeth. "You are not my responsibility anymore. I will file a restraining order against you, I will call the sheriff, I will hire bodyguards if I have to. You will be gone, two weeks from Monday, and I don't ever want to see you again."
Jake stumbled out of the kitchen, but not before stopping off at the at the refrigerators and grabbing a case of beer.
It had been two months since Mesut had returned to Spain from the inn. He had settled on the home he wanted, Anna had left him after he pressured her to finalize her divorce again, and he had imploded. Throwing himself into his work, he trained until he collapsed, was praised for it, and took the first opportunity he could to get away from Spain. He was finally free to make his own choices. His career was beginning to kick off with Real Madrid, he wasn't pegged down with Anna any longer; he felt that he could breathe for the first time in months. For too long, Mesut had been the tree, battered by the storm; he had allowed his life to dictate him, and that was changing. He was becoming the storm, his life the tree; from now on, he would make his own choices for himself. He knew exactly who he wanted.
He navigated the winding back country roads, the sun setting over the greenery. Pulling into the inn, surprised to feel butterflies in his gut, he killed the ignition, shook his head and climbed from the rental car. There was an old, beat-up grey Nissan Pathfinder, and an older, but in better condition blue Chevy truck in the small gravel lot. The place seemed empty. The bell above the door announced his arrival, and he was disappointed to see the reception desk empty of the golden-haired face he wanted to see. Instead, from the left of the room, a man with dark hair and wrinkled clothing emerged carrying a case of beer under his arm in a huff. He was a head shorter than Mesut, and clearly perturbed, with a reddening welt on his cheek.
"Excuse me," Mesut asked him, "I'm looking for zeh innkeeper?"
Jake looked Mesut up and down, taking in his expensive shoes, jeans, and leather jacket. His styled hair, jewelry, sunglasses and single bag. He set the beer down on the reception desk, stuck his hand out and shook Mesut's hand more firmly than was required, "I'm her husband," he said pointedly. "What can I do for you?"
Stunned, Mesut recovered as quickly as he could, "Room eleven, please. I have stayed before." He watched the man click away at the computer on the desk, reach behind him and grabbed the key on the purple yarn.
"Mesut?" Mesut nodded, "I just need some ID and you're set," Mesut robotically produced identification, took the key, and went up to the room without thanking Jess' husband.
He sat on the bed, brow furrowed in confusion. 'Married,' he thought, crestfallen. He was sure that Jess didn't wear a ring, he would have seen it. He looked to the pamphlets on the bedside table, seeing one advertise a bar with burgers and sports channels. He needed to get out of the inn, he needed to think. First, he needed a shower.
Emerging from the steaming stall, Mesut wrapped a towel around his hips and walked to the mirror, looking at himself and asking if he was really willing to go down that path again. Before he could answer, he swore that he heard the door to his room open. Hearing a soft humming, he stepped to the door to see Jess with her back to him, arranging a vase of flowers on the dresser. She was scantily clad in short jean shorts and a skimpy orange tank top, dirt and sweat streaked on her legs and arms, hair disheveled. This time, he looked at her hand. No ring.
'Yes,' he thought to himself and he looked at her appreciatively, as she dropped something and bent down to pick it up, 'Yes, I do.' He stifled a groan, and was debating on how well it would go over if he were to remove the towel and go as feral on her as he wanted to when she met his gaze in the mirror, her eyes going wide.
Jess unlocked the last of the guest rooms to replace the flowers with fresh ones. She had gone through each room, as she did every week the weather permitted, and placed fresh flowers in them all. Breezing through the door quickly, she slid the old vase of wilted flowers to the side and placed the vase of fresh red roses and blue irises on the dresser, fiddling with them one last time before grabbing the old vase, humming softly to herself. Some of the flowers' dead leaves had fallen onto the floor, so she bent to retrieve them, and stuffed them into the vase of dying blooms. Glancing into the mirror on the dresser, she almost had a heart attack when she saw a very confused Mesut standing in the doorway of the bathroom on the opposite side of the room; his hair was wet and hung into his face, he glistened, his eyes hooded and dark and it was then that she realized he wore only the red towel low on his waist.
