Chapter Twenty-Four Luca
TWENTY-FOUR LUCA
Unfortunately, Luca realizes quickly that trying to play Mario Kart isn’t going to help her strained back. It’s impossible to turn off her ultracompetitive nature, and when she flinches the wrong way turning to avoid sliding off Rainbow Road, her back protests.
Juliette pauses the game. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Luca throws herself back among the pillows and is rewarded with Juliette snorting at her dramatics.
“Of course it does.” She huffs, annoyed.
She’d spent the last day and a half trying to find a comfortable way to exist. She can’t sit up, because none of the chairs have enough support.
Standing is fine, but eventually if she shifts on her feet, the twinges return.
So, she has to lay on a plethora of pillows and ice.
“Movie, then?” Juliette asks, navigating out of the game menu to an array of streaming services.
Luca shrugs, noncommittal. She doesn’t really want to watch a movie. She knows the minute it starts, she’ll fall asleep and then Juliette will leave and she’ll be left in her lonely hotel room with nothing but her pain again.
Luca pushes those thoughts away and stretches her legs over the edge of the couch, wriggling down so her feet hang over the armrest.
Juliette glances at her, face half-illuminated by the TV. Her legs are curled beneath her, and she’s staring at Luca with a question on her face.
“Do you know how long you’re out for?” Juliette asks, clicking the controller. Luca watches her open up her Spotify and turn on a random playlist, lowering the sound to a background murmur.
Luca chews on the inside of her lip. “The rest of Wimbledon, at least.”
Juliette frowns. “I was looking forward to beating you.”
Luca scoffs. “Yeah, right. Maybe you would have a chance now.”
Juliette chuckles, and her eyes glint with enjoyment. “I would’ve won anyway.”
Luca crosses her arms over her chest. “Bold of you to think you would make it to the final,” Luca says, and Juliette extends her foot out to lightly nudge at Luca’s calf.
“I’ll show you,” she says.
“I look forward to it,” Luca says, surprised to find it isn’t a lie and feeling an odd warmth in her chest. Now that she isn’t playing, Luca is tempted to watch Juliette’s upcoming matches.
Juliette runs her fingers through her hair, twisting the curls over her other shoulder. She doesn’t look at Luca as she speaks. “Do you want to see if my soulmate hands would work on your back?” She does jazz hands as she says it.
Luca chokes on a laugh, even as her low-level anxiety spikes from the buzz in the back of her head. She curls her fingers into the sleeves of her hoodie.
“I don’t have to,” Juliette says quickly. “I just thought it might help. For Miami.”
Luca isn’t sure what to say. Her whole body aches to say yes, but she knows she should say no. She doesn’t know how to fight the surge of want that she feels every time Juliette comes close. She’s never been one to stay away from temptation after indulging.
Too sensitive, too emotional, too soft. All things she heard throughout her childhood until the hard courts toughened her and she found an escape through tennis. Though that doesn’t change her nature and how quickly she falls in love.
Her mother once described the pull toward her father as being parched in a scorched desert. And his love, however painful, was always the water she desperately craved.
Luca can’t need Juliette as if she’d die without her. Even if they’re tentative friends, Luca doesn’t know if she can trust herself to let Juliette close.
And yet, despite her misgivings, she sets down her drink and nods. This is a compromise. This is Juliette helping her so she can play tennis, the one love that has never betrayed or hurt her. “Okay.” Luca’s voice comes out raspy and she sits up. “We can try it.”
“It worked for me,” Juliette says, swinging her legs around on the love seat. “And on your sunburn.”
Heat punches through Luca’s stomach as she carefully turns around. She really should not have said yes.
The couch dips, and suddenly Juliette’s hand is on her shoulder. “I think it’d be more effective if you weren’t wearing a heavy hoodie,” Juliette says, a teasing lilt to her voice.
Luca swallows. “Right,” she says, too frozen to move.
Juliette’s other hand touches her hip, her thumb sliding beneath the hem of the hoodie and brushing across her skin. Luca grits her teeth against the light sensation. “Which side?” Juliette asks.
“Left,” Luca says. “It flares when I twist on my forehand.”
Luca laces her fingers together in her lap to avoid fidgeting. She is equal parts grateful and annoyed that she isn’t wearing a bra. Juliette’s knuckles graze across the offending muscle in her back. Luca tries not to tense, but slivers of pain cut into her.
