44. Lark

Chapter forty-four

Lark

Tuesday, April 29, 2025

I hear a knock at my door minutes after showering and changing into my pajamas.

I look through the peephole and see Gianni standing there with Pickles, both of them decked out in sports gear for a team I don’t recognize.

The moment I open the door, Gianni’s arm thrusts forward. He pushes a purple shirt into my hands. “Are you doing anything tonight? I promised I’d go to my nephew’s soccer game, and I want you to go with me if you’re free?”

That makes my heart soar. He wants to hang out with me and include me in his family time?

“I’d love to. When do we have to leave?”

His smile lights his whole face up. “Ten minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in five,” I tell him, rushing to my room to change.

** *

We walk toward the grass field and make our way over to where Dante and Arielle are standing along the sidelines. Arielle waves her arms over her head excitedly as soon as she spots us, and Dante whips around at the commotion. A grin plasters itself on his handsome face, and I hear Gianni release a content sigh.

Opening my arms wide, I embrace Arielle, and she squeezes me so tightly to her chest that I’m afraid I’ll pop. “Thank you so much for coming,” she whispers before releasing me.

Dante is nothing like what I’d expect if I just saw him in passing and had never met him before. He’s covered in dark tattoos, his dark eyes and hair creating an almost dangerous quality to his look, but he’s all smiles and sweet words. He wraps his hulking frame around me and presses a kiss to either of my cheeks.

“The boys will be ecstatic that you both made it,” he tells us. “Mom and Dad are over there.” He points behind us to where Gloria and Angelo are seated beside the bleachers.

I know from the news reports I read about their family that Gloria and Alessandro both have multiple sclerosis, and Gianni confirmed it the other night. I just hope that modern medicine keeps Alessandro out of a wheelchair.

“The others should be here soon, but Kat got caught up with a patient, so they might be a little late.” Gianni nods, placing his large hand at the base of my spine and leading me over to his parents.

** *

“Yes! That’s my little man!” Gloria shouts from beside me, her hands turning red from the amount of clapping she’s been doing since the game started.

Sammy and Benny throw us wide smiles each time they pass us on the field, and it’s clear how much actually showing up for them means to not only them, but Gianni and his entire family too.

The boys are racing up the field, showing off for their Uncle Gi, and frankly, I’m impressed. These two have some moves on them.

Gianni’s finally letting loose, just enough that when Sammy scores the winning goal, he jumps up from his seat, dropping my hand in my lap as he hollers out to him, “Heck yeah, Sammy! Show ’em how it’s done!”

I can’t help the grin I’m wearing as I take it all in. It must be such a privilege to have a family so invested in your success.

***

“Uncle Gi! Uncle Gi! You made it!” Two little boys come running toward the stands after their winning game.

The smaller one, Benny, catapults himself into Gianni’s arms. He holds him close, ruffling his hair. “Good game, Benny.”

Sammy sidles up to us. “Thanks for coming,” he says, much more timid than his brother.

Gianni gives him a smile in response, and the whole family congratulates them, tossing the boys around for hugs. They invite me to get ice cream with them, but I have to pick up an early shift, so I have to decline.

***

“Thanks for tagging along,” Gianni tells me as he drives us back to our apartment building. His hand grips my thigh tightly at every red light but returns to the steering wheel the moment the light is green.

“Anytime,” I answer truthfully. I’ll go anywhere this man takes me.

“Do you need a snack before we get back? I don’t want your blood sugar to drop,” he tells me, and his thoughtfulness warms my heart.

“I’m okay. I just checked my continuous glucose monitor before we got in the car,” I tell him with a small smile.

He eyes me speculatively. “Would you mind explaining how that works to me? I’ve looked into it, and it seems like it’s just kind of always checking your sugars, but there were so many brands, and even within the brand that you use, there were a few different kinds.”

Heat creeps up my chest. “You were researching diabetes?”

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

This man.

“The CGM I have checks my sugar constantly, just like any other continuous glucose monitor, but each company has its own devices. Mine can connect to a receiver, a watch, or an app on my phone, which is my preference,” I explain. “It’s got a wire-thin filament that stays in my skin, and I wear it all day, in the shower or wherever. I change it once a week, but some people change theirs every ten days. I just know I won’t remember to change mine unless it’s always on the same day of the week. It checks my sugar levels all day and uploads the data to an app on my phone.” I open the app so I can show him what the interface looks like. “I have mine set so that if my sugar falls below seventy, an alarm will go off through the app, so I know to drink some juice or get anything high carb in my body. On days when my sugar gets too high, I feel crappy for hours, even after I’ve corrected it. It’s a constant battle to reach some semblance of homeostasis.”

“So the day you had that episode, why didn’t an alarm go off?” he asks, his brows pinching together.

“Because I had already taken my CGM off, thinking I was going to change it out, but then I realized I didn’t have any insulin and forgot to put another CGM on. It was just a string of bad luck that day.”

He hums beside me. “Is there a certain brand of that glucagon I should get? I’d just like to have it in case something like that happens again.”

My throat feels thick as tears prick my eyes. We pull into the parking lot. “Anything will do, thank you,” I tell him, holding back the tears that are threatening to spill over.