Luca and I both let out a synchronized, hysterical burst of laughter that sounds more like a pair of hyenas having a breakdown.
“Yes,” Luca chokes out. “Friends. Exactly like that.”
The awkwardness between Luca and me is mercifully shattered when a PR rep flags them down, dragging both men toward a waiting camera crew. As they walk away—shoulders brushing, laughing like the lifelong brothers they are—I feel like I’m about to actually vibrate out of my skin and leave my physical body behind.
My world hasn’t just collided. It’s undergone a total nuclear meltdown, and I’m standing in the fallout wearing charcoal leggings and a fake ass smile.
I lean against the cold concrete of the tunnel, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm that definitely isn't medically sound. I watch them: Croix, the man who has been my emotional anchor and the human equivalent of a weighted blanket for the past few months, and Luca, the man I legally bound myself to in a neon-lit chapel. One is the past I finally moved on from, and the other is a future I'm currently waiting on a “yes or no” email to confirm he likes me.
The weight of the secret feels like a physical heat in my throat, which is weird, because I'm pretty sure my blood has turned to ice. How the hell am I supposed to look my best friend in the eye and explain that his “best lad from back home” is the same man I’m currently tied to by the laws of the State of Nevada?
Tatum comes over just as cameras and microphones are shoved into the boys’ faces. “Sweetie? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Haven’t I?” I whisper under my breath.
Because how do I tell Croix that I’m secretly—and very awkwardly—Mrs. LucafuckingChillmonger?
Chapter Thirteen
Pen, Croix and Star-Crossed
Luca
Three months ago.
This is incredibly inconvenient.
Since Vegas, my life has been a series of training camps and international travel. Between the matches and the rigorous schedule I’ve kept with Justice Trager, our team captain, who is currently grooming me to take his place, I’ve barely had a moment to breathe, let alone process the fallout from Nevada.
With the weight of the captaincy looming, I’ve had to be brutally honest with myself. Did I really want to introduce a new element of high-octane drama into my life? Reality TV and a “what if?” marriage are a lot to carry, even if the feelings behind them felt terrifyingly real in the dark of those pods. I told myself I’d have more time to explore the implications and weigh the risks before I ever had to face her again.
Because, in all honesty, I’ve known exactly who she was for a week now. Apparently, a red-headed kid and his mother fell on hard times and decided it was time to try to sell the footage.
Last week, the calls started. A journalist began pestering Croix, asking for comment on the rumors that he’d proposed to someone and been shot down. Apparently, there were camera phones recording the exact moment he dropped to one knee, and as his best friend, I was there for the frantic aftermath. I stood by as he leveraged his entire reputation—and a significant amount of cash—to keep a pack of hungry vultures from airing the footage of his public rejection.
Watching the grainy video of my best mate being turned down was difficult enough. But when the camera finally panned, the face of the woman on the screen delivered a blow that nearly stopped my heart.
It was her. My “Ms. Mysterious” from the Vegas pods.
The woman I’d spent months trying to track down was the very same “Pen” Croix had been pining over for the last half-year. Seven days ago, the two halves of my life didn’t just collide. They shattered.
The realization hit me with questions of loyalty I’ve never had to face. On one side stands Croix, a man who is more like a brother than a teammate, someone who would take a bullet for me without blinking. On the other is the woman I barely know, yet legally bound myself to on a random night in Vegas. The same woman who has occupied every single one of my thoughts since the moment we lost touch.
I’ve spent my life treating principles of loyalty like an oath, but how do you choose when your heart is claimed by your best friend’s heart?
Croix has always maintained that one of the greatest betrayals of his life happened back when we were in secondary school. A friend of ours, Brett Tollworth, slept with his girlfriend while we were away at a soccer match and the girl left Croix for him. He’s been guarded about his inner circle meeting the women he dates ever since. A protective instinct born from that old wound. Butthis situation defies all logic. How the hell were we supposed to know?
It’s his fault for keeping her a secret for so long. If he had introduced us months ago, we could have avoided this disaster entirely. I never would have allowed myself to fall for her. I never would have let myself touch her, and I certainly wouldn't have nearly ruined my reputation flying back and forth to Vegas like a madman trying to find her.
That search is exactly why I’ve been stalling the producers. I needed time to breathe, to think, and to decide if I truly had it in me to walk through this kind of fire. I knew then what I know with terrifying certainty now: giving in to her, even a fraction, will consume me. Our love won’t just be a spark; it’ll be a blaze that ruins me and Croix, both.
And then…bloody hell. She had to look like that. Better than I remembered. I thought I needed more time to weigh the cost, but the second we came face-to-face, the clocks stopped. I don’t want any more time to think. I just want forever with her.
The rest of the evening is nothing but press junkets and a tense team debrief in the locker room. It’s been a grueling day, both on and off the pitch. But as the adrenaline finally begins to slow and I make my way toward the stadium exit, I spot Tatum. She’s leaning against a pillar, watching my approach with a look that is far too knowing. She actually looks a bit squeamish as I close the distance between us.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low enough to stay beneath the hum of the departing crowd. “That woman you were with earlier. Aspen.”
Tatum’s grin is slow. “Right. You two know each other, I’ve gathered?”