Juliette’s palm splays across her back, cool against her warm skin. Luca shivers. “Sorry. Cold hands, warm heart, as my nonna always said,” Juliette says.
Luca snorts despite herself.
Juliette remains quiet as she focuses on gently running her fingers along Luca’s spine, her fingertips dipping to brush against the dimples adorning Luca’s lower back.
The silence is oppressive, and Luca struggles to breathe through the soft and tender way that Juliette feels her aching muscles and tries to soothe them with gentle pressure. Soon, the noise in her head quiets, and the tangle of thoughts she’s been trying to ignore slowly starts to unwind.
“Can I ask you something?” Luca asks, and Juliette hums in agreement. “Would you ever quit tennis?” Luca has been thinking about her career, her own choices, and the fact that the choice might be stolen from her by an injury one day.
She expects Juliette to scoff and say no immediately. Instead, her fingers still. Then she sighs, her warm breath skating over the back of Luca’s neck. “I don’t know,” she admits.
Luca waits and gives Juliette the space to continue.
“I’ve been fighting for my ranking for years, so I feel like I can’t give it up. My family is so entirely wrapped up in the sport, and it would feel like such a waste to throw it all away.”
Luca swallows. “But does it make you happy?” Juliette’s fingertips press into her skin, and pain flares. Luca hisses through her teeth, and Juliette flinches away. “Don’t stop,” Luca whispers. “It’s working.” She doesn’t know if it is, but she doesn’t want Juliette to stop. Her touch is addicting.
“Erm, sometimes,” Juliette answers, her fingers returning to Luca’s skin, as if drawn by a magnet.
“Sometimes I hate it so much I want to quit. The highs are incredible but the lows… they threaten to break me in half. I’ve seen it break both of my sisters, and yet they keep coming back.
I do love this silly sport, but I don’t know if I want it all the time. ”
This time, when Juliette presses in, there is no pain, only a burning warmth that unwinds each of her tense muscle fibers. Luca sighs as relief sprawls through her body, relaxation taking over. She didn’t realize how much lingering pain was lacing through her back and how tight it was making her.
“It’s so stupid to talk this way,” Juliette says with a croaky laugh.
“I’m so lucky to get to do this for a living.
I travel the world and meet incredible people and make a lot of money.
I’m in amazing physical shape. I know I’m privileged to have this life.
” Juliette pauses, breathless and suddenly quiet, but her fingers keep rubbing against Luca’s aching back.
“Tennis is a fickle mistress,” Luca says.
“She really is.”
Luca tips her head back, staring at the ceiling. Her hood falls back and her hair bunches in it, tickling her neck. Juliette’s fingers brush her hair out of the hood, letting it fall down her back. Luca means to say thank you, but what comes out instead is a question.
“Did you choose tennis, or did you do it because your older sisters were doing it?”
Juliette remains quiet, and Luca is grateful she can’t see Juliette’s face. She worries she’s pushed too far, asked too much of this tenuous trust built between them.
“I think I chose it, yes,” Juliette says finally.
“I love the competition, the challenge, and the fact that I have full responsibility for the outcome of the match. It’s tough to swallow after losses, but the pride after winning is worth it, I think.
” Juliette trails her knuckles up the knobs of Luca’s spine, and it takes her breath away.
“What about you?” Luca feels her lean in closer, warmth radiating over her.
“No, I didn’t.” Luca wants to swallow her own tongue, but the words keep spilling out anyway.
“My mother put me in lessons when I was six years old, and I kept doing it because it made my father proud. And I do love tennis, but it’s also the glue that keeps my life together.
” Luca draws in a deep breath despite how tight her chest is and admits, “It’s all I have. ”
Luca doesn’t know who she is without it. She could go find out, but she’s worked too hard for this career to abandon it now. Now that she’s finally reached the top, she can’t let go.
“I think that’s why I’ve envied you so much. Beyond just your ability. You have a drive that I don’t,” Juliette sighs.
Luca fiddles with the strings on her hoodie. “Is survival really a drive?” She hates that the words come out of her mouth at all, but especially because they’re so soft and fragile.
“Survival?” Juliette whispers.
Luca shakes her head. “Never mind.”
“Luca,” Juliette murmurs, and Luca shifts, ready to get off the couch as discomfort washes over her like a wave.
