Chapter 24

24

LUCA

Nervous energy fills me as we make the drive to the house after the bus has returned to the stadium parking lot. I have about an hour at home before I have to head to the hotel for team meetings, our walkthrough, and then dinner. I’m hoping that’s enough time to have a conversation with Tori.

The thought of this conversation terrifies me. What if I’m wrong in my assumptions? What if all those looks, all those kisses today were moments I misinterpreted? They didn’t feel like they were just for Bennett’s benefit, but I don’t have a great track record for correctly interpreting the way people feel about me.

And if I make things weird with Tori…what then? How will we manage to do the type of things we have to do in this situation with a heavy cloud of awkwardness hanging over us?

I can’t help myself, though. I know when we both signed up for this, it was with divorce as a given, but if there’s any chance at all that Tori’s feeling like I am—dreading that time—I need to know.

“I’m really glad we went today,” she says as our car winds through the streets leading to our house.

“Me too,” I say, wishing I knew what exactly makes her feel this way.

“I really wish more of the kids could’ve received a scholarship,” she says, her expression becoming more pensive. “You know that kid Dallin I was working with?”

“Yeah.” He was one of the tough kids that didn’t really get into it. It’s too bad, because he seemed to have real talent.

“I can’t stop thinking about him—how hopeless he was. Not the pathetic type of hopeless where he wants you to feel bad for him. It was so much more heartbreaking than that. Like he just can’t care because the alternative hurts too much.” She sighs. “Anyway, I was really hoping he’d win the raffle. Prove him wrong, you know?”

I nod. I felt similarly—wishing we could’ve given something more than Admirals gear to all the kids and then scholarships to a lucky few. The fact that Tori’s still thinking about it is what I love so much about her. She’s always thinking of other people.

“I wish we had more time with them,” she says as we pull into the garage. “It’s hard to make much of a difference in a few hours.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “That touchdown dance of yours clearly made an impression.”

Her mouth spreads into a grin as she opens the door. “You can use it for your first NFL touchdown if you’d like.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do it justice.”

“True,” she says, her eyes twinkling at me.

We sit there for a few seconds, smiling at each other in the car. My impulse is to kiss her, but not only is she an awkward distance away now that she’s poised to get out of the car, I feel like I should initiate the conversation we need to have before any more kissing happens.

After all, we agreed on the no-kissing rule.

“Should we head inside?” I ask.

She nods and gets out of the car, and my heart starts to race as I follow her. How do I even begin? What do I say?

I set the keys on the counter, and Tori must feel the weird energy I’m giving off because she turns toward me once she gets to the island, setting her hands on the countertop.

“We didn’t finish talking before we got on the bus,” she says, reaching for the napkins in the holder nearby. Her voice is casual, but the way she fidgets with napkins tells me she might not feel that way.

“Yeah, we should probably do that.”

Her eyes dart to me. “Now?”

I shrug like it’s a matter of indifference to me whether we discuss the topic that’s been consuming me for weeks.

She laughs nervously. “I just mean, do you have time?”

I check my wrist, which doesn’t have a watch. I don’t actually remember the last time I wore one.

She smiles and checks her phone. “It’s 1:30.”

“I don’t have much to get together, but I need to head out around 2:30.”

She nods. “Okay, cool.”

It goes quiet again. Neither of us seems to know who should start.

I’ve just gotta go for it. “About what I said earlier,” I start. “The thing about touching…”

“Yeah,” she says.

“I hope I didn’t make things weird.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m glad you said something because let’s be honest, it has been weird for the past few days. Right?”

“Definitely.”

“I was worried you were regretting all of this, or maybe you’d met someone and were feeling weird about our situation, or you realized you actually can’t stand me, or?—”

I take a step toward her and put my hand on hers to stop the fidgeting. “Tori.” I wait until her gaze meets mine. “It’s nothing like that. And I’m sorry your mind took you to those places.”

She smiles wryly. “Those and about a thousand others. A woman’s mind is a busy place.”

I take her hand in mine, trying to gather the courage to tell her my real feelings. It’s not a skill I’ve developed. I’ve spent most of my life doing anything and everything to avoid putting myself out there emotionally. Trying to speak honestly and freely about my feelings now is the equivalent of opening up Hoover Dam.

