Chapter 20

20

TORI

I’ve barely seen Luca in three weeks.

It’s a good thing, really. I’d been hoping that asking all these questions to prepare for the interview—something we’ve been doing over text during training camp—would act like a glass of cold water over my head. After all, it’s easy to romanticize someone when you don’t know them very well. Like sighing at the sight of a bouquet of beautiful, vibrant flowers, but when you get up close, they’re plastic, the dye job doesn’t hold up to scrutiny, and they smell like a thrift store.

I was hoping Luca was a bunch of fake flowers.

But he’s not. And he definitely doesn’t smell like a thrift store.

I know so much more about him than I did a few weeks ago, and unfortunately for me, the man is an enormous, vibrant bouquet that only gets more beautiful the closer you get. He’s not a dozen roses. He’s peonies and ranunculus and anemones.

And the way he smells?

Don’t even get me started.

The man showers at least twice a day, which means I’ve seen him in a towel more often than any regulatory agency would consider safe.

There’s another problem with all of this, though. A bigger one. Even the most beautiful and best-smelling bouquet ends up wilting. Those vibrant flowers end up in the trash, brown and dry.

Which is why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not in love with Luca. Because I refuse to be, that’s why. Mind over matter, right?

It’s also why it’s great that he’s required to sleep at the hotel with the rest of the team during training season. Even greater is that I don’t miss him even a little. And the fact that I’m out walking the town has nothing to do with my restlessness about him coming home again for the first time tonight.

I’m out looking for job opportunities, thank you very much. Online job searching is soul-sucking, and since I now know that San Diego is my spirit’s home, I may as well see what catches my eye around here.

But not much does. Nail salon? Touching other people’s feet is definitely not my calling. Restaurant? Working in such close proximity to good food would wreak absolute havoc on my health. Juice bar? My favorite juice is Sunny Delight, which I’m confident disqualifies me automatically.

I want something that makes me feel like I’m making a difference. Helping Luca has made it clear to me that I can’t do mind-numbing computer work anymore. But what sort of jobs bear a similarity to marrying someone so they can get a green card and make it to the NFL? Preferably something that doesn’t risk jail time.

I check the time on my phone for what feels like the twentieth time, then head back to the house. Luca won’t be home for another couple hours, but my hopes of finding job inspiration in the streets of Encinitas have been crushed.

I make it to the house and smile at the welcoming sight when I come through the door. Thanks to the abundance of time on my hands, I’ve cleaned the place until it sparkles, and the fridge and pantry are stocked. Luca will only be home for two nights, but I want to be sure coming home is a happy thing. He might hate Canada and the memories he has there, but he won’t hate this place. Not on my watch.

This Saturday is the first preseason game, which means he’ll spend Friday night at the hotel. Part of me wonders what the point of renting this house was since I’m the only one living here. But while it’s a little lonely without him, I love this place.

When the front door opens half an hour later, my heart stutters, then hops to a clipping pace.

Be chill, Tori, or you’ll scare him back to the hotel.

I want to walk out of my bedroom immediately to go see him and ask him all about training camp, but instead, I finish putting away my laundry.

“Tori?”

“In my room,” I call out.

Footsteps approach, and the closer they get, the whackier my heart goes. Luca’s frame fills the doorway as I set the last hanger on the rack and turn to him.

There’s energy in his eyes that immediately grabs my attention. “Guess what?” he says.

“You punched Bennett in the face!” I’ve never met Bennett, but I have strong feelings about him based on what Luca’s told me.

He shakes his head. “I got a starting spot.”

My mouth opens, and my eyes go wide. I don’t remember crossing the room, but the next thing I know, I’ve jumped in his arms and thrown my arms around his neck.

“Of course you did!” I squeeze him, relishing in the familiar smell. “You’re amazing!”

He’s quiet, but his arms tighten around my waist, and he turns his face toward my neck. Luca’s not a man of many words, but he communicates in other ways, and this way makes my heart race.

Everything in me wants to stay where I am, but the last time I did this, it ended in a kiss, and while I would love nothing more than to repeat that experience, the image of wilted flowers comes to my mind.

I pull back, and he lets go so that I slip to the floor.

“I am getting worried about Bennett, though,” he says.

“Why? You earned this, fair and square. It’s not his spot.”

“He thinks of it that way, though. And”—he grimaces—“he suspects us, Tori.”

My heart trips.

His brows draw into a tight-knit frown. “What if he reports us?”

“No,” I say with much more confidence than I feel. “He wouldn’t, right? He may be competitive, but that would just be…evil.”

My stomach swims, becoming more unsettled as I think about it. Bennett does stand to gain from reporting us. He’d get his starting position back. But it would end Luca’s career and force him back to Canada. It could land me in jail. The thought of jail terrifies me, but is it crazy that I’m almost more scared of Luca disappearing back to Canada?

“I don’t want you to be negatively affected by any of this,” he says.

“Let’s not worry about that tonight, okay?” I grab his hands, thread my fingers through them, and squeeze. “Don’t let him taint this victory. You’ve worked so hard for it.”

He nods, squeezing right back. “You’re right.”

“Besides,” I say, heading for the door, “we have more questions to get through.” Our interview appointment is tomorrow, and while we’ve been preparing like crazy, I don’t want to leave room for any surprise questions.

We forget about the threat of Bennett and eat dinner on the deck to the sound of the waves as the sun dips lower and lower in the sky. We talk about how to answer some of the questions Preston sent over, like who does the cooking (me, but only due to time) and who wakes first (always him). Then we go over the events that led up to the wedding.

“Are you gonna be able to handle this?” I ask as I bring a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, Love Maps , and a blanket outside.

“What do you mean?” He takes the blanket while I sit down next to him and put the popcorn on his lap.

