3. Lucia

Lucia was reluctant to admit that she liked anything about her new situation, but even she could agree that Charleston was beautiful. Where Richmond embraced industrial vibes, Charleston exuded coastal relaxation with moss-draped charm. An overzealous intern led her from Sabertooths Walk, a long, tree-lined pathway with twin sabertooth sculptures at the end of it, to Sabertooths Plaza, a large square in front of the entrance to the stadium. He spoke rapidly about the game day atmosphere, the smells of local food vendors who would set up shop in the plaza, and the sounds of the great stadium. It made her miss Vipers game days.

Adjacent to the stadium were the practice fields, surrounded by the training facility and offices, a perk that the Vipers did not share. She hated to concede that she liked the idea of her office being so close to the stadium.

She’d been told to come in before Wednesday’s practice to meet the staff and Colton, and to watch him in action before coming up with a plan. As if she hadn’t already watched his film from the past two games of the season—and, god, were they rough. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d met him a couple of times in college, and not one interaction had been pretty. She was sure they hadn’t mentioned her by name to Colton, and even more positive that, if they had, he would’ve refused to work with her.

The collar of her blazer dug into her neck, and she readjusted, cursing herself for even wearing one when the August sun was still beating down in South Carolina. Her button-down was likely already showing sweat stains, so she couldn’t even take the damned thing off. At least her skirt, though tight, allowed for a breeze to cool her lower half. People were turning to watch as her heels clacked on the concrete, so she stopped adjusting and plastered a smile on her face.

The air that hit her as she entered the first floor of the training facility cooled her in an instant. The man at the desk that faced the tall entrance doors stood as Lucia took in the trophies and display jerseys encased in glass before her. When he saw the intern, he waved them through to the elevators.

“You’ll be meeting the team on the seventh floor, Ms. Moretti.”

“Thank you both,” she murmured, pressing the button and watching the intern and receptionist disappear behind tall, metal elevator doors. The back wall of the elevator was a pane of glass that looked out over the facility, and she took a moment to glance over the meticulously maintained fields.

When the doors opened, she followed the loud voices coming from a large room to the right. Shouting quieted at the sound of her heels, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to walking into a room full of men. She was a woman—albeit a woman uniquely qualified to rectify their quarterback’s slump—in a male-dominated industry. An unforgiving industry that only considered a woman successful if she accomplished more than men in the same position.

A smile curved her mouth. She didn’t have to like Colton Beaumont—and all signs pointed to the fact that she wouldn’t, not after the hell he’d made her life in Los Angeles—but she would work with him. Her success in this industry depended upon it. And he needed her as badly as she needed him—or rather, this job.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the now-quiet boardroom, noting that she was, unsurprisingly, the only woman. The eyes of the Charleston coaches and analysts rested on her and her alone. She was proud of the achievements that had gotten her to this point, her head held high, confident.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

And there was the thorn in her side, standing in the middle of them all. His dark hair was styled better than it had been in college, though that signature scowl hadn’t changed. His olive skin was a little lighter without the Los Angeles sun, and his face was clean-shaven. He’d always been handsome, but she’d remembered him as a college boy, and now, he was clearly a man. A green Sabers t-shirt clung to a well-muscled chest, and she averted her eyes at the sight of him in glorious gray sweatpants.

Glorious?No. That would not do at all.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Tell me this is a fucking joke. Coach? Is this a joke?” His eyes never left her. She stifled a gulp as they traveled down her body and then back up, stopping at the strip of exposed skin above her buttoned blazer before flicking back up to her face.

A middle-aged man stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed as he looked between the two. She knew from the film she’d already reviewed that he was the Sabertooths’ head coach, Mark Turner. “Team, this is Lucia Moretti. She is the creator of GameFlow Analytics”—that garnered a mumble or two between the men before they quieted at the coach’s look—“and she left the Vipers to work with us. She will be doing general analytics as well as helping Colton. Lucia will be an asset to all of us.”

“Hello. Excited to join the team,” she lied through the smile on her face.

“Coach, come on. I can’t—”

“Do you two know each other?”

“Yes—”

“No,” she said coolly. “I went to school in Los Angeles too, so we ran in the same circles, but no,” she said again, firmly.

She and Max had gone to Lincoln University, while Colton had played for Crestview College. The two schools had always been crosstown rivals, but she’d felt it firsthand when she’d begun dating Max, who absolutely despised Colton.

“Colton, she’s currently developing software specifically for quarterbacks. If there’s an analyst who’ll be able to help you figure out your numbers, it’s Lucia.”

Lucia stared Colton down, her own confident smirk on her lips, daring him to protest working with her.

Finally, he turned from her, focusing on his coach. “This can’t be the only way. I’ll work with any other analyst. Anybody but her.”

She should’ve felt humiliated at his rejection in front of this group of men, but instead, she was incensed. He talked like he was above her, and she’d worked her ass off for nine years to be here.

Unclench your teeth, you’ve had too much dental work for that, she reminded herself.

“You said you’d try anything to keep your spot and prove you want to be on this team. This is anything. You’ll start working with Lucia this week, and we’ll see how you improve for regular season.”

