Chapter 3

3

LUCA

It feels like I missed something. Our bowl game was back in January, so what exactly am I being congratulated for?

I shake the doctor’s hand and look at Victoria for enlightenment. She couldn’t look more apologetic if she’d just accidentally launched a missile.

“I’ve known Tori for a few years,” the doctor says, looking at her with a huge grin, “and you’ve got yourself a good one.”

Wait, what? I look at Victoria again, and she clenches her teeth. What exactly did I get myself into?

The doctor looks at me and pauses, his hand still gripping mine. “Hold on. I knew I recognized you. You’re Luca Callahan!”

“Yeah,” I say.

Victoria’s brows snap together, and she looks back and forth between the doctor and me. Apparently, his recognizing me is an unwelcome development. I’d like to chat with her on the topic of unwelcome developments….

I take it this doctor is under the impression that she’s my girlfriend, and based on her guilty face, it’s no secret where he came about this idea.

“Fight on!” The doctor puts up the victory V with his fingers.

“Fight on,” I echo because it’s ingrained in me.

He turns to Victoria again. “You said you were engaged to an athlete. You didn’t say it was one of the best wide receivers in the conference!”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Engaged ?

Victoria smiles, and her gaze shifts to me with a hint of don’t-throw-me-under-the-next-semi in it.

Why would she tell this guy we’re engaged? Did she hit her head harder than she thought?

Doc turns back to me. “What are you thinking, Callahan? I’ve been telling my buddy Ryan you’re a lock for a mid-round pick, but he thinks you’re too bulky for a wideout and need to shave some time off your 40.”

My jaw clenches. I don’t know who Ryan is, but I do know I’m not a fan. Not a huge one of this doctor, either. Isn’t his motto supposed to be first do no harm ? And here he is, gut-punching me. Not only is the draft an extremely tender topic at the moment, my size and speed are also sore spots. I am big for a wide receiver, and my agent’s been harping on it for the past few months as we’ve discussed what teams are most likely to pick me.

Well, that question’s a whole lot easier to answer today: none of them.

The doctor and Victoria are both looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

“He’s not a big talker,” Victoria explains with an indulgent smile. “Are you, babe?” She puts out her hand, clearly expecting me to come hold it.

Are you supposed to humor people who are suffering the effects of a head injury? I feel like I’ve read that somewhere. My level of confusion is off the charts, but I shuffle over and take her offered hand.

“He’s not one to toot his own horn,” she says, smiling up at me like I’m her whole world and not a random person she met today and threatened with mace. “Likes to leave it all on the field—let his playing do the talking.”

She’s not wrong. She’s also not my fiancée. She’s also also got really soft hands.

“Amen, brother,” the doctor says. He heaves a big sigh and takes a seat on his stool. “Well, I’d love to talk football, but we should probably discuss your MRI.” He looks to me, then to Victoria. “I assume you’re okay with him being here for this part—about to share lives and beds and all that.” He winks.

“Absolutely,” Victoria says with enthusiasm. “Lukey already knows everything about me.”

I try to smile, but it’s not one of my fortes to begin with, and definitely not when I’m called Lukey . Besides, if this man puts her statement to the test, we’re going to have major problems. The extent of my knowledge about Victoria could easily fit within Twitter’s old 140-character limit. It might not be enough to satisfy most password length requirements.

“Perfect,” the doctor says with a wide grin.

He goes on to read from the papers on his clipboard, assuring Victoria everything looks fine on the MRI, which draws a sigh of relief from me. I saved her life, but knowing she’d gotten a traumatic brain injury as a result would be truly awful news.

“If you feel dizzy or nauseated or have vision changes, you come right back, okay?” Doc says. “You know the signs, Callahan. I’m counting on you to keep an eye on her. He points at me with his pen. “She shouldn’t be alone for the next couple days.”

I nod, wondering when she’ll let my hand go.

The doctor stands and smiles at us, shaking his head like we’re two naughty children he’s decided to indulge. “I’m really loving this for you two. Good luck with wedding planning and the draft. I’ll be cheering for you, Callahan. Oh! Could I grab a quick photo? If you don’t mind, Tori. Patient confidentiality comes first, of course.”

I look at her, and she hesitates for a split second, then fixes her gown, wraps her arm around mine, and pulls me closer.

