(Un)breakable

(UN)BREAKABLE

by Kesh Tanglao

Copyright 2014 by Kesh Tanglao

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To those who believed,

to fangirls, and

to the Philippine national rugby team,

The Philippine Volcanoes

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Fervor

Chapter 2: Foreplay

Chapter 3: Sobriety

Chapter 4: Reminisce

Chapter 5: Cicatrix

Chapter 6: Adieu

Chapter 7: Falling

Chapter 8: Do-Over

Chapter 9: Deal

Chapter 10: Nepenthe

Chapter 11: Nostalgia

Chapter 12: Dehiscence

Chapter 13: Leftovers

Chapter 14: Echt

Chapter 15: Peripeteia

Chapter 16: Requited

Chapter 17: Zugzwang

Word of the Day

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Chapter 1: Fervor

Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond

It was hot and sweaty, but I didn’t mind it because it felt so good.

The foldable fan that I got from the manong earlier wasn’t helping my case, and neither was my wavy, waist-length hair that was sticking to my back. I hadn’t gotten around to cutting it—maybe because I knew Spence liked it long most days; he hated it only when he was kissing me because it got in the way. I threaded the strands in a quick braid, did some twists, and hoisted it up into a bun. I was thirsty and I had no other choice but to take a small sip of the beer handed to me earlier by the man seated in front of us. (He had been amused by the amount of swearing I had been shouting at how exciting the game was.) It had been years since my last sip of alcohol, and it still tasted as bitter as before.

We were frigging winning the match—hair and sweat be damned—and that was all that counted.

I scanned the field for jersey number 9 and found the person wearing it at the right-hand side of the Rizal Memorial Football Stadium, near one of the goals. As if he sensed that I was looking for him, Spence Clarke turned around, a deep frown on his round face. It was the same frown that scrunched his nose, the same frown that made me want to kiss that nose and every single space on his face right at that very moment…

A squeal snapped me out of my daydreaming. A countdown was starting, and Bamboo’s Noypi started blaring through the stadium speakers. If they won, I would get to sing Sweet Caroline at the end of the game along with everybody else, as per last year’s tradition.

I looked at the game clock at the far right side of the stadium. The clock showed the seconds slowly dwindling down. Fifteen seconds to getting redemption from losing their first two games. Fifteen seconds to proving their detractors wrong. Fifteen seconds to retaining that Top 5 Division spot in Asian rugby, the spot that they worked so hard to get last year.

Fifteen seconds closer to hugging the hell out of Spence.

I joined the fangirls around me in counting down. I didn’t have a Go Philippine Warriors banner or a Philippine flag painted on my cheeks like they did, but I was proudly wearing my Spence Clarke #9 jersey. A jersey that came from the owner himself, and which carried a hint of his aftershave. I put two fingers in my mouth and let out a shrill whistle. I thought I saw Spence smile; he taught me how to do that when I could barely do a plain whistle before.

"Three! Two! One!"

I jumped and yelled and jumped some more, tears streaming down my face.

They did it!

The Philippine Warriors Rugby team beat the United Arab Emirates Eagles rugby team to stay in the Top 5 Division of the Asian 5 Nations, relegating their competitor to Division I. They only needed to win one out of their three games, and they won when it mattered, beating the Eagles 24-8. Spence’s closest mates, Carl and Jamie, scored the pivotal tries that broke the game apart.

I know, I know—I’ve been watching rugby for two years, the same amount of time that I’ve known Spence, and I was still trying to wrap my head around it. The easiest explanation anyone had given me when describing rugby was it’s like American football without all the padding, and the passing is done backward, not forward.

From what I understood, there were six divisions in the governing body of Asian rugby: the Top 5 Division and Divisions I to V. The Top 5 Division was the place to be, and Japan, Hong Kong, and South Korea had been mainstays in that division for the past five years. The Philippines had only burst into those ranks in 2012—and rightfully so—as they have inched their way up the lower divisions since 2008.

These games meant so much more than telling everybody else in the region that they were part of the cream of the crop; these games were also part of the Rugby World Cup qualifying matches.

That was why it mattered, as losing the match versus the Eagles meant getting booted out of the Top 5, and saying goodbye to any World Cup dreams.

I watched through a veil of tears as the boys celebrated in the middle of the field. I didn’t know whether to cheer because of the victory, to sigh in relief because it was all over, or to run to the stands where their families and friends were and just be with them. In the end, the guys decided to pile on top of each other, creating a big, sweaty pile of grown men who had achieved a sliver of what they had dreamt of: supremacy.

