Chapter 23

23

TORI

Never in the history of politeness has anyone approached the levels at which Luca and I are now operating. We talk about the weather and our schedules and who’s using the washing machine. We smile but break eye contact as soon as possible.

I make sure there’s an ice pack in the freezer for him to use as he alternates heat and cold on his back. I ask about the injury while I make him a cup of coffee, but I’ll stick my hand in the toaster before I offer to help tend to it again. His reaction to my offer of help was such a minor thing, and I know I’m probably making too much of it, but it was just enough reminder of what it feels like to be rejected.

This morning, I woke up to breakfast prepared for me, but Luca wasn’t around. All that’s there is a note saying he went to work out at the Admirals’ facilities. Because of how much we’ve discussed his schedule, I know he has no team workouts this morning, which means he chose to go voluntarily. I can only assume at least part of it is to avoid me.

But there’s a conversation that has to happen once he gets home, because today is the youth sports camp we signed up to attend. The whole point of it is to make a public appearance together and quiet any chatter about our marriage. That’ll be tricky to do when we’re so busy acting like strangers on a long elevator ride.

We meet up at the stadium, where the bus is waiting to take all the players who opted in to this activity. Luca’s freshly showered, as he so often is, and my heart gives that familiar leap as he walks toward me, where I’m waiting at my car.

“Hey,” he says, glancing at the bus like he’s wondering why I’m not waiting in front of it. “You ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Just wanted to touch base real quick before we board.”

His gaze searches mine, but he nods. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just figured we should go over our plan since we’re supposed to be projecting an image here.”

“Right.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. I’m getting the sense he’s not thrilled about this.

“Look, Luca. We don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?” But he knows what I mean. I can see it in his face.

I came intending to dance around the issue, but we don’t really have time for an elaborate conversational tango at the moment. The team is getting on the bus.

I force myself to smile, hoping to lighten things as much as possible despite how far-reaching the implications of this subject are. “You’re being distant. Both of us know that. You recoiled when I offered to help you with icing your back a few nights ago, and last night you scooted past me in the kitchen like I had a deadly communicable disease. Just two examples of many.”

Luca grimaces. “I’m sorry. I—” He cuts himself off, then lets out a big breath. “I’m just…finding it hard right now. Separating what’s real and what’s for show, you know?”

I watch him intently, wondering what he means and trying to ignore the flicker of hope his words light inside me. I’ve been struggling with the same thing—doing things for show but feeling more inside. Is that what he means too?

“I’m just…not good at pretending,” he says.

My heart drops. His reluctance to touch me hasn’t been because it makes him feel other things for me; it’s because he doesn’t like to pretend to feel things he doesn’t feel.

I swallow and nod quickly, eager to show I understand and sympathize when, in reality, I’m crushed. I’m way past pretending now. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he senses that, and he doesn’t want to give me the wrong idea or encourage me when he can’t return my feelings.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “I get it. So, what does that mean for today? Given what you’ve said about Bennett’s comments, it seems like having me come if we can’t portray things in a way that’ll help allay his suspicions is counterproductive.” I manage another smile. “And I’m not about to get on that bus with you and force you to touch me when you’re about to dry heave.”

His brows snap together.

I try to keep my smile wide and bright, but I have to fight the edges of my mouth, which are trying so hard to turn down. My chin will start trembling any second. He’s about to witness an emotional earthquake and flood.

Luca’s eyes are fixed on mine, his face full of confusion. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve been avoiding you because I don’t know how to be around you or touch you without feeling things for you.”

My vision blurs for a split-second as I stare back at him, trying to grasp his words and see if there’s any other possible meaning than the one my heart has latched onto.

“Callahan!” a voice calls. “You coming?” A man in an Admirals baseball cap is standing at the front of the bus, looking at us.

“Yeah, Coach,” Luca replies.

The man doesn’t move, like he wants us to understand that this bus has no time for the most important conversation of our married life.

Luca looks at me, and there’s an instant’s pause, then he grabs my hand and threads his fingers through it. “You okay?”

I can’t manage a single word, so I nod, my heart trying to jump out of my chest and clobber Luca.

I follow him up the bus steps, and the moment we reach the top, the team erupts in childish, exaggerated oohs and ahhs . So mature. But I blush as Luca leads us to the nearest empty seats. It doesn’t escape my notice that I’m the only woman on the bus.