I blow out a breath and a shaky laugh. “I suck at this.”

“ This being…”

Now I’m the one fidgeting, playing with her fingers. “Talking about my feelings. For you.” I glance up.

“Your feelings for me,” she repeats. “And are those feelings…good? Bad?”

“I wish I knew that,” I admit.

Her eyes widen slightly.

“What I mean,” I hurry to say, realizing the way she might’ve interpreted my answer, “is that it sort of depends on how similar my feelings about you are to your feelings about me . Right?”

“Okay,” she says slowly. She looks at me and narrows her eyes, smiling slightly. “Luca Callahan…the man who runs headfirst into a huddle of massive football players but is afraid of words.”

I chuckle. “Is that weird to you? I’d take physical pain over emotional pain any day.”

She’s quiet as her eyes search mine. “And you think I’m going to cause you emotional pain?”

I force myself to meet her eyes, but it takes me what feels like a full minute to say, “You have the power to break me, Tori.”

She stares at me, her chest rising high and falling deep. She steps toward me, looking up at me with wide, genuine eyes. “But I won’t.”

My hand tightens on hers instinctively as my throat thickens. My whole life, I’ve refused to let myself seek out or even believe in relationships that can last. In people who will stick around.

But I’m so tired of fighting it, and I want to believe Tori. I do believe her. She’s been with me from the moment I met her. She’s sacrificed everything for me, and she’s done it without complaining.

Letting myself love and letting myself be loved…those are scary thoughts. But the thought of a future where I don’t even take that chance? Where I know for sure I won’t experience love?

That’s not what I want.

The doorbell rings, and we both startle.

Impulse tells me to ignore the sound, pretend it never happened. Why would I want to see the person who has the most awful timing on the planet?

Tori smiles ruefully. “I’ll get it. Probably a door-to-door salesman or something.” She lets go of my hand and points a finger at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I won’t. I would probably stand right here through tomorrow’s game if I needed to.

She doesn’t come back right away like I expected her to, though.

“Luca!” she calls, and the tension in her voice has me jogging toward the entryway.

Tori comes into view, and there’s something off about the way she’s smiling at whoever’s on the doorstep.

She looks at me, her eyes widening the slightest bit in a clear message of danger.

I emerge far enough into the entryway to see the open doorway and two people standing on the doorstep. A middle-aged woman with chin-length blonde hair holds a clipboard in her crossed arms, and beside her, a gray-haired man with a round face and a mustache lets his clipboard sit against his leg.

“Mr. Callahan?” the woman asks.

I nod, ready to tell them I’m already registered to vote or, if they’re selling Girl Scout cookies, we’d like six boxes of each. But inside, I know they’re not here for either of those things.

I don’t see any police insignia, though. So that’s good, at least.

“I’m Joyce Lambert, and this”—she gestures to the man beside her—“is Ron Taylor. We’re with U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services. We just have a few questions for you and Victoria.”

I suppress the urge to look at Tori. “Oh. Okay. I’ve got to get to the hotel for team meetings. We’ve got a game tomorrow.”

“He plays for the Admirals,” Tori explains, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Any chance you could come back another day?”

“We won’t take much of your time,” Ron says, which is a polite way of saying we’re doing this now .

My stomach is tight, and Tori’s fingers press into my side. What is immigration doing here?

It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice about whether to let them inside, so I nod. “Come on in.”

“We’ll just ask you a few questions and take a quick look around, then get out of your hair,” Joyce says with a polite smile as I shut the door behind them.

This isn’t something Preston mentioned, and I pray the questions she’s referencing are ones Tori and I have prepared for because, otherwise…

“How long have you lived here?” Joyce asks, looking around.

“Um, let’s see…” I wrack my brains, but I can’t think straight.

“Beginning of May, right?” Tori says. “That’s when we came looking, at least. So I guess it would’ve been mid-May when you moved in.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a bit calmer after seeing how calm she is. “That’s right. I think the contract started May fifteenth.”

Joyce and Ron both scribble on their clipboards, then glance at each other.

“Mrs. Callahan,” Ron says, “you said ‘ you moved in.’ What did you mean by that?”

