Chapter 19

19

LUCA

Sweat trickles down my forehead, and I shake my head before it gets into my eyes.

San Diego weather is pleasantly warm, especially when you’ve got a breeze by the ocean, but the dark grass and the stadium bowl seem to trap in the heat from a cloudless sky.

I plant my feet at the line of scrimmage, looking ahead to envision my route. I’ll charge forward, then fade toward the sideline, hoping Louie, who’s got his eye on me, is fooled by DJ’s faked hand-off to the running back.

I shoot a quick glance at the opposite end of the line of scrimmage, where Bennett is set up, his focus ahead. DJ called a play-action pass, so it’ll be up to him whether he ends up throwing to Bennett or me. I’ve got the straighter route, while Bennett will cut across in my direction once the ball is snapped.

He’s had a few solid plays, but he’s also had two dropped passes. I could really use a reception in this scrimmage, and I’m hoping this is the play for it. There’s not much time left to prove myself before our first pre-season game.

You’ve got this, Luca . Focus.

DJ finishes yelling out protection adjustments, and the center snaps the ball. I push off the line as DJ fakes the hand-off. The defense bites, giving me my opening.

I fade toward the sideline, eyes ahead on my route.

I can hear Louie behind me, but I’ve got three inches on him and a decent vertical. I can catch the pass over his head.

Finally, I look back, almost expecting to see the ball coming my way in the air.

Instead, DJ’s eyes are on Bennett as he releases the football. The throw is high, and as I slow my run, I expect it to sail over Bennett. Instead, he jumps mid-stride and grabs the ball out of the air with his right hand. It’s a killer catch.

Bennett’s defender is behind him now, but he’s quick enough that he can bring Bennet down, so I sprint toward them. They’re both running my way, and just as Bennett makes a cut upfield, I brace myself and smash into the defender.

Bennett gets by and continues upfield as the safety and I fall to the ground.

Coach blows the whistle, and I try not to take an extra second getting up, even though several parts of my body are throbbing.

“Bring it in, boys!” Coach calls.

All the way in the end zone, Bennett pulls off his helmet and jogs toward the sideline, a big smile on his face and the football in hand. He feels like a million bucks right now. Again. I can’t help feeling a twinge of envy.

“Nice catch,” I say.

His gaze shifts to me, and there’s a couple seconds of hesitation before he says, “Nice block,” and continues toward the growing group of players around Coach.

I can’t tell if he’s sincere. He’s been making little side comments all scrimmage about awarding me the title of his personal blocker. The most annoying part is he’s not wrong. I might as well follow him around at this point.

I take a seat on the bench, drop my helmet on the ground, and grab a water bottle, squirting as much as I can possibly get into my mouth and over my face.

“Nice play there for the offense,” Coach says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “And excellent play read, Callahan. That’s exactly the type of mindset we need. If you want an example of a real team player, folks, look no further than Callahan.”

I keep my eyes on him as the entire team looks at me. I can’t quash the swell of pride in my chest, though, as he starts addressing the defense and the attention turns from me.

I feel eyes on me and meet Bennett’s gaze. His expression is unreadable, but the simple contrast between how he looked right after the play and how he looks now is enough for me to guess at how he feels. Like I got the glory for his play-making reception.

Back inside not long after, I climb into my ice bath. Moose is already sitting in the tub to my right, and he smiles at me. “My man is making moves on the field! Nice work today, Callahan.”

A couple more guys walk in, including Bennett.

Moose looks at me through thoughtfully narrowed eyes. “We need a better name for you.”

“How about Maple Leaf?” Bennett tosses his towel aside and climbs into his bath.

Moose scoffs, clearly not understanding the reference.

“He’s Canadian,” Bennett explains. “Our little foreign exchange student.”

“Better watch out,” says Richins, “or Coach is gonna exchange you out of the starting lineup, Bennett.”

Bennett shows no evidence of having heard this comment except the slightest feathering of the muscle in his jaw. His eyes are on me. “Are you even allowed to play? You still technically don’t have a visa, do you?”

My muscles, which are already tense from the freezing water, tighten. “It’s in the works.”

“Right,” Bennett says with a smile. “Thanks to your wife, eh?” He exaggerates the last word in a not-so-subtle nod to my Canadianness. “You and your little whirlwind romance.”

I don’t respond. I’m trying to keep my temper in check. I don’t like Bennett even approaching Tori as a subject of conversation.