They had hordes of fans to celebrate their victories with them—a far cry from the previous years which, according to Spence, meant near-empty stands that only contained members of their organization, staff, their family members, and a sprinkling of fans.

The Philippine Warriors, the country’s national rugby team, only broke into everyone’s consciousness in 2011 due to those giant billboards along Guadalupe that left very little to the imagination. Clad only in their undies and carrying rugby balls over their packages, the gents including Spence, showed their magnificent physiques, causing several cars to slow down each time they passed by that line of billboards.

Even if the billboards were taken down after a couple of weeks because of complaints received from ‘conservative’ people, it didn’t matter, because the Warriors got everyone’s attention.

Those billboards meant a whole other thing for me and Spence because if it weren’t for those, we wouldn’t have met.

Prior to their being in the limelight, the Warriors had already been winning tournaments (‘tourneys’ or ‘tours’) representing the country in various competitions, but it was only in the past two years that they really made big strides towards their goals. Proof: they were one of the twenty-eight teams that would compete in the Rugby World Cup Sevens in Moscow next month! (Sevens is a type of rugby that is shorter than the usual fifteens game, and would only require, well, seven players. In the fifteens, there were two 20-minute halves; in the sevens, just two 7-minute halves. Because of the short time, sevens had a quicker pace, and required leaner, faster players.)

The Warriors was composed mostly of half-Filipinos, half-foreigners, which was why they got flak from some of the Pinoys who did not see them as real ‘Filipinos.’ Not real Pinoys because they couldn’t speak fluent Filipino and because they lived outside the Philippines for more years than they had stayed in it. But, as Spence always pointed out, being a Filipino was not in the number of years you’ve resided in the country or by your usage of or fluency in the mother tongue—it’s in the heart. They chose to represent this country instead of the country of their foreign parent. Plus, left their real jobs behind to play for the flag and they paid for their own tickets to go here. Didn’t that say something about their love for the Philippines already?

Sweet Caroline started to blare through the stadium speakers, and I sang along with the crowd. The boys crossed the field to greet the fans at the bleachers and then went back around to the stands where most of their loved ones were. An ‘obstacle’ though—fans were already starting to crowd the gates leading to the stands.

I didn’t know when I started to watch their games, but I only started watching because of my, um, duties to Spence (Caitlin Tan, my best friend and former colleague, dubbed them as ‘girlfriend’ duties). After the games, the whole team stayed behind to accommodate fans, like there was some sort of meet and greet. I think that was one of the reasons that endeared the Warriors to the fans—fans knew the Warriors were one of the best teams to cheer for because they loved their fans as much as the fans loved them.

It didn’t matter if they were sweaty or already in desperate need of a comforting ice bath to let those sore muscles recuperate; they stayed behind, talked to fans, and took pictures with them. Spence told me that it was their way of saying thank you. I said it was because each and every single member of the team was genuine and sincere. Sometimes they even amused me because they remembered their fans’ names even if they only saw their fans less than six times a year. They were even updated in the goings on in the lives of their fans, for Pete’s sake!

And, as a fangirl, I knew how much that meant to a fan.

If I didn’t know Spence, and by extension the team, the way I did the past two years, I still would have loved them for how they were.

I saw Spence craning his neck, searching the crowd. Beside me were his parents, who flew in all the way from the United Kingdom—where they were based—to watch the game. Too bad his sister, Ciara, couldn’t make it; she had to take care of her two-month-old child, Rocky, whom I was dying to meet. His mother Magda waved the Go Spence Clarke banner that she was carrying, and Spence finally spotted us. I sat back down and wiped my tears dry. I calculated the number of minutes it would take before Spence would be able to pass through a whole block of fans asking for a picture, a hug, or an autograph to reach us.

It gets crazier each year, no? Magda asked me.

I gave her a small smile. This was the first year she and I got to watch the games together. Last year, Spence and I were too new for meet-the-family. This time, after several convincing, I let Spence get me seats next to his parents. And they were awesome people—warm and kind, just like Spence.

It does, I said. I don’t think they’ve ever fully grasped their popularity.

I haven’t either, she admitted. But they deserve it. They have worked so hard.

I couldn’t help but agree with Magda, as she—along with Spence’s family and closest friends—and I were front-row witnesses to the hard work and sacrifice that Spence and the rest of the team had done.