Doc smiles and pulls out his phone, then snaps a selfie with us in the background.

“That’s a money shot right there,” he says. “See you guys later! Hopefully, not here, though.” And with that, he’s gone.

Victoria releases my hand, and we both wipe our palms, her on the sheet, me on my suit pants.

“Eesh,” she says. “How do you throw the football with those sweaty hands?”

“I catch the ball. And I wear gloves. Besides, at least half of that sweat was yours.” It wasn’t. I haven’t held a girl’s hand in…I don’t even remember. Given how it went today, I probably never will again. “So, you gonna explain all that to me?”

“All what?” She’s still wiping her hand meticulously, like she’s trying to clean it of any trace of blood.

If I have even a shred of my ego left after today, it’ll be a miracle.

“If I have to explain that to you,” I say, “I’d better go grab the doctor again and let him know to run a full neurological panel?—”

“Okay!” Her palms slap down on her lap. “I’m really, really sorry. I promise I had no intention of roping you into that. It just sort of…worked out that way.”

“Is that doctor your ex or something?”

“What, Tyler?” She cringes. “Ew, no. His friend Ryan is.”

Ah. Ryan. The one who thinks I’m fat and run like a tortoise.

“Tyler came in and recognized me,” she explains, “and he started going off about how well Ryan’s doing, and how he’s engaged and moving to New York to work at a big law firm and…”

I look at her for a second, trying to fill in the blanks. “So, you’re still in love with this Ryan guy?”

“Gosh no,” she says, looking disgusted. “But he dumped me for the girl he’s marrying, so I felt the need to…embellish my life a bit. Bedazzle it, you know? I said I was engaged to an athlete—Ryan idolizes anyone in a jersey—and then you walked in, and Tyler made an assumption. I didn’t even know you were an athlete. I just thought you were half-giant or something. Anyway, that’s how you became…collateral embellishment.”

“And you couldn’t use your real boyfriend?”

She frowns. “My real…ah. Yeah, no. Because I don’t have one of those.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. This woman is doing my head in. “So, the person you called in the car…?”

She shows a smile of clenched teeth. “I didn’t call anyone. I just freaked out a little when I realized I’d hopped in the car with a stranger who weighs twice as much as me.”

“Can we stop with the fat jokes? I don’t weigh twice as much as you.”

“Who’s telling fat jokes? Have you looked at your biceps recently?” Her gaze sweeps to my arms. “Maybe your gigantic shoulder muscles obscure your view of them.”

I try to ignore the zing of pleasure her compliments send through me. I work hard to stay fit. It’s all been part of the plan. Which failed.

“Anyway,” she says, fiddling with her fingers, “that’s what happened. I just didn’t want Tyler to run to Ryan and tell him how lame I am. So”—she smiles at me—“now you know my physical and emotional trauma.”

I don’t say anything for a minute. Lame isn’t a word I’d use to describe the woman in front of me. Unpredictable, absolutely. “Your ex sounds an idiot.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. After a second, she laughs. “He’s actually really smart. Top of his class in law school.”

I shrug. “There are different types of smart. Top-of-your-class in law school just means you’re good at being a self-important jerk.” I may be exaggerating, but the entire legal profession isn’t on my nice-list today.

Victoria’s mouth pulls into a dazzling smile. “He is kind of self-important. And a jerk.” Her smile dims, and she tips her head back, staring at the ceiling as she sighs. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I had no idea you were famous, or I’d have corrected Tyler’s assumption. I’ll find a way to tell him the truth.” She looks a little green at the thought.

“It’s okay.” I can’t bring myself to force her to go through the humiliation of admitting she lied about having a fiancé. “Don’t worry about that. Just focus on resting.”

“Not until I’ve eaten that burrito.”

I grab the bag, which I’d completely forgotten about in the chaos of getting fake-engaged. “Right. It’s got everything on it, like you asked.”

“Come to mama,” she says, wiggling her fingers with her eyes on the bag.

It does smell pretty good, but I don’t have much of an appetite right now.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen. It’s Zach. Again. I blow out a breath. I’ve delayed the inevitable long enough.

“You really can go,” she says. “You’ve done more than enough for me today.”

I search her face for any sign she’s just being nice and would actually rather have company, but she seems like a capable adult—near-death experience notwithstanding.

“If you’re sure…” I say.

