25. Lucia

Lucia had never minded spending the holidays with only her father. It’d been years since she’d even seen her mother, and she’d long since forgotten what it was like to spend Christmas with both of them. Her father’s parents were somewhere in Italy, so they were usually unavailable as well.

This year wasn’t especially different, though she hated seeing that look in his eyes that accompanied yet another heartbreak. He’d gotten back from his cruise, tan, happy, and in love. Then, apparently, only days later, the woman he’d gone with had decided she no longer wanted to be with him.

Lucia hadn’t seen him in so long that she hadn’t expected the first thing she saw to be the lowered shoulders, knitted brows, and deep sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t new, though. This was how he’d been for the nearly twenty years her mother had been out of their lives. Strung along by woman after woman, heartbreak after heartbreak. He never seemed to take the hint that the universe hadn’t forecasted love for him.

But Lucia did. It was all the confirmation she needed to remind herself to rip out the butterflies that kept flitting around in her stomach, throw them in the trash, and set them on fire. She wasn’t about to play the fool again.

Her dad had tried to tell her that frozen meals were satisfactory for Christmas, and she’d gasped comically. She went to the store and picked up ingredients for a salad and her dad’s favorite pasta. She was sure all he had been eating were frozen meals, casseroles, and lasagnas his neighbors brought him every once in a while. She wondered when he’d last eaten a vegetable.

She got to work cooking for him as he lay on his couch, staring at the ceiling blankly. She hated to say that this was standard, too. How many times had she had to find her own way in elementary and middle school because he’d been so focused on his pain? How many times had she asked him to come to her track meets in high school, only to find him on the couch, blankly staring at the ceiling when she got home? It was like she’d gone back in time to when she was still a kid looking for guidance. Any indication of where she should go, what she should do next.

“Dad, come help me. It’ll be a good distraction, I promise. We can talk about whatever you want.” She was only home for three nights, and she couldn’t stand the thought of them spending the rest of their time together in this tragic silence.

He stood like a zombie, grabbing the peeler she handed him and getting to work on the potato. She willed him to say something, anything. Another moment of silence and she might’ve combusted.

Finally, he spoke. “What’ve you been up to, sweetie? I feel like we’ve hardly spoken these past few months.” She heard the hurt in his voice and knew she should’ve called him more. She’d thought about it, had really wanted to, but every time she’d picked up the phone to do it, she’d remembered this. The way he stood, bent over like everything good in the world was gone. The permanent crease between his eyebrows. The unkempt stubble along his jawline. And then she’d gotten mad and put her phone away.

“I’ve been working really hard for the Sabertooths. I’m hoping if they do well during playoffs, they’ll sign me for a few years. I might be able to work my way up to head analyst if I’m in one place for a while.”

“Have you thought about trying to work with the Eagles?”

There it was. The dreaded question. Why don’t you move back to Philly? Be nearby? She didn’t want to be in Philly. She’d had a hard enough time trying to get out of Philly. The moment she’d set foot in California, she was a new person. All of her past hardships had been shed, and the Philadelphia Lucia was gone. Life had almost been easy.

She didn’t want to become Philadelphia Lucia again. But she couldn’t say that. So, instead, she said, “Maybe. But I have a reason to be in Charleston now.”

“Right. I saw that in the news, about you and the Sabertooths’ quarterback. Why didn’t you tell me about him?” She’d been talking about her new friends and the fact that the other analysts were finally listening to her, finally recognizing what an asset she was. But she supposed Colton fit into the equation somewhere. As a friend.

“We were trying to keep it quiet,” she lied. “I wanted to wait until there was something to tell before I let you know. Didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

He peeled the potato and set it down on the cutting board, going back to lie on the couch. She sighed, too tired to try to coax him back off. When she finished cooking the meal, she put a plate out for him, then watched it get cold as she ate. She washed her dish, set it on the drying rack, and watched the rise and fall of her father’s chest a few more times before she trudged to her childhood bedroom.

She loved her father, but this was not the future she saw for herself. She had plans for her career. Lying on the couch and wallowing for months at a time, ignoring all life’s responsibilities, was not in the cards. She would not make the same mistakes as her father.