The crowd around us dispersed; some went towards the field to run after their favorite Warrior. A few more minutes later, Spence was finally able to make his way to us. A couple more fans intercepted him, but Spence politely motioned towards us and the fans made way. They stepped aside as Spence pulled his mother up to stand and hugged her tightly. Then he winked at me, his face dirty with sweat, soil, and grass.

When he twirled Magda around, happy tears were streaming down her face. Spence rocked her in his arms as he whispered something in her ear.

Spencer.

Spence released Magda and embraced his father, who loved rugby as much as Spence did. Good job, young man, Bob said, his face beaming with pride.

Finally, Spence got to me, and I gave him a wide grin. He stood over me, the light behind him casting a shadow over his face, but I still saw his beauty—his round face with a cleft chin, the facial hair that I loved and hated at the same time, his pudgy nose with a tiny, tiny birthmark over the left nostril.

Well? I said. What did I tell you?

Spence reached for my hand and pulled me up, crushing me in his arms. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, not minding how sweaty he was, as he buried his face in the space between my neck and shoulder. He didn’t have to reach down too far—I was a bit taller than an average Filipina at five feet and six inches, while Spence was at six flat. He lifted me up in the air and twirled me around, and when he set me back down on earth, he was beaming at me.

You said we’re going to win it, he said, his hazel eyes twinkling as he brushed his nose against mine. He cupped my face, his thumbs gently brushing against the two pairs of earrings that I have on both ears—the extra piercings I got during my rebel phase when I was younger.

I leaned my forehead against his and smiled. I reached for his right ear—a weird habit of mine—and pinched it affectionately, rubbing my thumb and forefinger against his ear’s cartilage, whispering, And you did.

Spence crossed the little distance between us as his lips touched mine. He tasted of sweat and Gatorade. I savored his sweet-salty taste for a split second before I drew back, aware that not only were his parents watching us, there were still a handful of fans in the stadium.

Too many eyes, I whispered, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks, and he nodded.

He pressed his lips to my forehead this time, and then leaned in to whisper. We’ll save it for the bedroom, then.

That made me blush harder. I giggled and playfully shoved him. Spence couldn’t keep the smile off his face as we turned to his parents again.

You’ve got a keeper, there, Spence. I haven’t heard anyone so passionate at cussing about you getting plowed down, Bob teased.

I smiled as I shook my head. Come on. I think Magda would agree with me that each time someone bumped Spence to the ground, we had mini heart attacks.

Magda nodded. We know it’s part of the game, but you can’t blame us, she added.

Spence’s lips touched my temples this time. I’ll see you guys at the hotel for dinner? he asked us, and I nodded. He reminded me of the post-game celebration party, and then bade us goodbye, giving me another quick peck on the lips.

See you later! he said, then he dived back into the waiting bevy of girls. I turned to his parents, fishing for my car keys in my pocket.

Ready? I asked, and they nodded. Bob placed his arm over Magda’s shoulders, and I ushered them outside the arena.

***

"GET A ROOM!"

Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I drew back from Spence, who tasted of vodka and something vaguely sweet. Carl passed us with his girlfriend in tow, a naughty smile on his face as he told me and Spence off.

Spence grinned as his grip around me loosened, but he didn’t fully let me go, his arm still wrapped possessively around my waist. We were in the middle of the dance floor of an elite bar in Taguig, engaged in a make-out-session-slash-dirty-dance fueled by booze (on his part) and hormones (both of us guilty of this one).

For a few seconds, Spence and I just stood there, weirdly swaying slowly to the house music. It was moments like this with Spence—the quiet, knowing feeling that you’re somewhere safe—that were my favorite.

But suddenly, the music was too loud and the crowd too hyper. It felt like the air was too thin but at the same time too heavy, and the dance floor too foggy.

Hey! I yelled into Spence’s ear. I’m gonna go to the bathroom!

What? he yelled back.

BATHROOM! I repeated. Everyone was oblivious to my shouts at him, too busy groping at their partners.

Spence nodded, finally releasing me, and I weaved in and out of the crowd. The DJ was starting a new set and the crowd pushed towards the center of the dance floor.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I got to the bathroom, which was thankfully empty because of the DJ’s new set. With the number of people in the bar tonight, it was surprisingly clean, save for some balled-up tissue on the floor.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, placing my hands on the cool steel sink, thankful that my waterproof makeup kept their promise at being waterproof. I opened my purse to get my lipstick, and was getting ready for a retouch, when there was a series of knocks on the door. I ignored the calls, until I heard my name.

Lorin!

I unlocked the door and peered out. Spence pushed