His words left no room for argument. Coaches began filing out of the room, a couple of them nodding at her as they left, though most ignored her. She wasn’t surprised.

Colton didn’t move, a glare hardening his face. He waited until everyone was gone before speaking quietly.

“How do we even know you and Clark are really over? For all we know, you’re here to learn our playbook and take it back to the Vipers.”

That, she had not been expecting. The reminder of her ex-fiancé, whose calls she was still dodging a week later, took her by surprise.

“If I wanted to take your playbook, all I’d have to do is study your film for a few games and write some code.”

“If you’re so good, then why haven’t the Vipers won the Super Bowl since you graced them with your presence?”

“What the coaches decide to implement, regardless of my warnings, is not up to me. I do my job, provide my recommendations, and my sway ends there.”

“How was Clark after I won? Was he pissed? Fuming?”

Lucia twirled the ring around her right middle finger as the conversation once again found its way to the disaster that was her love life. “Can we not talk about the man who cheated on me publicly and then inadvertently got me fired?”

Colton’s eyes narrowed. “Fired? Coach just said you chose to take this job over your job with the Vipers.”

She raised her chin, growing tired of his asinine line of questioning. “I chose this job when it was clear to me that I would lose my job with the Vipers.”

He stepped closer, pulling his hands from the pockets of his sweatpants. For a moment, his arms flexed, and she watched the veins in his hands, her breath leaving her before she forced her eyes back to his.

“This whole firing business and you not being truthful about your means of getting here makes me think I’m right about you. Maybe it’s all a ploy to pull a fast one on the reigning champions.”

Lucia scoffed, “You’re awfully paranoid for someone who can’t even string together a good enough drive to prevent three and out after three and out. Does your punter ever get tired?” The surprise on his face added fuel to her fire. “And what would I even gain from lying about everything and being publicly humiliated like that?”

“I don’t know, Moretti. What did you gain from having your best friend sleep with my tight end for a few months just to win a college rivalry game?”

She stepped back like she’d been slapped. What was he talking about? Who was he talking about? Isa? She remembered her dating a Crestview player their junior year—before Isa realized she liked girls more—but Lucia didn’t know what he was talking about.

His jaw set tightly. “See, you can’t even deny it. Clark told me all about it after the game anyway.” He shook his head once, angrily, stepping past her on his way out of the room. The arm that brushed hers was strong, and it was quite an effort not to step to the side to stabilize herself.

Almost dejectedly, he called over his shoulder, “See you after practice.”

Unsurprisingly, Colton had found an excuse to get out of meeting with her after practice that afternoon, but that was fine. She’d gotten to go home early and wallow in the misery that was her new life.

Home. What a funny word for the two-bedroom house she’d found. Her eyes scanned the unpacked boxes, grimacing at the air mattress pushed into the corner of one of the bedrooms. A fitted sheet was wrapped around it haphazardly, a sure sign the mattress was beginning to deflate.

She ignored the boxes and shuffled to the kitchen, clutching at the denial that surfaced at the thought that she officially lived in South Carolina, a state she’d never even been interested in visiting. And without a single friendly face, Lucia was utterly alone.

She pulled a box of mini ice cream cones from her freezer, sliding down its cool surface until her butt hit the floor. The plastic was loud as she opened it, a reprimand for opening a treat she’d promised to save for later.

In the booming silence of this new place, tears finally came, fast and hot and angry. No amount of mini ice cream cones would fix it. She kept picturing the woman draped over Max, and more than anything, she wished she’d found out about his unfaithfulness from anywhere but the internet.

Her mind then flitted to where it had been for the past week. Had Max and the woman done stuff in their house? In their bed? Her thoughts landed on a year and a half earlier when she’d gone out with Max and his friends, her hair slicked back and her button-down tucked tightly into her pencil skirt. She’d wanted to wear something more comfortable, but Max had insisted her work clothes made the most sense for an outing with him and his teammates.

She’d gone to the bathroom, and when she’d come back, she’d found a beautiful woman leaning over Max, her manicured nails running down his cheek. He’d moved away when he’d noticed Lucia, but her stomach had already begun to turn. When she’d brought it up, Max had looked at her like she was an idiot. He’d always looked at her like that, though.

She’d been so stupid then. It’d only taken him ten minutes to explain away the “misunderstanding,” and then they’d gone back to normal.

She’d spent her life before him certain that she didn’t want to ever be in a relationship, not after witnessing the instability of her father’s relationships. And then Max had been there, had pursued her relentlessly, and she’d started to think maybe things would be different. He had been her only relationship, and she’d had no others to compare theirs to, so she hadn’t known better. Sometimes, she still wasn’t sure she did.

She’d let him get away with missed anniversaries and birthdays, thoughtless presents (that somehow always benefited him, too), and blatant flirting before her very eyes, all because she’d thought he’d loved her. She’d become exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. A sucker. A victim.

Lucia felt sick, and she knew she was only doing it to herself, but she couldn’t help it. Tears kept coming faster and faster, and she grew angrier and angrier.

Angry at Max for taking seven of the best years of her life from her. For making her believe love was real again. For making her believe that he’d loved her, that he would stay with her for the rest of their lives.

