ILOOK AROUNDfurtively before rapping on the door of Luca’s hotel room.
It’s after curfew, so I shouldn’t be doing this. Actually, I shouldn’t be doing this regardless. At any time of day or night. But I couldn’t stay away. I want Luca to hear both the good and bad news that came out of tonight’s meeting from me. Namely, that he’s not cut, thank God, but also that I’m no longer going to be working with him. Indeed, I’ve already received a reply text from Moriarty confirming our one-one-one session at 5:30 a.m. sharp tomorrow—the same time and place as my usual sessions with Luca.
One more soft rap on the door and Luca appears, shirtless and barefoot. Wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and an expression of dread. He knows about tonight’s meeting. All the players do. And by the look on his face, he thinks I’m here to deliver the worst possible news.
“So you’re allowed to come to my door, but I’m not allowed to come to yours?” he says weakly. He’s using humor as a crutch—as a coping mechanism—while he’s actually in the throes of deep anxiety. I do that, too, sometimes.
“Can I come in?” I whisper, looking around nervously at the empty, quiet hallway.
With a nod, he wordlessly steps back and widens his door, and I step into the small hotel room. It’s the same as mine, basically: There’s a queen bed covered in beige, a small desk and dresser, and a window overlooking a parking lot below.
“They didn’t cut you,” I blurt, the second the door closes behind me. “They want to see you in Sunday’s game.”
Luca clutches his heart, staggers backward, and exhales loudly. But after processing the heart-stopping news for a beat, he lurches forward and wraps me in a celebratory bear hug that physically takes my breath away.
“We did it, baby!” Luca bellows. “Fuck yeah! Coach Chelsea for the win!”
Suddenly, the delectable, musky scent of Luca’s aftershave overtakes my nose and fills my lungs. That combined with the warmth of his bare, muscular torso pressed against me sends my eyes practically rolling back into my head. If it weren’t for the second half of what I came to say to Luca tonight, I’m sure I’d lose all self-control in this moment.
Breathing hard, I force myself to step out of his delicious embrace and get on with the rest of it. “They cut Calhoun, though.”
“Shit.No.”
“Hopefully, he’ll get picked up somewhere.”
“He will. I’m sure of it.”
I take a deep breath, girding myself to deliver the news that’s been gnawing at my stomach lining since it happened. “Also, Bellamy closed a deal with Moriarty tonight, Luca. He’s coming to practice in the morning.”
Luca’s frown regarding his buddy Calhoun being let go becomes sharper. As a crease forms in his forehead, he runs a big hand through his dark mop of hair. But in a flash, he pulls himself together enough to say, “We always knew he’d come back. It just means we have to work that much harder, which we will.” He places a hand on his unbelievable bare abs,looking fiercely determined and delectable. “We’ve got this, Chelsea. You and me. Together, we’re unstoppable.”
My stomach twists. “You’vegot this, Luca,” I correct softly. “You don’t need me anymore.”
“Are you insane? Of course, I do! You’re my secret weapon baby. As long as I’ve got you, I can do anything.”
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!“Luca, they’ve assigned me to Moriarty. I can’t work with you anymore. The order came from the top.” To my shock, tears spring into my eyes as those last words tumble out.
Luca looks like I’ve just delivered a death blow. A terminal diagnosis. He slowly sits on the edge of the bed and hangs his head. “Starting when?”
“Effective immediately. I’m working with Jacob tomorrow morning during our usual time slot.”
He winces like I’ve slapped him across the face. “Can I work with you at the end of the day, then? Or maybe late at night? I’ll take any time slot you’ve got for me.”
The tears in my eyes haven’t fallen yet. But they’re blurring my vision. “No, that’s not possible. I’m sorry, Luca. All I want is to keep working with you. I hope you know that.” A tear falls, and I wipe at it. I hardly ever cry. It’s just not my thing. So, this traitorous water streaming down my face isn’t only a surprise to me; it’s a confession.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he coos softly, and with so much tenderness, my heart pangs like it’s splintering. “You should be celebrating. This is a huge promotion for you.”
“No.” I blink, and the water in my eyes squirts down my cheeks.
“Chelsea, they’re pulling you off a scrub and putting you with their biggest superstar. That’s a huge vote of confidence, baby. I’m thrilled for you.”
With a sad little smile, he gets up and gently wipes at mywet cheek with his thumb, and my entire body thrums with the urge to throw my arms around him.
“Put Moriarty on your résumé and you’ll get a great job with another team in record speed,” he whispers. “Maybe even this season, instead of waiting for next like you originally planned.” He looks absolutely devastated, but he manages a tight smile as he cups my face in both warm, large palms. “Celebrate this win, and don’t give me a second thought, okay? You’ve given me the fishing rod and taught me how to use it, so I’ll get out there and catch some big-ass fish for both of us.”
“But I want to keep working with you,” I choke out through tears.
He shakes his head and drops one of his hands. With the other one, he smooths my hair. “Look out for yourself. I’ll be just fine.” He wipes at another tear with his thumb. “If you do as well with Moriarty as you did with me, Bellamy will have to hear you out on what you could do for his department. I know you said he doesn’t buy into all your spreadsheets and stuff, but maybe after you kick ass with Moriarty, you’ll be able to convince him.”
