Chapter 12

12

TORI

The story we come up with has Romeo and Juliet vibes—we met one fateful day when Luca saved my life. It was love at first sight, we spent every moment we could together afterward, and we married as soon as humanly possible to seal and protect our love.

There’s just none of the family feuding or teen romance or bawdy jokes. And instead of ending in two tragic and unnecessary deaths, it’ll end in a planned but amicable divorce.

So, it’s really nothing like Romeo and Juliet.

Luca’s not one for long, poetic monologues, and let’s be honest, I’m no Shakespeare, either.

But that’s the gist of what we come up with—a quick, passionate romance. There are some needed embellishments to the reality of what happened, like the way we stayed on the phone until the wee hours of the morning every night rather than Luca calling me twice one night for five seconds. We figure keeping as close to the real timeline of our meeting is for the best, especially since Luca’s not a great liar—case in point, him telling Austin he didn’t like his music.

The one niggling worry I have is Tyler Warren. He’s under the impression Luca and I were already engaged when I came to the hospital, but that’s the date we’re claiming as our meet-cute. I could curse myself for the save-my-pride lies I told at the hospital. My main hope is that Tyler’s head will be so full of ER drama that he doesn’t have the time or brain space to devote to Luca’s and my relationship timeline.

The images from our photoshoot start appearing on social media and local news outlets, and along with them comes a cascade of texts and messages.

Siena

I wasn’t so sure about this whole elopement thing, but…

She texts a picture. It’s the one of Luca and me almost kissing at the beach. I saw the picture when Zach sent it but haven’t allowed myself to look at it since. It makes me feel things I’m not willing to feel and to wonder about things that are firmly off-limits.

Here I was worried my baby sis would never fall in love again. You have no idea how happy I am to be wrong!

To be clear, this is not my stamp of approval for Luca. That will only come when you stop hogging him and let him meet his new family.

I would be worried about Siena showing up at my house like Austin did except that she and Jack moved to Monterey, and she’s not big on long car rides now that she’s pregnant.

Jess is absolutely over-the-moon when I break the news at work (“You married Superman? I knew it was fate!”), and the only way I avoid an interrogation or a chastisement for holding out on her is by begging Luca to come take me to lunch.

We’re sitting at a Venezuelan food truck table a few blocks from the office building I work in when I get a long text from a number I don’t have saved.

Unknown

Hey Tor! Saw you and Luca Callahan on the news last night! Tyler told me he saw you at the hospital with him recently and that you were engaged, but I refused to believe it. MY Tori, engaged to Luca Callahan?! Turns out it’s true! Congratulations on getting married—I’m so happy for you! You two should come to mine and Kimmy’s reception in New York next May. And hey, if Luca gets drafted to a team on the East Coast, I wouldn’t say no to some tickets ;)

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, my face screwed up in disgust.

“What?” Luca takes a bite of his arepa and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I hand him the phone, and he reads the text. His brows pull together more and more until he reaches the end. His gaze flicks to me. “ MY Tori? ”

That’s not what I thought he’d fixate on, but it’s definitely the part that bothered me most. And it’s kind of flattering that it bothers him too. “I’ll never forgive you if you give him tickets,” I say, taking the phone back.

“Not something you need to worry about.” He looks at my phone like it’s a bug that needs squashing, then gathers up the garbage. “Do you want me to drive you back to work? I’ve gotta get to my scrimmage. Zach says there might be a scout there today.”

“Ooh, exciting! I’m tempted to come watch. Going back to work means Jess’s going to ask me fifty questions about us. Are you getting the third degree from your team?”

“Nah. They’ve teased me a little, but they’re not really interested in the details.”

“You’re so lucky.”

“You can come watch the scrimmage if you want.”

I hesitate for a few seconds, but playing hooky is too tempting—as is getting a glimpse into Luca’s life. He’s my husband, after all. I should be somewhat knowledgeable about what he spends most of his physical and mental energy on. “Sure. If you really don’t mind.” Bob is out of town for a couple days, which means I can do most of my work from home later.