We get on our way, and the polite awkwardness that’s reigned in the Callahan house the past few days officially gives way to silent awkwardness and a heaping side of tension.

The coach’s voice comes over the P.A. system to discuss team business, and I take the time to review what was actually said in our conversation by the car. I can feel my heart leaping ahead of things, and I need to make sure I’m not misinterpreting or overinterpreting.

All Luca said explicitly is that when he’s around me and when he touches me, he feels things for me. That can’t mean bad things, can it? Any reasonable person would assume it means good things. Or at least things I think are good. Maybe he’s talking about a purely physical response, though. It’s entirely possible his heart has nothing to do with it.

“Kiss me.”

My head whips around, and I stare at Luca. Am I going crazy, or did he just ask me to kiss him?

“He’s watching,” Luca says, not breaking eye contact with me.

Bennett. He’s talking about Bennett. He wants me to kiss him because we’re performing for an audience. This is strictly necessary physical contact.

Which, according to Luca, makes him feel things.

Me too. Me. Too.

Aware of Bennett watching us in my peripheral vision, I lean toward Luca. Our gazes lock, and my heart thrums as I lift my chin and he lowers his. I close my eyes, and his hand comes to rest under my jaw, his touch light as a feather. Our lips touch, and chills ripple across my skin. Forget Bennett. I want to explore this, to test the limits of what Luca feels, whatever that is.

Luca pulls away, and I open my eyes.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, then he turns his head forward.

I follow suit, but out of the corner of my eye, I note Luca blow a little breath through his lips.

That’s a good thing, right?

Please say it’s a good thing—like a Darcy hand-flex.

“Let’s talk about this youth event, shall we?” Coach says over the mic. “These kids come from low-income families and schools. Most are only able to attend thanks to the Admirals’ willingness to foot the bill. They’re interested in football, but for many if not most, it feels out of reach. You all know the costs associated with this sport, and that’s a big burden for these families. An insurmountable one for some.”

Luca’s hand tightens imperceptibly, and I think of what he told me about his grandma paying for his football fees from her minimal income.

“So,” Coach Staley continues, “our purposes here are two-fold. First, we’re here to inspire. You remember what it was like to be a teenager. Kids at this age are at a crossroads in life, and we hope the time you spend with them today will motivate them to make choices that will benefit them for years to come. Secondly, we’re here to provide opportunity. Ten participants will leave today with a scholarship to use toward uniforms and fees. I want you to make the most of your time because, whatever today means to you , they’ll remember this forever.”

We arrive at the high school stadium where the camp is being held, and the team files out of the bus. About forty high school-age kids wearing athletic clothing are lined up to wait for us.

Most of them cheer and put out their hands for high-fives from the players, while a couple stand emotionless. Those are the ones I take note of. To me, they’re almost like young Lucas—not the type to wear their hearts on their sleeves and yet here because they love football and want a future with it. Their stoicism is probably because they don’t want to get their hearts crushed if it doesn’t work out for them.

The coach splits up the team into their positions and the kids into groups, assigning them to positions. They’ll move from position to position every fifteen minutes.

What my role is supposed to be in all of this, I have no idea. Apparently, I’m not the only one with this question.

“Are you here as a cheerleader?” one of the kids asks me with a too-cool-for-school smirk. It’s followed by laughs from his friends.

“Me?” I point at my own chest and scoff loudly. “Please. I taught these guys everything they know.” I gesture at Luca, Bennett, and the other wide receivers.

The kid snorts. “Do you really play?”

I reach into the bag of footballs Luca’s holding and take one out. “Do you ?” I toss him the ball, and it hits him in the chest, which is lucky because, given my skill throwing footballs, it could just as easily have hit him in a much less protected area. Or hit the kid next to him. “Show me what you got.”

“All right,” he says, apparently willing to play along. “Go long.”

I glance at Luca, who’s watching with interest.

Great. I’m about to make an enormous fool of myself. But after my gentle trash-talking, I’m nothing if not committed. I imagine the dozens of times I watched Luca in last week’s game, and I start running. I glance over my shoulder as the kid throws the ball into the air.

It sails toward me, and a vision of it hitting me in the nose flashes across my mind. But my street cred is on the line, so I banish that thought and keep running as the ball arcs downward toward me.