“Funny,” he says, getting more comfortable in his bath. “You don’t seem like the whirlwind romance type of guy. Kind of convenient how it all happened.”

“Ah, come on, Bennett,” says Moose. “Don’t be jealous Callahan’s getting some love when he goes home tonight. Your time will come.” He tosses a piece of ice at Bennett, and it plunks into his bath, splashing him in the face.

Everyone in the room chuckles except Bennett, who grins widely, even though there’s a brittle quality to it. “Oh, I get plenty of love. From plenty of different sources. Trust me.”

I cut my ice bath short, leaving the room to a chorus of teasing comments about what I’m so anxious to head home to.

Tomorrow’s our first day off during training camp, and I am heading home to my wife, but little do they know, there’s none of the type of love they’re referring to. Tori’s been moved in for almost two weeks now, but my schedule during training means we’ve only seen each other a few times since she moved in. I’m required to stay at the hotel despite how close I live to the facility.

She’s still enjoying the option of sleeping in now that she’s jobless, and I’m honestly impressed how long she can sleep. When I came home for lunch one day last week, she was still in bed.

When I open the door from the garage, a mixture of smells meets my nose.

“Luca?” Tori calls out. “Is that you?” Footsteps sound, and her head appears timidly around the corner. Her hair is up, a headband keeping it out of her face, while she wears an apron over her clothes.

“Who else would it be?” I ask in amusement, ignoring the increasingly familiar thrill of pleasure that spreads through me whenever I see her. I like coming home to Tori a little too much.

She sighs with relief. “I need to stop listening to true crime podcasts while you’re gone. They’ve totally destroyed my sleep.”

I picture the way I saw her this morning when I left, limbs sprawled out over her pregnancy pillow, her loose hair almost entirely covering her face. I’m confident at least some of her sleep is intact.

“You cooking something?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, turning back toward the kitchen. “A lot has happened since you left this morning. I’ve turned into a trophy wife. Just ignore the way I look right now and imagine I’m in stilettos and a tight dress and my hair’s all done up. Oh, and lipstick. Imagine that too. And that the table’s already set.”

Imagining Tori in a tight dress might be the last thing I need to do. Ever. If I want to keep my heart and sanity intact, which I do.

“I’ve made a Canadian feast,” she says energetically. “I think.”

“A Canadian feast,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes as I come into the kitchen. There are pots and pans on the stove, and the island is covered with numerous ingredients and measuring cups.

She grabs a spatula and flips a pancake. “Pancakes and maple syrup—in a leaf-shaped glass bottle, no less—poutine…” She stops. “Okay, so not a feast. Just two things. I tried to find out if there were any vegetable dishes that are really Canadian, but I struck out, so I just made some artichoke since it’s got a lot of leaves on it, and your flag has a leaf. Okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” My stomach clenches. Can she tell what I’m thinking right now from my face? Does she know that I’m one unchecked impulse away from wrapping her in my arms and burying my face in that delicious-smelling neck of hers?

“Like I’m a crazy person.” She turns to move the pancake onto the existing stack of them by the stove. “At this point, that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

I smile, but my heart twists with affection as I watch her try to flip the pancake onto the stack with flair.

I snatch it before it falls to the floor. “I don’t think you’re crazy.” I think you’re amazing and thoughtful and knock-out gorgeous. I keep that last bit to myself. “Are we celebrating Canada Day?”

“We missed that boat by a few weeks, right?” She turns toward me as I come over to see if I can help. “Did you not get Preston’s email?”

I shake my head and snatch a fry, covered in delicious gravy and cheese. “I haven’t checked my email today.”

She smacks my hand half-heartedly, and the domesticness of the scene hits me strangely. “He sent us a list of some of the questions we can expect at that interview, and it made me realize how little we know about each other.”

“So, you made poutine and pancakes...”

“I made a Canadian feast for us to eat while we get to know each other thanks to same-day delivery and this.” She holds up a book .

I take it, looking at the cover. “ Love Maps: Charting the Path to a Deeper Relationship .” My brows go up.

“Awful title,” she says, taking the plate of pancakes to the table. “There aren’t even any maps in there. I checked. But it’s full of questions that can help us get to know each other while we eat dinner every night.”

We start from the very beginning of the book, our dinner conversation centering around the basics: favorite colors, animals, and holidays. Then the questions get a little deeper: favorite movie and book. Preferred way to spend a weekend. Go-to comfort food. Where you’d travel if you could go anywhere.

“Not Canada?” Tori asks with her head cocked to the side after hearing my answer is Machu Picchu.