Luca gathers up his plate and napkins and stands up. “Course not.”

I text Jess to let her know I’m taking an extra-long lunch. Her response rides the line between PG-13 and R innuendo, and I shut off the screen to prevent Luca from catching sight of it. He’s loosened up a lot over the past week, but a text like that could set us back majorly.

We part ways once we get to the stadium, and I take a seat in the stands to wait while he and the rest of the team get changed. Two rows ahead of me is a guy in a baby-blue polo and a baseball cap with an Admirals logo on the back.

I consider sitting next to him and telling him all the reasons his team should pick Luca, but something tells me an NFL scout isn’t likely to take advice from someone who has no idea what a blitz is.

So I focus on Luca.

It’s much easier than I thought it would be. I don’t know exactly what’s happening on the field—there’s a lot of gibberish yelled out and a lot of chaotic movement I can’t follow—but I can follow Luca. Seeing him jump for a ball there’s no way he can catch and watching him snatch it into his arm and keep it there when he falls to the ground and is clobbered by other players, only to stand up seconds later, apparently unscathed?

No wonder Ryan wants tickets.

At the end of the scrimmage, I brace myself for a very stinky husband to emerge from the locker rooms, but Luca comes out in a haze of delicious cologne, with wet, slicked back hair, and a total ignorance of how awed I am by my husband.

The scout walks past us and smiles at Luca. “Great scrimmage, Callahan.”

I grab Luca’s hand and squeeze it in excitement as Luca responds with a stoic “Thanks.” He gives the very opposite of pick-me energy.

In my opinion, every one of these NFL teams should be fighting to pick him.

Preston emails us every week or so to update us on things, and an email comes in a few days before the draft. He anticipates Luca will get his employment authorization in about three weeks. That little document will mean the difference between him being able to participate in rookie mini camp or not.

For now, our next step is a biometrics appointment, which sounds incredibly intimidating. The image in my brain is of electrodes all over my head and chest while someone questions me in front of a computer with real-time data about my truth-stretching.

Rather than letting my brain run away with these images, I google “biometrics appointment.” Turns out, it’s when they take our fingerprints, photographs, and some biographical information. A nothing-burger, basically.

It’s while I’m researching the nothing-burger that I realize how little I know about the immigration process. The people on the forums I stumble upon are using jargon I’ve never heard before, and I feel completely ignorant. I’ve been content to let Preston handle things and tell us exactly what to do, but is that the way I should be going about this? This is my life now. It’s Luca’s life. I should probably take at least a bit of ownership and get to know the basics.

But an hour later, I find myself staring at the end credits of the tenth YouTube video I’ve watched, my eyes wide and unblinking.

I’m not sure what to do with the information I have in my brain now.

Call me ignorant, sheltered, naive—call me whatever you want—but I had no idea that what Luca and I were doing was illegal. Crazy? Sure. Illegal? No.

Now that I consider it, though, I guess it makes sense. When you boil it down, we’re trying to game the system. It’s not how I thought about it, but how much does that matter? The important thing is that, based on everything I just read and watched, the system does not like to be gamed.

What if the immigration authorities were to find out about the circumstances around our marriage?

Based on what I’ve read, Luca can say goodbye to the NFL. He can say farewell to the USA too, because he’d be deported. Both of us could face fines—or even jail time. No wonder Zach didn’t want us to tell the truth to Preston. Or anyone.

Which means he knew. He knew what we were doing was wrong. But he didn’t tell us because for him, getting Luca into the NFL means a big payday. And maybe he’s confident we won’t get caught.

Did he also know that we have to remain married for at least two years for this to work?

I blow out a slow breath through rounded lips, trying to achieve calm. Panic doesn’t help anyone.

I grab my phone and open up the thread with Luca.

Tori

Hey, where are you?

It takes a couple of minutes to get a reply.

Luca

Just got to the practice field to run some drills. What’s up?

I hesitate, debating whether to spill the awful truth over text. But no. That’s not the right way to handle this. And maybe he already knows?