I stretch out my arms, and the ball makes contact with my fingers. I fumble to grasp it and lean too far forward, then stumble and fall to the ground, rolling. There’s no ball in my hands as I blow a couple blades of grass out of my mouth and turn onto my back, evaluating what parts of my body I’ve angered.

Luca rushes over and kneels down, hovering over me. “Are you okay?” It elicits a flash of memory from the first day we met.

I press my eyes shut and cringe. “No.”

“What hurts?” he asks urgently.

I open my eyes and meet his worried gaze, vaguely aware of the other wide receivers and the kids looking on. “My pride.”

He stares at me for a second, then lets out a breath of relief. His mouth spreads into a smile. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from him in days, and it scrambles my brain. I will do anything for that smile.

He pulls a piece of grass from the corner of my mouth and drops it on the ground, then looks back at me.

Without thinking, I reach up and pull him toward me until our lips make contact.

“Oh, come on!” complains one of the kids while others wolf whistle.

“Get a room already,” calls Bennett.

Luca pulls back and stares at me, like he wants to ask me something. But we’ve got an audience.

Bennett strides over and picks up the ball I didn’t manage to catch. “Let us know if you plan to help with this camp or if you’d rather teach these kids about making out in public, Callahan.”

Cheeks warm, I roll to the side and get up, and so does Luca.

“So, you don’t play,” says the kid who thought I was here to cheerlead.

“Never in my life,” I say brightly. “But I bet I’ve got a better touchdown dance than you.”

He snorts. “One you’ll never get to use.”

“We’ll see,” I say, but between the two of us, I’m even more confident than him that he’s right.

Luca and his wide receivers run drills with the kids. There aren’t enough Admirals to occupy our whole group, so I hang out with the ones who are waiting. One of them is named Dallin. He’s the quietest of the group.

His arms are crossed, and he’s wearing faded clothes that are either old hand-me-downs or thrifted, while his brows are knit in an expression that could easily be a stand-in for the middle finger. Like a cherry on top of this attitude, he shifts away from me when I come stand next to him.

Little does he know, I’m married to Luca Callahan. Brooding men don’t frighten me; brooding boys don’t stand a chance.

“How do you think I did?” I ask.

He doesn’t take his eyes from the kid Luca’s throwing a pass to. “You…uh…definitely tried.”

I laugh at the utter savagery of his response. “And you think you can do better?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really care.”

I scan his face for a couple seconds. “You don’t wanna be here?”

“Not really.”

“Because you don’t like football?”

“I do. I just don’t see the point of this.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then I grab another ball out of the bag. “Come on. Catch.” I toss it to him, and he turns just in time to catch it. He’s got good reflexes.

I turn the conversation away from football and start asking him questions as we toss the ball back and forth. My throws aren’t pretty, and his answers are monosyllabic.

“How do you make it twist like that?” I ask after catching one of his nice throws.

“Spiral,” he says. “It’s called a spiral.”

“Whatever. How do you do it?”

He stares at me for a second, then grudgingly comes over and shows me where to place my fingers along the laces, how to stand, and the right form for throwing.

I feel eyes on me and glance up to find Luca watching. The way he’s looking at me sends a wave of heat through my body.

Rather than combust on the spot and risk burning Dallin, I follow the kid’s instructions. The ball spirals in the air toward Luca, albeit unevenly.

Luca catches it with ease.

“Ay-oh!” I turn to Dallin for a high-five.

He obliges unenthusiastically, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Luca’s smile, on the other hand, is less of a hint. It’s wide and genuine as he tosses the ball back to me in a perfect spiral.

“Show off!” I yell as the ball sails toward me.

I suppress the urge to duck and cover my head, and miraculously, the ball falls into my arms.

My mouth drops open, and I look at Dallin, like I need to be sure the miracle has another witness. “I caught it!” And that’s when I see Luca charging toward me.

“Now you run!” he yells to me, looking like a bull charging a matador. A very beautiful bull.

I turn and hightail it out of there with no idea of a destination, just the urgent need to outrun Luca and the competing desire to get caught. I’ve got a pretty large head start, at least.

My gaze catches on the end zone, and I sprint as fast as my untrained legs will carry me. I’m so close, I can taste it.

Luca’s quick footsteps draw nearer, and I glance frantically behind me just as my right foot crosses into the end zone. He scoops me up, then spins us around until I have no idea where we are.

On some level, I’m aware we’re being watched, but I don’t care. I’m too busy letting this happy moment play out where Luca and I are touching and smiling and laughing.