I shake my head.

“Huh. I mean, I guess maybe it’s not as exciting as Machu Picchu. I’ve never been to either, so I wouldn’t know, but you haven’t been home for ages, right?”

“No,” I say. “But not because I haven’t had the option.” I pause. “I kind of hate Canada.”

Her brows shoot up. “You…hate it?”

I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t have anything against the country per se . My memories there just aren’t happy ones.”

Her eyes get wider, then she covers them with her hands.

I try to pull a hand away, confused, but she resists. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just the Canadian feast I made you.”

“Hey.” I scoot my chair closer to hers. “I didn’t say I hate Canadian food.” Not that pancakes are really Canadian, but whatever.

“Yeah, but…” She drops her hand and clenches her eyes shut like she might just disappear if she does it hard enough. She lets out breath, then opens her eyes and looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Tori. You made me a delicious dinner, and I enjoyed every bite of it. Besides, this is why we’re doing this, right? To get to know each other.”

She nods, and I can see her trying to throw off her embarrassment. It’s Tori, so she will. She always bounces back.

Sure enough, she shakes out her hands and shoulders. “Okay. Let’s move on.”

I nod, happy to oblige. “Your turn. What one place in the world would you go if you could?”

“Anywhere but Canada,” she says immediately. “I hate that place. So much. Worst country ever.”

I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face any more than I can help the way I’m falling in love with her.

Later that night, she comes into my bedroom as I’m preparing to head back to the hotel. I’m really wishing I could stay here all night and just drive to the stadium in the morning, but I can’t. The entire team is required to stay at the hotel.

Tori’s got a toothbrush in one hand and Love Maps open in the other. “Here’s a good one.”

I toss a pair of shorts into my duffel, vaguely conscious of the part of my brain pointing out that Tori’s in my bedroom. “What is it?”

She puts up a finger, then leaves the room and spits out her toothpaste. When she comes back, she’s got her place in the book saved with a finger, and she plops on the side of my bed. She’s got a tiny bit of toothpaste at the edge of her mouth, and my mind explores what it’d be like to kiss that toothpaste away. What would it taste like?

“What’s one thing you couldn’t live without?” She looks at me, waiting for my answer.

You.

The word pops into my head unbidden. I frown at it, then force my mind to explore other answers. What can’t I live without?

“Don’t say football,” she says like I’m about to choose a cop-out answer.

“I’m thinking.” I look around my room for ideas. My eyes land on something just to the side of Tori. That’s a safe answer. “My pillow.”

Her brows go up. “Your pregnancy pillow?”

“I haven’t slept without this pillow since I left Canada.”

She looks at the pillow, then back to me. “You’re joking.”

“I mean, this isn’t the exact pillow I’ve always had, but it’s pretty close. And I really can’t sleep without it.”

She stares at me more. “I’m sorry. I’m just…struggling to understand. I can literally sleep anywhere. I have yet to find a physical impediment that can overpower my need for sleep.” She narrows her eyes incredulously, then looks at the pillow again. “You really can’t sleep without it?”

“No. I’ll drift in and out, but actual deep, restful sleep?” I shake my head.

She frowns. “Maybe you should get checked out. See if something’s wrong.”

“I already know what’s wrong.”

She looks at me expectantly.

I shrug a shoulder. “I grew up in a sketchy neighborhood when I was little, so I slept with my mom every night. Probably took up most of the bed. I wasn’t a small kid.”

Tori’s mouth lifts at the corner. “Ya don’t say…”

I smile. “I got used to not sleeping alone. But then my mom started dating Clint when I was ten. He moved in, and I got kicked out of her bed. I couldn’t sleep. I was used to having her next to me. Our neighbor had a baby around that time, and she threw out her pregnancy pillow. I saw it on their back porch and took it. Just to try it out.” I run a hand along the purple fabric, then look up at Tori. “I haven’t slept without it since.”

Tori’s eyes scan my face, and I wish I knew what she was thinking. I just admitted to sleeping with a glorified stuffed animal, so she’s probably got the ick. Especially since she can sleep on a cement floor.

“It is a really comfortable pillow,” she says, lying back and resting her head on it. “Who knows? You might have found my Achilles’ heel, and now I won’t be able to sleep without it either.”

I smile, but inside, I feel pretty sure I know my Achilles’ heel. She’s snuggling my pillow right now, and I’d give almost anything not to leave her.

But leaving’s the plan. It always has been.