No.

He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t.

Tori

Is it cool if I come by?

Luca

Always. I’ll send my location.

Heart rapping a quick beat against my chest, I change into comfortable clothes and head to USC.

It’s dark outside, and the lights around the field illuminate the vibrant green grass. There’s just one other person there besides Luca, and he’s practicing on the opposite side of the field.

Luca’s wearing a red tank top and black gym shorts. His hair is tied back, and he’s got a black stretchy band keeping the flyaways out of his face.

He doesn’t notice me right away, and I stand on the sidelines, watching him for a minute. The slight sheen of sweat on his skin, and the stadium lights grant extra definition to the assortment of muscles easily visible in his arms—the shoulders, the triceps, the biceps. It’s immensely attractive. But more than that, it speaks to his serious dedication. The type of dedication that brings a guy here on a weeknight after a two-hour practice.

He has a stopwatch in hand, and he gets in position on a white marker on the track. He takes a few focused breaths, eyes ahead, then simultaneously presses the stopwatch and takes off.

He zooms forward, feet slapping the track in a quick rhythm. It almost looks like I put life on one-and-a-half speed. But it’s over in a flash. He checks the time on the watch, then lets his head drop back as he stares up at the dark sky and blows out a breath.

I’d be over the moon if I could run that fast, but he’s not. He’s disappointed.

He’s under so much stress with the draft approaching. Zach told him the most likely scenario is that he’s a 4th or 5th round pick. He’s got a few teams interested in him, but nothing’s a given.

Fingers interlocked behind his head, he cracks his neck, then goes still as he spots me.

I wave and smile. “Hey, you.” I hop over the barrier and onto the short grass as he comes over.

“Hey, yourself,” he says.

“What time are you clocking?”

He shakes his head, frowning at the stopwatch. “4.65.”

“As in four seconds and sixty-five milliseconds?”

He nods.

“And that’s…bad.”

“It’s not great,” he says.

“What is great?” I ask. “Seems like if you go any faster, your legs might detach and sprint ahead of you.”

He grabs a towel and wipes his neck with a smile. “I’d love to be at 4.55.”

I stare. “That’s a tenth of a second difference.”

“It is,” he says with a hint of amusement at my amazing skill with numbers.

“But…that’s nothing.”

He drops the towel. “It makes a difference in the game. Believe me.”

I watch him reset the stopwatch, wondering why he’s bothering to work on his drills at this stage. I’ve learned a lot about the draft in the past few weeks, and it seems like his real chance to showcase his skill and agility already happened.

But I’m pretty sure I know the answer to my own question. He’s stressed out of his mind, so he’s working on things he can control.

“Want me to time you?” I ask. “I’ve got a lightning-fast thumb.”

He hands me the watch. “Let’s see.”

I hold up the watch, my eyes on his, then tap the start/stop button two times as fast as I can. “See?” I show him the watch face. “Lightning-fast.”

He laughs. “Okay, yeah. I’d appreciate you timing me.”

For the next twenty-minutes, my thumb gets a workout nearly as grueling as Luca’s entire body. If I keep at this on a regular, I’ll have one massively muscular thumb and one skinny, useless one.

His time improves to 4.63, then starts to get slower again, indicating he’s fatigued.

“How are you feeling about everything?” I ask as he squirts half a water bottle worth of water into his mouth.

“Fine,” he says as we reach the bleachers.

I sit down and look at him. Classic one-word answer. “Really?”

He holds my gaze for a second, then sits down next to me. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “I’m nervous. Crazy nervous.”

I offer a grimacing smile. “It seems like torture the way they do it—letting the entire world know at the same time as you.”

“It’s intense. I’ve watched the draft over a dozen times. It was always so exciting. Now, it’s just…”

“Terrifying?”

“Yeah.” He stares ahead, his brow creased, and it’s quiet for a few seconds. “What if I don’t get drafted?” He turns and looks at me.