“I mean that you’re not a good liar.”

“I can handle it,” he says firmly.

I’ve got to believe him because both of our futures depend on it.

I open Love Maps to our bookmarked place, but he takes it from me.

“I always answer first,” he says. “It’s your turn.”

“Fine.” I munch on popcorn and scoot farther under the blanket. Mr. Ross left this piece of deck furniture, and I love it because of how deep it is. I can cross my legs and still have room to put the bowl of popcorn in front of me.

“Okay,” Luca says, finding his place. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Hm.” I chew, staring out at a surfer who scrambles onto his board, only to sink back into the water two seconds later. “In college, I had a lot of close friends. When I started dating Ryan, I kind of adopted his group as my own, though. Then graduation happened, and a lot of my friends moved away for jobs or got married. And then Ryan broke up with me, which left me sort of…friendless, I guess.”

I think about the time since he dumped me. “Jess has been the person I’ve spent the most time with since then. But I wouldn’t call her my best friend. Oh!” I snap. “My sister. Siena.” Duh. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to answer that. “Your turn. Who’s your best friend?” I grab another handful of popcorn.

He grabs a handful, but it sits in his hand for a few seconds. “You.”

My gaze darts to him and my chewing slows.

He turns over a piece of popcorn in his hand like he’s trying to put it right-side up, but popcorn doesn’t have a right and wrong side. It’s all perfectly wonky and delicious. “When I found out I was gonna be starting at this week’s game, you were the person I wanted to call.” He looks at me, a little rueful smile pulling at his mouth. “Is that sad to you?”

I shake my head quickly, my throat suddenly thick. It’s not sad. It’s…incredibly sweet. And unexpected. Luca’s spent hundreds, maybe thousands of hours with his USC team, and now dozens of hours with the Admirals. I was sure he’d name one of his teammates.

But he didn’t. He said me.

I think about my own answer. Siena and I have always been close. Ever since she got married, things have been different, though. She’s not the one I talk to most or tell about my day. She’s not at the top of my text threads or call list. That’s Luca.

“I haven’t really had best friends.” His fingers fiddle more with the popcorn.

“Why’s that?” It makes no sense to me. Luca’s everything a best friend should be. Caring, loyal, reliable.

“I don’t really like getting close to people.”

My stomach tightens. “Why?”

“People don’t stick around. My mom. My grandpa and grandma.” He looks up at me, his gaze clear. “You.”

My heart beats like I just ran back-to-back forty-yard dashes with him, but I force a laugh. “I’m right here, Luca. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“For a while, yeah. Until the divorce. Which is fine,” he hurries to say when I open my mouth. “I’m not trying to change the plan.”

I swallow, trying to keep things light despite the way my stomach squirms. “We can still be friends after.”

He looks at me, and even though he says nothing, the message is pretty clear: he doesn’t believe me. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be friends. Maybe he wants a clean break after all the drama.

My phone buzzes, and my mom’s name and picture pop onto the screen. I hesitate.

“Go ahead,” he says. “You should take it.”

I look at him for a second, then nod and get up to answer.

My mom’s calling to let me know they’re all coming for the game on Saturday. I reassure her they’ll have tickets, and she lets me know how excited they are to watch Luca in action.

It’s a conversation just long enough for me to get myself together. If Luca is worried he’ll lose my friendship, I need him to know he’s wrong. Maybe that’s not a big concern to him, but if there’s any chance it is, I need to clarify.

He’s spread out on the deck couch, his head resting on his interlocked palms as he stares up at the now-dark sky.

I walk to the couch and stand over him for a few seconds. Even with how big he is, there’s a little free space next to him.

His gaze flits to me.

Nerves firing all over my body, I take a seat next to him, then stretch out, letting my head rest on his bent arm. I stare up at the sky for a few seconds. “You’re my best friend too.”

He shifts slightly. “Tori, you don’t have to?—

“I mean it. You are. And maybe you don’t want to be friends with me after we get divorced, but?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

I press my lips together and stare at the sky like I might just be able to see Pluto if I stare hard enough. I’m too scared to look at Luca. Scared because, while I will absolutely settle for friendship with him, the reality of what I want is so much more.

I don’t know what to do with these feelings, though. This whole situation is backward. We’re the antithesis of the “Luca and Tori sittin’ in a tree” song. We’ve done everything out of order.

But tonight, I’m not going to worry about any of that. I’m just going to enjoy having a best friend for the first time in a long, long time.

The sounds of chatter from late beachgoers are long gone when my eyes flutter open. I must have dozed off.

I look over at Luca.

His body is turned toward me, his eyes closed. His chest rises and falls, slowly and evenly. His arm cradles me from underneath, but his other is wrapped around me too. Our legs are tangled.

He’s fast asleep, and I take the opportunity to admire his face—the soft, dark lashes, the thick brows, the curl draping over his forehead, the scar on his cheek, which I now know is from a dog bite when he was eight.

He’s warm and beautiful and peaceful.

And he’s asleep. Without his pregnancy pillow.

Maybe it’s just a temporary thing. Maybe he’ll wake soon, just like I did.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t wake for hours. I know because I don’t fall back asleep. I know I shouldn’t stay in his arms like this, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Not when there’s any chance he needs or wants me here. Not when moving might wake him.

That’s my problem. It’s why I stayed with Ryan even when I could feel him drifting away emotionally—falling in love with someone else, as I came to find out. I was too scared to let go because I knew it was going to mean pain. Holding on as long as I did only led to more of that pain, though.

But where does that leave me? Luca and I are married. I can’t let go.

And I don’t want to.

Call it weakness, call it hope, call it whatever you want, but the prospect of my own future pain pales in comparison to the need to make certain Luca knows he’s got someone by his side. Someone who won’t leave him.