A string of swear words courses through my head.

“Oh”—Tori laughs—“I didn’t move in right away because I was still working in L.A., but Luca had already started training season here in San Diego.”

“I see…. And when did you move in? Or have you?”

“About, what, six weeks ago?” She looks at me for confirmation.

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Right after the Fourth of July.”

More scribbling. “So,” Joyce says, “you lived apart for a couple of months.”

“Yeah, but we saw each other when we could,” Tori says. “His schedule has been crazy all summer, so even if I had been here, we wouldn’t have seen much of each other.”

They both nod, then Joyce looks up. “Can you show us around the house a bit?”

“Sure,” I say. “This is the living area.” I gesture to the room in front of us, with a couple couches, a TV, and a coffee table, then lead the way toward the kitchen.

“Who makes breakfast in the mornings?” Ron asks as we stop near the island.

“Um, we both do?” Tori says with a laugh. “I wake up quite a bit later than Luca. He’s usually got training to get to, and I’m a late sleeper. But sometimes he’ll leave something for me anyway. Just in case it’s a miracle day, and I’m up before nine.”

“What do you do for work, Mrs. Callahan?” Ron asks, jotting more notes on his paper.

“I’m…currently unemployed,” she says. “But looking. Like I said, I was working in L.A. for a long time, so since quitting, I’ve just been trying to figure out what I want to do.”

So much scribbling. I can’t imagine scribbling means good things for us. Or that this visit means anything good. I have no memory of Preston mentioning anything about a home visit.

I’m seriously regretting letting Tori answer the door. If she hadn’t, what might we be doing right now?

But I won’t break you . That’s what she said.

Gosh, I want it to be true.

“Can you show us the rest of the house?” Ron asks.

Tori’s eyes sweep to me. He means the bedrooms. The separate bedrooms we sleep in.

“We’ve got to get going pretty soon, right, babe?” Tori says.

My mind trips for a second over that pet name. “Yeah.”

“Do you have just one car, then?” Joyce asks.

“No,” I say. “We have two, but?—”

“I like to drive him to the hotel whenever I can,” Tori cuts in. “We get so little time together, you know?”

Joyce smiles perfunctorily. “If you’ll just guide us through for a quick tour of the rest of the house, we’ll be on our way so you can get your husband to the hotel.”

“Yep,” Tori says brightly, but I can finally hear the nerves in her voice. Can the officers hear it too?

Tori leads the way down the hall. “Here’s the master bedroom.”

Joyce stands in front of the open doorway, and Ron joins her.

“Are you pregnant, Mrs. Callahan?” Joyce asks, looking at Tori with raised brows.

“What?” Tori asks quickly. Then it registers. “Oh. Because of the pillow? No, I’m not pregnant.” There’s a tiny pause, and her eyes dart to me. “Let’s just call it manifesting.”

“Manifesting?” Ron repeats.

“It’s something kids say nowadays,” Joyce explains. “Means trying to make something come true by pretending it is.”

Ron’s face screws up in an expression that translates to what in the actual world ?

“So, you’re trying to become pregnant?” Joyce asks.

Tori’s mouth opens wordlessly, then she laughs. “You guys really go for it with these questions, don’t you?”

“They’re important to help us understand the relationship,” Joyce says unapologetically.

Tori’s gaze flicks to me, and the corner of her mouth ticks up. “How could I not want a little Luca running around here?”

My heart races. Screw immigration. I’m tempted to scoop her up in my arms and take her into that bedroom right this second, but Ron interrupts.

“Is there a bathroom connected to this bedroom?” he asks.

I show the way into my bedroom, uncomfortably aware that none of Tori’s stuff is in this bathroom. She uses the one in the hallway, despite my offering a number of times for her to use this one, which is much nicer.

Joyce and Ron look around, and her eyes fix on the one lone toothbrush on the counter. “Whose is this?”

“Mine,” I say.

“And where’s yours, Mrs. Callahan?”

“It’s…um…in the other bathroom.”

It’s a scribble fest, then Joyce glances into the all-glass shower, which has the few things I use, none of which give feminine vibes.

“Is there a reason you use separate bathrooms?” she asks. Her voice is bland, like our answer is just a matter of passing curiosity rather than one that has far-reaching implications for our future.

