“And then?” I press. “Did you end up with him?”
“Forty-Seven of the best years of my life. But not before a big mess was made of him not knowing how to stand on business.”
I can't help but laugh at her using the slang so perfectly.
I chew on her words as I pack up my bag. Was that what Luca had been doing all along? Was he trying so hard not to be the villain in someone else’s story that he forgot I was supposed to be the lead in his? Or maybe he realized it too late and simply couldn't handle the script.
Either way, the role I have to play next is the one I’m dreading most. The upcoming Young Strikers event will be the first time Luca, Croix, and I have been in the same vicinity since the breakup. While I’m tasked with running free health exams for the families, Luca and Croix will be side-by-side on the field, running drills and delivering motivational speeches to the kids. I just hope we can all survive the afternoon without the tension tearing the stadium apart.
The last time we were all in the same space, it was a disaster. Luca and Croix’s fight in front of the cameras and fans wasn't just embarrassing, it was nearly career suicide. Their refusal to address the rift was dividing the team and the fans, at the exact same time it was breaking me. I remember the desperation in my voice when I told Luca he needed to get into therapy withCroix. I warned him he needed to get a grip on his life and his feelings before he lost everything.
I guess, in his eyes, losing me was a fair price to pay for keeping his career and team intact.
I strap my bag over my shoulder, looking back at her. “So, what you’re saying is… I should be patient?”
She laughs, giving my hand a final pat. “I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m just saying that men have their reasons for the mess they make, and right now, you’re the only one who can decide if you actually want to hear your husband’s reasons. It’s up to you to figure out if there’s anything worth saving in those reasons or if you're just done.”
“Why can’t you just tell me what to do?”
“Because no two love stories are the same. I can tell you what I did but it doesn’t mean it’s going to be the same for you!”
I groan. “You’re mean.”
“And you need to make decisions without someone telling you what to do.This one is going to require you to do your own research and make an informed decision.
“Okay, but if you were me, how would you be feeling right now?”
The question feels strange as it leaves my mouth. It isn’t lost on me that I’m asking Ms. Lily for the very thing my mother would salivate for—to actually need her. But my mother is a different brand of meddler. Her version of “help” always comes wrapped in a lecture and served with a side of judgment. With Ms. Lily, it just feels like the truth.
Ms. Lilly laughs in ‘knowing, old-soul.’ “I would feel like I’d won the reality TV lottery if I were you. Now, go home and decide if you’re going to be a wife to that man.”
I don’t have an answer for her—or for myself—so I just hug her goodbye. But as I walk to my van, her words stay loud in my head.Decide.
Between the looming annulment, Luca’s recent “best behavior,” and those damn protein bars, the line between playing a role and living a life is getting real…confusing. Almost comfortable. I have to figure out if I’m actually going to embrace this part and just how far I’m willing to take things. Especially since Luca seems to be playing an entirely different game than the one we started.
There are public appearances to make and gowns being fitted to my body, but at this very moment, I’m not sure what part I’m supposed to play. I don’t know if I’m dressing up for the cameras, the familial expectations, or for the man waiting for me at home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Security Feeds, Synths + a Climax Telecast
Luca
The blue light of the seventy-five-inch screen reflects off the glass of bourbon in my hand. Usually, the only thing I watch on this TV is match film when I’m analyzing footwork, critiquing defensive lines, and looking for the tactical gaps I can exploit.
Tonight, the gap is in my chest.
I’d imagined us doing this together. We’d be sharing a bowl of popcorn, maybe her feet in my lap, both of us laughing at how ridiculous we looked. Instead, Aspen is feet that feel like miles away, tucked behind the closed door of her bedroom. She’d looked me dead in the eye an hour ago and said, “I can’t do it, Luca. I can’t sit on that couch and watch us happen in front of millions while we’re...whateverthis is.”
Every time I catch that flicker of pain in her eyes, it absolutely guts me. It’s the ultimate defensive play. She’s guarding herself so fiercely against “whatever this is” that she’s blind to what's right in front of her. She can't see how much I fucking miss her. She can't see that I’m actually capable of being better.
I want to tell her that I’m finally man enough to burn down my entire life for her, but she still needs time.
For the last two weeks, I’ve been trying to bridge the gap without overstepping the lines she’s drawn. I’ve been a ghost in my own home, playing the long game. I’ve even managed to get her to swap some of her coffee for tea. Partly because I know one of her patients has an affinity for it, but mostly because it’s a piece of me she’s finally letting in.
I won't let her guardedness put me off. I’m not throwing in the towel just because it’s hard. Not this time. Even if I have to operate from the shadows, I’m showing her I can be the man she needs right now. It’s in the way I’ve learned exactly how many minutes she likes her tea to steep, and how I keep the fridge stocked with that specific brand of yogurt she loves, but never actually asks for.
I’m trying to show her I’m paying attention. Not because an agreement says I have to, but because I can’t seem to look away from her now that she’s here.