But then Juliette’s arms wrap around her stomach, and her chin rests on Luca’s shoulder as she squeezes her into a hug. For a moment, Luca forgets to breathe; she’s so surprised by the sudden gesture.
“You’ll play again, Luca,” Juliette says, her breath warm against the shell of her ear. Luca shudders. The words are a salve pressing precisely where it hurts.
“How do you know?” she dares to ask, uncertainty twisting like a straitjacket around her lungs and heart.
Juliette hums, and Luca feels the rumble of it against her back.
“You’re an incredible player, Luca Kacic, and I know this won’t stop you.
If anyone can continue your amazing trajectory, it’s you,” she says with such sincerity that Luca’s eyes sting.
The hard core of anxiety wrapped around her lungs melts into goo.
“You think so?” Luca doesn’t know how to believe her. A nagging voice threatens the relief Juliette’s words gave her. “You said I was overhyped and unoriginal,” she adds, and even now it aches to say, though she tries for a teasing tone.
Juliette’s breath is warm against her throat. “I lied.”
She closes her eyes, dizzy and overwhelmed, but she curls her fingers around Juliette’s, holding on as if she is her lifeline. She can feel Juliette’s wrist wrap press against her stomach, hiding her name.
“Thank you,” Luca says, her voice thick.
Juliette squeezes again and Luca relaxes against her, sagging back until she can tilt her head against Juliette’s. The scent of her washes over Luca, fresh citrus and something rosy in her perfume, with the lovely lightness of freshly washed cotton.
Juliette’s nose presses against her throat, and Luca feels her breathe in. “What are you wearing?”
Luca blinks, the tenderness of the moment cracking as she can’t help but laugh. “What do you mean?”
“You smell nice. Herbal. What is it?” Juliette shifts her head, and a curl tickles against Luca’s skin, making her scrunch her shoulder at the sensation.
“Lavender,” she says. “I was trying to sleep before you showed up.”
“Oh.” Juliette lifts her head, and Luca almost leans back into her again. “Should we watch that movie now?” Juliette asks, her arms loosening from around Luca’s waist. “Do you need pain medication? Did my hands help?”
Despite the warm relief that Juliette’s hands had provided on the surface level of her pain, the lingering echoes of her injury sit deeper in her muscles. “Yeah, but I still need something. It’s just irritating now.”
Juliette’s arms vanish from around her waist, and Luca barely stops herself from whining. She turns back around to rest on her pillows as Juliette heads for the kitchenette. The pillows aren’t as warm and comfortable as Juliette, but Luca will live.
Juliette returns and hands Luca a blister pack.
“You can stay on the couch,” Luca murmurs.
She wishes she could lie across Juliette so she can’t leave quietly if Luca falls asleep.
She pops two of her painkillers with the rest of her Lucozade and tosses the pack on the coffee table among the discarded chocolate wrappers.
Juliette drops onto the couch next to her. “Are you flying out of London soon?”
Luca looks away and wriggles her toes beneath Juliette’s warm thigh.
“Tomorrow night. We’re going to Miami to rest and see if I’ll be healthy enough to play.
” The strain isn’t too bad, and while a long transatlantic flight won’t be great for her muscles, Vladimir convinced her to splurge on a first-class flight.
She swears she sees Juliette’s face fall. “I hope you can. I’d love a rematch on a hard court.” Then she curls her fingers around Luca’s ankle, and heat ripples up her leg. “You can stretch out if you need to.”
Luca does not need to be asked twice. She slides her feet out from under Juliette and guides them over her lap. She wriggles down on the couch, settling her thighs over Juliette’s lap in order for her head to be on a pillow. Immediately, she yawns.
“Bored of my company already?” Juliette teases, one hand resting on her knee and drawing circles against her skin.
“Of course, you’re the least interesting person I know,” Luca says, crossing her arms over her chest and snuggling into her pillow.
“Well, shall we watch an exciting movie to liven things up?” Juliette asks.
Luca shrugs. “Play whatever you want. I don’t think much will keep me awake now,” she says, a wave of exhaustion hitting her as the remaining pain dissipates from her back.
“Sleep, then. I’ll wake you up later,” Juliette reassures. Luca’s view of Juliette is already getting blurry around the edges.
Luca yawns again as she nods. “Don’t leave, please,” Luca murmurs, and she isn’t sure Juliette even heard her before she sinks into dreamless black.