But she was angrier at herself. Angry for letting Max in when she’d always known love didn’t last. For thinking an NFL player in the prime of his life would be ready to settle down with his college sweetheart. For not recognizing the signs, especially after being engaged for years with no wedding date in sight.

Her body slid further down until she was lying on her kitchen floor, staring up at the white ceiling, fluorescent lights flickering every once in a while. She swiped at her tears, but more came to replace them.

Even worse than the fact that she’d let herself believe in love, was that she’d become the person she’d always promised she wouldn’t be. Her father’s monthly heartbreaks had shown her what it was like to believe that love could be true, and she’d spent years in her tiny house in Philadelphia promising herself in the mirror that she would never let herself play the fool.

Yet, here she was. Naive and publicly, horribly, awfully, painfully humiliated because she’d let herself believe that she could be loved. Forced to move to another state, to another job, to work in a place where she knew nobody except fucking Colton Beaumont, who’d made it his life mission to make Max, his greatest nemesis, miserable for years.

Colton had done many things to rile up Max, and when Max couldn’t take out his frustration on him, it’d ended with her having to calm him down. During her and Max’s junior year of college, in the week leading up to their rivalry game with Crestview, the great Colton Beaumont and his teammates had completely trashed the Lincoln locker rooms and field. Lewd drawings and horrible words were spray-painted everywhere. To add insult to injury, someone had taken a shit in Max’s locker, and he’d been convinced it had been his nemesis.

Of course, until the game, there had been nothing Max could do. Instead, he’d channeled his frustration and anger into their relationship. She’d walked on eggshells for the rest of the week, not sure which version of Max she’d get—the one who glared at the wall as he thought through how to get back at Colton, or the one who yelled at her until she was shrinking against the wall.

Sure, they’d grown since then. Or rather, she’d grown. Max, in all their time together, still hadn’t learned to control his temper, but she’d learned how to handle him, how to not be so afraid when he’d explode and punch the wall near her.

After a few more minutes of quiet sobbing, once the dam had emptied, it occurred to her that maybe she could find the good in this situation. Sure, Isa was miles away, and her father was even further, but she had an opportunity to make even more of a name for herself. And this time, there would be no distractions. No boyfriends, no fiancés, nothing that would divert her from becoming a head analyst for an NFL franchise.

It was a pathetic silver lining to cling to, but she could cling to it nonetheless. When she opened her phone, her thumb wavered over the ten voicemails from Max. She tried not to remember the last time she’d seen him: the night before her entire life was upended, in their bed, that charming smile wide and golden hair shining in the moonlight that filtered through the windows.

They’d had plans earlier in the day, but he’d decided to go out with his friends instead. She’d expressed her frustrations, explained that she was tired of feeling like she was dating someone who was halfway out the door, and to make up for it, he’d bought out her favorite restaurant for the evening. Just like always, she’d let him get away with treating her poorly, reeling her back in just when she’d been ready to let go.

Well, no more. She’d had enough of being treated like shit to last her many lifetimes. The voicemails could wait another day. Better yet, she would force herself to continue to ignore his messages until the sight of his name didn’t sting so much. Maybe then she’d be able to have a conversation with him that didn’t end with him gaslighting her into taking him back. She would find a way to move on from this, find a way to get what she needed out of her new job.

She typed her best friend’s name into her phone, tapping the call icon.

Isa picked up on the second ring. “It took you long enough.”

“I left you last night, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since we last spoke.”

“Too many for my liking.” She paused, then, “How was it? As horrible as you thought it’d be?”

Lucia disregarded the minor breakdown she’d just had and thought back to the large boardroom. “It’s a total testosterone-fest, but that’s what we were expecting. Colton is as infuriating and horrible as always. Though…” She trailed off, embarrassed about where her thoughts were leading her. She hadn’t expected to be as attracted to him as she had been.

“Though, what?” Isa asked suspiciously.

“Nothing.” She said it too fast, so she hurried to the real reason she’d called Isa. “He said something about my best friend sleeping with his tight end so we could win the rivalry game. I know you were seeing that Crestview tight end our junior year. Do you know what he was talking about?”

“Seeing is a very strong word, but yes, I was hooking up with Vinny for a while there. But I don’t know what that has to do with the rivalry game.” There was shuffling on the line. “All I remember is Max—I mean he-who-shall-not-be-named—being upset with me for it, me telling him off, and then the next time we spoke about it, he was very smug. I just assumed it was because we ended up winning.”

Lucia hummed. “Why didn’t I know any of that?”

“You had so much going on with your degree and the new project you were working on for the team. And you know how little I paid attention to the wants and cares of he-who-shall-not-be-named. Sorry, osita. But I’m sure it’s just Colton being Colton. Once he sees how much you improve his game, he’ll stop talking about the past.”

Lucia hoped so. She’d seen him play the last few years, and she knew he was capable of 5,000-yard seasons. He just needed a little help to get back to his game.

And she planned to be that help, even if it meant wanting to rip her hair out every time she interacted with him. Fixing his season would be her Everest, and then she’d finally get her dream job: running departments of analysts.