11. Avery
Chapter 11
Avery
Once we broke the news to my parents, things fell into place. Kind of. Valentina called her parents to tell them the news and from the loud voices I heard through the line, coupled with the distress that framed her face for the two days that followed, the news of our marriage wasn’t well received.
When I asked Valentina about it, she shut down further, saying it’s nothing new and refusing to speak about it.
And, to be honest, time isn’t on my side to pry further. My bye week is over and I’m back to the grind of football.
“Are you sure about this?” Valentina asks weakly as she glances around the boxes of her stuff in the foyer of my condo.
I look at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Now that we carried all the boxes up, yes. Are you?”
She sighs. “I mean, I could have kept my apartment too.”
“You don’t think that would look suspicious to an immigration official? My wife has a residence, not one she owns but one she rents, just two floors down?”
“I suppose,” Valentina replies noncommittally. But I can tell the lack of her parents’ support is weighing on her.
That, coupled with reality.
We’re two busy young professionals. I spend more waking hours at the field than I do home, and Valentina often works late into the night at the university library.
In the past few days, we’ve gotten a taste of what our new normal looks like and it’s not boding well for the next few months. Or two years.
“Do you want to unpack?” I ask. “I cleared out some space in the closet and drawers for your stuff.”
“Thank you.” Valentina looks at the boxes again. “That was kind of you, Avery.”
Kind of me? I’m her fucking husband. What did she think I’d do? Keep all the closet shelves for myself?
Instead of saying that, I let out an exhale. “I need to head to the stadium. I have a meeting with Coach and we’re going over some game tape.”
“Okay.” Valentina nods. “Will you be home for dinner?” There’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes that I hate having to squash.
But there’s no choice.
“Not tonight,” I reply. “Probably not any night this week.”
Her face falls for a heartbeat but in the next blink, she’s masked her disappointment. “No problem. Tonight is the only night that I’ll be home early,” she adds, dropping to her knees and opening one of the boxes. She peers inside, taking stock of its contents, as she adds, “I’ll try to see you at some point tomorrow though.”
“Yeah. If you want, we can grab a coffee in the morning? Or a smoothie?”
“Thanks, but I have a meeting with Dr. Mendoza. I’ll be on campus by eight.”
“Oh, all right,” I mutter. My hand brushes over the top of her head and she gives me a small smile.
It’s as if I’m petting her like a dog and she’s waiting at my feet for the leftover scraps of attention I can toss her way. I hate it and I also hate the guilty feeling that sweeps through my stomach.
I’ve never had this reaction before. Mila always understood that football came first because she was with me before and during the start of my career. We grew up together, and football was always the thing between us, but also something we shared.
Since Mila, I haven’t given a damn about any other woman to care whether she’s felt neglected by the demands of my profession.
But with Lena, knowing I’m leaving her here in my space and hoping she finds a way to make it feel like her home digs at something deeper. It makes me feel like I’m abandoning her to deal with the repercussions of our decision.
Of my marriage proposal.
And it’s stupid because I shouldn’t feel like this. I did her a favor. I got her visa shit sorted.
Still, the sour taste lingers in my mouth, and I clear my throat as I mutter a good-bye and leave the condo.
I drive to the Honeycomb stadium in silence. The past week was a mindfuck. A whirlwind. I celebrated my sister’s engagement, met a woman who I turned my life upside down for, whisked her away on a trip, and then fucking married her.
As the miles between Valentina and me stack up, I let loose a sigh partly filled with relief.
We’ve spent so much time together that I’ve barely had time to process the enormity of my decision. To take stock of my thoughts and feelings on the choice I made.
It’s not that I regret it—I don’t. It’s just that I don’t know what to make of it. Of what to make of Valentina and me.
I park at the stadium and shoulder my bag. Then, I enter the Honeycomb, duck into the locker room, and stow my shit.
A slow clap rings out behind me, and I turn to glance over my shoulder.
“You tied the fucking knot.” Gage Gutierrez grins at me. “You didn’t even fucking invite us to your wedding!”
I smirk back, shaking my head at him. “It wasn’t like that, bro.”
“I’m not mad,” he says, holding out a hand. “Because I heard Cohen wasn’t there either.”
“Our families weren’t even there. We eloped,” I explain.
“Yeah, yeah. But if you’d have rung me, I would’ve flown down.”
“I know it.” I shake his hand and give him a one-armed hug. I thump his back before pulling away. The truth is, Gage would have flown down and I appreciate that about him. He’s a guy’s guy and has always shown up for every member of this team. Maybe it’s because his family is so tight, but he gives that same respect to his teammates. We’re an extension of his family.
“Congratulations, brother.” Gage smacks my back.
“We need to meet your wife and celebrate,” West Crawford adds, entering the space.
“You will,” I promise.
“Can’t believe we’re flying to fucking Detroit on Sunday,” Talon Miller mutters. He points at me. “Congrats on your marriage. I respect your decision not to have a wedding. It’s a waste of fucking money.”
“Don’t let Leni hear you say that,” West says.
“Or Coach,” Jag Baglione points out, grinning. Talon is head over heels for Coach’s daughter, Leni Strauss, and will most likely end up having the most elaborate wedding on the team.
“I’m just saying.” He holds up his palms defensively.
“Anyway, best wishes, man,” West says sincerely.
“Thank you.” I dip my head in acknowledgement. “Now, enough about my marital bliss, we have some tough games coming up. Let’s meet with Coach.”
The guys grunt in agreement and as a few other guys on the team arrive, we make our way down the hallway to meet Coach.
Coach Strauss lifts an eyebrow when he sees me. “Marriage, huh?”
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Coach,” I reply, realizing that to some extent, it’s the truth.
“Yeah, well, see that you keep it that way,” he mutters. “Congratulations, Avery. I hope you and Valentina will be very happy together.” He holds out his hand and I take it.
“Thank you, Coach.” I grip Coach’s hand for an extra moment.
“You meet the in-laws yet?” he asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
Coach snickers. “Get ready. Because Rueben Garcia…” He lets loose a low whistle and tilts his chin toward the screen. “It’s gonna make these reels look like fucking child’s play.”
“Great,” I mutter, settling into a chair.
As Coach queues up the tape, I blow out a breath.
I’m a married man now. Things are supposed to settle down and feel easier, as if I’m sharing burdens with a partner.
But Valentina and I aren’t a true couple. We’re fucking frauds, posing and posturing. At least Lena is in this for a real reason—her career. Her future.
I’m doing this because of some fucked-up need to prove that I’m a good man who is capable of good things. Why doesn’t it feel that way?
Instead of feeling absolved, I feel guilty.
The fact that I’d claim a sweet, innocent woman as mine without the intention of a lifelong commitment refutes the desperate desire to do the right thing.
Her father is going to see straight through me. And I can’t blame the man for calling it like he sees it.
I can’t blame anyone when I’m the person making a mockery of the institution of marriage.
Me. I’m the guilty one. And soon, everyone will fucking know it.
Shaking my head, I focus on the game tape. The only thing in my control right now is how our team performs on and off the field for the remainer of the season. If we want in on the playoffs, if we want a crack at the Super Bowl, it’s going to come down to these next few weeks.
And I need to be focused. Tuned in and clearheaded.
I can’t be distracted or twisted up over a woman, even if that woman is my wife.
But it was just an arrangement. An opportunity to do the right thing and help someone else in the process. Valentina married me for her visa. She’s not expecting anything else from me.
Women like her never will.