I’m stumped on this one, and my heart races as I try to think of a quick answer that will satisfy rather than raising more questions.

“My hair,” Tori blurts out. She puts a hand to the messy bun on top of her head. “It’s…wild. And it gets everywhere. I shed like a dog, and Luca gets a little fed up with having my hair all over everything and clogging the shower drain.”

Ron nods like he actually finds this an incredibly reasonable explanation.

“Is this the only bedroom?” Joyce asks.

My gaze flits to Tori. Can we just say yes and save ourselves more torture?

“No,” Tori says. “There are three others.”

“If you’ll just take us past them quickly,” Ron says, “we can wrap things up.”

Tori takes in a breath and leads the way out of my room and into the hallway. Joyce looks at me, and I put a hand out, inviting her to go ahead of me.

Once she’s turned away, I shut my eyes, cringing, before I follow.

Tori stops in the middle of the hallway. “There’s a bedroom here and there and there.” She points to each one in turn. “And then the bathroom I use, of course.” I can sense her nerves, and I’m pretty sure the officers can too. She’s usually calm when it comes to these immigration situations, but today, I can feel her unraveling.

I wish I could pull her aside for a few minutes, hold her, and help her calm down. But I’m not exactly in a Zen state right now.

“Mind if I take a quick look inside?” Joyce asks.

We definitely mind, you nosey old lady.

“Sure thing,” Tori says, clasping her hands behind her back.

Joyce opens the door to the two unused guest rooms, neither of which have beds or furniture yet because we haven’t had time to devote to that sort of thing, nor have we had guests needing them.

My muscles tense as she opens the last bedroom door and pauses. “Another pregnancy pillow?”

“We take manifesting pretty seriously around here,” I say, hoping my tone sounds light. It’s not a forte of mine.

Joyce gives no indication she’s heard as she goes inside and looks around.

There are a couple items of Tori’s clothing on the floor, and even though the bed is made, it’s no hotel-corners bed-making job. It’s clearly been slept in recently.

The cruel irony is that I’ve lain awake in my own bed multiple nights since Tori moved in, wishing we were sharing a bed. And maybe I haven’t been alone in that.

“This room looks as though it’s currently in use,” Joyce says, stating the obvious. “Is that the case?”

“Yeah,” Tori says. “I’ve been using it since Luca’s back got injured at the game last week. I’m a wild sleeper, and I don’t want to bump him accidentally, you know? Gotta take care of the money-maker.” She smiles and squeezes me around the waist.

Ron and Joyce write a few more notes on their clipboards, then Joyce puts hers to her side. “Well, then. We’ll let you get where you need to go and be on our way.”

I lead the way to the front door, trying to keep my pace casual even though I want to get them out of here as quickly as possible. Before they can ask any more questions.

Ron shakes my hand, and I try to catch a glimpse of the notes he’s been taking so copiously, but he’s got the clipboard turned in toward his body, concealing it.

“We’ll be in touch if we need any clarification,” he says, stepping onto the porch.

Joyce tags along behind, and Tori waves at them with a smile. “Bye!”

I shut the door, and we both stare at it for a few seconds.

“That did not go well,” Tori says, sounding as sick as I feel.

“No. It didn’t.”

“They freaking ambushed us.” She covers her face with her hands. “What does this mean?”

I feel more sick to my stomach than ever. “I don’t know. Nothing good.” My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket.

It’s my position coach, so I take a breath and answer.

He wants me to come have a chat with him before team meetings start. Which means I have to leave now. I can’t even let myself think about what he might want to talk about. What if he’s decided I shouldn’t be starting after all? Bennett’s been bringing the intensity in practice this week.

“You have to go,” Tori guesses once I hang up.

“Yeah,” I say with a grimace. “But we will finish our conversation.”

She smiles wryly. “I’m counting on it.” She hesitates for a few seconds, then goes up on her toes and kisses me on the cheek.

When she pulls back, I look at her for a second. I want nothing more than to kiss her right now. Really kiss her. But if I do, I won’t stop there.

“Go,” she says.

I grit my teeth like it’ll give me the willpower to do what she’s saying when I want to stay so badly. “See you in the stands.”