“Is this sort of tackle allowed?” I ask breathlessly, blinking as my vision starts to recalibrate.

“No,” he says. “But I’m willing to take the penalty.”

“What is the penalty?”

His eyes hold mine for a second, full of playfulness.

“Touchdown!” One of the kids raises both hands in the air as he runs toward us, killing the moment.

I kind of want to chuck this ball at the kid’s knees, but instead, I slip out of Luca’s arms. “Hold this.” I hand the ball to him, then do my touchdown dance. It’s not something I’ve practiced. It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s a chaotic, spur-of-the-moment thing I couldn’t recreate even if I tried.

It’s probably revolting, but Luca stares at me with an affectionate smile. So I don’t stop. I will dance myself into the ground to keep that smile on his face.

Dallin approaches, and I pull him over in an effort to get him to join my antics. “You saw my amazing catch, right?” I ask as I keep dancing.

“It was actually just a perfect throw,” he says, very obviously not joining in.

“Pssht,” I say, even though I’m sure he’s right.

Luca and his mentee get called back to the group by Bennett, so he tosses the ball to Dallin and winks at me.

“So,” I say, my heart fluttering like I’m twelve. “You still think this is pointless?”

“Pointless and embarrassing,” he says with the sort of ruthlessness only a teenager can manage.

“Why? I mean, not the embarrassing part. We’ll have to agree to disagree on that”—I do another two seconds of my dance—“but the pointless part. Will it be pointless if you get a scholarship?”

He tosses the ball in the air and catches it. “I won’t.”

I tilt my head to the side and watch him, even though he won’t meet my eye. “You don’t know that.”

“I actually do. I don’t get lucky.”

“Not yet maybe,” I say.

He looks at me like I’m the most gullible person on earth. “You would say that.”

I scoff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re married to an NFL player. I’d call that pretty lucky.”

“Sure. But Luca’s been anything but that. He’s had to fight tooth and nail for this dream. He didn’t come from money or a happy home. It may seem like he’s got it made now, but that’s only because you’re seeing the results, not the process. You’ll never know the things he’s done to work for this.” I purposely leave out the fact that those things include breaking the law like we have. That’s something this pep talk doesn’t need.

Dallin faces me, the ball still in his arms. “Yeah? And how many people have worked for it and not succeeded?”

I meet his gaze, unable to answer his question. I’m sure a ton of boys grow up hoping to play in the NFL, and I’m equally sure most of them don’t make it, some despite working as hard as they can. But I hate that Dallin seems to have given up before even trying.

A whistle blows, and Coach Staley yells through a megaphone for groups to move to the next position.

Dallin tosses me the ball and walks away without saying a word, and I watch him with a sigh.

When the time comes at the end of camp for the scholarship drawing, I hold my breath as every single one of the ten names are called. Despite all the jaded doom-and-gloom talk, I watch Dallin’s gaze grow intent just before each name is called.

He does have hope. He’s just too scared to admit it. And I get it. It’s hard to give even an inch to hope when life has obliterated it time and again.

The last name is called—Kaden Clawson—and Dallin’s gaze moves to me. I told you so , it says.

“Next time,” I mouth with a smile.

He scoffs and turns away, not sticking around as the kids line up to high-five us all as we get on the bus. Some of them are asking us to stay longer, but Coach Staley just laughs.

“These fine young men have a game tomorrow, fellas,” he says.

I suppress a sigh. That means Luca will be sleeping at the hotel tonight, which means whatever’s been going on between us today can’t be explored more at home.

The bus pulls away to the entire group waving at us. A couple of them are trying to imitate my touchdown dance.

“You’re really good with them,” Luca says as I give the boys two thumbs up through the window.

I laugh. “Too bad I’m terrible at football.”

“It doesn’t matter. You being you is enough.”

I look at Luca, searching his face. Suddenly, I understand Dallin even more.

Ever since Ryan, I’ve been too scared to hope for love. The thought of getting those hopes up only to have them crushed again has been too much for me to even consider. But hope doesn’t play by the rules. It doesn’t knock or ask permission to come in. It slips in through the crevices and cracks and starts expanding. Before you realize it, it’s wrestling your fears.

My fears have been winning for all these months. But today?

Today, they got knocked out cold by hope.

I lean my head on Luca’s shoulder, and he rests his head on mine.