Texts between her and Colton had been sparse since she’d left Charleston. They’d taken to sending pictures of unusual things to each other and writing “look, it’s you.” It’d been a good way to pull her from the intense sadness that seemed to overwhelm her every time she went back to the house she’d grown up in.

She’d spent most of her time so far cooking healthier meals for her father and cleaning up the house. She didn’t really have friends in the area anymore, and she felt itchy sitting around and doing nothing. Like an idiot, she’d decided to leave her tablet in Charleston, thinking it’d be good to get away for a couple of days and spend quality time with her father. But that had been a bust, and her hands were twitching, begging for something to do.

Her flight the next day was only two hours, and then she’d be back in her cozy house that she now realized had transformed into a home. A home she missed dearly.

In the meantime, she finally decided to doom scroll through all of the posts about her and Colton. Curiosity and boredom won, and she found herself scanning the headlines that appeared when she searched their names together. There was one new one which didn’t feature her at all. She clicked on it, stomach already twisting into knots.

It was a picture of Colton, Maya, and another woman, and it’d just been posted. The woman was beautiful and tall, just like Maya, and probably about Maya’s age too. She looked like she could’ve been a model. Her eyes were fixed on Colton, whose face was stoic, like an unbothered statue. He didn’t appear to be looking at the woman, but the feeling in Lucia’s stomach still moved to her chest, impeding her ability to breathe.

As if he’d been inside of her head, her phone vibrated with a text from him.

Colton

If you see the picture that was just posted with me, Maya, and another girl,that’s just Maya’s friend.

Not pictured: Landon, whose tongue was down her throat moments before the photo was taken.

She wondered why she cared so much. Why that green fist of jealousy squeezed her heart so tightly, so painfully. Perhaps it was because of how natural the woman looked beside him. How right it seemed for her to be there, standing beside him, gazing up at him like he was the answer to all of her problems. Maybe she’d been there with Landon, but the photo was a reminder that Colton was one of the best quarterbacks in the league. He could have had any woman he wanted, and she was sure this beautiful woman was far more his type than she was.

That was okay. She’d agreed to a January break up, and at some point after that, she was certain he would realize his feelings for someone who looked as perfect as this woman. And their relationship would be a distant memory. Three months wasn’t very long anyway.

Lucia sent back a thumbs up. Then, not caring that it was dumb and childish, she responded:

Lucia

You don’t owe me an explanation.

Colton

Just never want you to feel an inkling of what you felt with Clark.

Her heart did that dumb hiccup again. The one that made her wonder how much of her soul she’d given up for this agreement. How could this man who’d been so hell-bent on making Max’s life so miserable for so long, indirectly doing the same to her, also be the man who’d taken her face in his warm hands and wiped her tears, offering himself up to fix everything? How could he be the man who’d made every effort to ensure she had friends in a new place? How could he be the man who’d made sure she got home safely every day?

She didn’t know how to reconcile the two versions of him. Max had grossly overexaggerated Colton Beaumont’s cruelty. Colton had never been the terrible villain Max had made him out to be.

She brushed off the thought as she typed out her next text.

Lucia

Thank you.

Almost immediately, he responded.

Colton

See you tomorrow?

Lucia

Yes.

Shouldn’t you be off your phone and enjoying a night out with your siblings?

Colton

Always gotta check on my girl.

Her chest tightened, and her fingers ached to respond. To clarify what he could possibly mean by that. Why he would call her that when nobody else could see or hear.

And then it hit her like a freight train. All of her suppressed feelings came flying out as she realized why she cared so much, why she’d been so jealous at the sight of the picture.

She had feelings for him that went far deeper than friendship. Feelings that were deeper than a casual hookup, and terrifyingly enough, deeper than anything she’d felt for Max. Increasingly, she was beginning to understand the difference between the coldness of her first love and real, heartwarming love.

This relationship, whatever it was, had the potential to hurt her far more than she’d ever been hurt. Maybe even more than all of her father’s heartbreaks. And that was far too scary a thought to entertain. She wouldn’t let herself get hurt ever again. She needed to look out for herself, even if it meant losing someone who’d become so important to her. Because if she waited any longer, she might hit the point of no return, and she wasn’t sure she could handle that.

I will not play the fool, she reminded herself. She repeated the mantra until she fell asleep. I will not play the fool. I will not be my father. I will not play the fool. I will not be my father.