I meet his gaze, searching his eyes. I’ve chosen not to tell my family the truth about our situation, but Luca? He doesn’t have that choice. He has no family to support him, no one to be there for him. Except Zach, I guess. But Zach means business. He doesn’t seem like a great listening ear.

“I really think you will, Luca,” I say, and I mean it.

“But what if I don’t? And I put you through all of this for nothing?”

I swallow. This is not a man who needs me to saddle him with the information I learned tonight. Added stress is not what the doctor ordered. He’s facing the night that’ll determine his whole future, and he’s still worried about me.

“You’re a really great guy, Luca. You know that?”

He breaks his gaze from mine and shakes his head.

“I mean it. You can’t even get a criminal record that’s not honorable. But you’ve got to stop worrying so much about me. I’m a big girl, you know. I get that your first impression of me wasn’t very confidence-inspiring, but I’m not a total disaster.”

“I don’t think that about you.”

I cock a brow, then talk before he can double down. “The point is, I’m rooting for you. But I’ll be fine no matter what. We’ll be fine. We’re in this together, right?” I grab his hand and give it a squeeze, smiling at him.

It’s the honest truth. We hopped on this train together, and it’s a one-way ticket, like it or not.

Luckily, I like it. I just wish it was less stressful for Luca.

He stares at our hands. “Right.” His hand squeezes mine back. “For the record, I think Ryan is crazy.”

My heart somersaults, and I force a laugh. “Because he called you slow?”

“No.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and the edge of his mouth quirks slightly. “Okay, maybe a little.”

I throw his hand off mine, pretending to be offended, and he smiles and grabs his water bottle. “What happened with you two anyway?”

I glance at him, then shrug, striving for nonchalance, even though admitting why I got dumped feels like stripping down in the middle of this stadium while it’s packed full. “I just wasn’t enough for him. Not driven enough. Too impulsive. Ryan has a twenty-year plan, and I’ve never had my life together enough to know what I’m doing next week, let alone next year.

“I think he thought he could…guide me into being what he wanted. But then he met Kimberly. And she was already everything he wanted me to be. And more.” I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing away the memory of the moment he told me it was over. He didn’t mention Kimberly, but I knew. I’d suspected for a while but was in denial.

Luca’s gaze is fixed on me, searching my face. “I think you lucked out.”

My brows pull together.

“You don’t belong with someone like him—someone who’s trying to change you. It sounds like the problem wasn’t that you weren’t enough; it was that he couldn’t handle everything you have to offer. Him and his boring twenty-year plan.” He smiles a little and meets my eyes squarely, becoming more serious again. “I’m sorry he hurt you. But I’m grateful he didn’t succeed in changing you.”

My eyes are stinging, but I force myself not to blink and betray how it feels to hear that.

Our gazes hold for a few seconds, and my chest is full of swirling emotions.

He breaks his gaze away suddenly. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?” He takes another enormous gulp, draining the bottle. “Or were you just bored?”

I shove aside my confusing emotions and scoff. “I haven’t been bored since the day I met you.” I say it jokingly, but it resonates inside. I haven’t felt this alive for a long time. The stakes may be high, but apparently I’m an adrenaline junkie.

“Me neither.” He chucks me under the chin. There’s something almost flirtatious in the gesture, and I can’t figure out how to respond. Or why I liked it so much.

“So you did want to talk about something?” Luca asks.

“No,” I say, positive tonight isn’t the right time to break the news about what we’ve gotten into. “Well, yeah. I don’t know what your plans are for draft night—maybe you want to be with your football buddies—but my family is dying to meet you, and they’ve mentioned having a little get-together for draft night multiple times.”

His brows lift.

I feel the sudden need to offer him a hundred outs. “Only if you don’t have other plans. Maybe you want to be alone. Or with Zach. Or?—”

“Tori,” he says with the ghost of a smile.

It’s the first time he’s called me that, and my breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“I’m in.”

I find myself grinning widely. I don’t know why. It’s bound to be a disaster. But I love my family, and I can’t avoid them any longer.

Plus, I want Luca to have the support he deserves, and my family, crazy as they make me, are great at being there when it counts.