“Positive.”

I nod, still feeling hesitant. It seems like she should have someone with her, like the doctor said. “How will you get home?”

“I’ll manage, Callahan. You heard the doctor: I’m fine. And my car isn’t that far away.”

I smile slightly. “I dunno. There are a lot of streets to cross between here and there...”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’d punch you in the arm right now if you were closer.”

I take a few steps toward her and offer my right arm.

She stares at it like she’s trying to decide where to land her punch. “I feel like I’ll end up breaking a finger, and then you’ll make me get an X-ray, so consider yourself lucky. I’ve got a mean right hook.”

“I’m sure you do.” I glance at my phone, but Zach’s call is long gone now. “I promised your doctor friend I’d keep an eye on you. Can I check in on you?”

She shrugs and puts her burrito on top of the plastic bag. “Sure.”

I hand her my phone, and she saves her number in it.

I head for the door with the uncomfortable knowledge that I’d actually rather stay here than face what’s ahead of me. But it’s just delaying the inevitable.

“Hey,” she says once I’m holding the door handle.

I turn and look at her.

The teasing expression is absent. There’s an intent, almost haunted look in her eyes as she tries to smile. “Thanks for saving my life, Crusher. And my ego.”

“No problem.” I close the door behind me and head down the hallway for the exit, but I wait to call Zach until I’m out of the hospital and walking toward the parking lot.

“Hey,” he says, a hint of annoyance in his breathless voice. “Where’ve you been?”

“At the hospital,” I say.

“What?! What happened?”

He’s imagining the worst right now—some career-ending injury—so I hurry to reassure him. “Not for me.”

He lets out a huge sigh. “Thank heaven.”

For all he knows, I could’ve been visiting someone fighting for their life. But I get it. His career and mine depend on my physical health, and it’s been a stressful few weeks trying to get prepared for the draft. I just wish his relief could last.

“You didn’t answer my text about the visa application,” he says. “We’re kind of on a clock here.”

“I know.” I shut my eyes for a second, wishing I could skip this part. “My petition was denied, Zach.”

“What?” There’s a long pause. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” I say softly. “The judge wants my record intact.”

Zach swears. A lot. I live a chunk of my life in a locker room, but he could give my teammates a run for their money.

I’m quiet, giving him time to process. But I haven’t even done that.

He blows out a long breath. “I don’t know what to do, Luca. I’ve been sitting here telling all these scouts time and time again that your immigration situation isn’t an issue.”

“I know.”

“Can we appeal?”

“Yeah, but we won’t get a decision in time, and there’s no saying the ruling would be any different.”

“Getting a judge that’s not a Bruin would be a start,” he says.

I try for a smile. I’d like to say the USC/UCLA school rivalry didn’t play a part in Judge Greene’s decision and that he’s above that, but who knows? Either way, it doesn’t change the reality.

Zach swears again. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend you could marry, do you?”

I scoff lightly. Little does he know how timely his question is after what just happened in the E.R.

He sighs. “All right. I’ve gotta dive in and do some research. See if there’s some loophole or fine print we haven’t taken into account. I’ll call you as soon as I have anything.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach my car. But I’m not expecting anything. This was our one hope. My record was the thing standing between me and the P-1 visa. “I’m really sorry, Zach. I wish I could go back and change my choices that day…”

“Yeah, me too.”

I push aside the hurt his words bring. Part of me wanted reassurance that he’d have done the same thing in my place. That I shouldn’t have been charged to begin with. But Zach’s not a therapist. He’s the agent whose job is getting both of us the most lucrative contract possible.

“Keep your head up, okay?” he says.

“Yup.”

The line clicks off, and I slip the phone into my pocket. Bracing myself with both hands on the car frame, I let my head hang. I’ve thought about the day that led to my record so many times since…what I did—what I could’ve done differently. But there’s no changing it, and now the past has caught up with me, and it’s hurting Zach too.

I resist the impulse to shake the entire car like I shook the vending machine. My therapist has told me time and time again that venting my anger in that way doesn’t actually reduce it.

I take in a few slow, deep breaths, square my shoulders, then open the car door and get in. I drive home in silence. What’ll I do with my life back in Canada? I could try for the football league there, but it’s not the same. The game or the dream. Besides, I really don’t want to go back to Canada.

But what other choice do I have?