44. Samara
Chapter forty-four
Samara
W hat has gotten into me? Why did I say yes?
Because you’re hungry, obviously. That’s the only reasonable explanation.
And since when does this man have a motorcycle? I’ve only ever seen him in that massive Tahoe.
The gall of this man to get on me about driving home after two beers I had over the course of two freaking hours, only for him to climb onto a motorcycle minutes later as if those things are safe!
I try to calm my temper, doing my best to remind myself that at least he’s wearing a helmet and he hasn’t had anything to drink.
I meet him at the front door, but I can’t help the small step back I take when I see Cecily open it, standing with Gia in her arms.
She smiles brightly at me, the sadness in her eyes all but vanished since the last time I saw her.
“Gia, mia bambina ,” Luca calls to his daughter with outstretched arms as he goes to grab her from her mother. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and bounces on the balls of his feet, looking into her eyes as she giggles at her nickname.
“Thanks for watching her tonight, Cici. How’d it go?” he asks her as she grabs her purse from a hook by the door.
“It went really well.” She draws her shoulders back and stands tall. “Thank you for trusting me with her,” she adds quietly. “Would you, um…” She looks down at her feet, appearing bashful. “Would you mind if she maybe slept over next weekend? I’d like to give an overnight visit a go if you think it’s safe?” she asks him, unsure of herself.
It must kill her to have to have these conversations with him, but Luca takes it in stride, reassuring her as he does. “You’re doing great, Cici. I’m proud of you,” he tells her, squeezing her upper arm gently.
“Of course she can stay with you next weekend. I’ll make sure to be available in case you need anything. I know you’re going to do great, but I’d rather be around in case you feel like you need something,” he says, reassuring her with a smile. His eyes remain soft, and there’s no hint of a lie anywhere in his features.
I feel like I’m intruding, so I slip past them, nodding at Cecily as I walk over to the kitchen counter. They finish up their conversation within seconds, and the door closes behind Luca as he heads over to me.
“Take a seat anywhere you’d like. I’ll be back in a few. I’m gonna change Gia into her jammies,” he tells me before heading toward his room.
I take a seat on one of the gray barstools at the kitchen island. My heart clenches in my chest at hearing Gia’s cries and Luca’s subsequent pleas for her to calm down.
I know he has help because his family is incredible, and I’m glad Cecily is doing better. But Luca’s entire life has taken a complete one-eighty from where it was before, and I wonder if anyone’s thought to see how he’s actually doing underneath the cool composure he seems to wear so well.
A few minutes later, he comes out of the room bare-chested with a diapered Gia lying against him.
“Sorry, I know this looks ridiculous, but all of the daddy blogs talk about the importance of skin-to-skin for bonding, and it keeps her calm while I warm up her bottle. I’ll just feed her and then get started on our dinner.” I wave him off because the apology is entirely unnecessary.
Besides, now I get to watch his coiled muscles flex as he gets her bottle ready. It’s the little things in life. He pulls a plastic baggy out of the fridge and places it on the counter before restocking the fridge with a frozen packet just like it.
Seeing him with her and how meticulous he is about ensuring she’s well cared for has my ovaries doing a little dance.
“She doesn’t drink formula?” I ask him, curiosity taking hold of me.
He shakes his head. “She did the first few days, but one of the single-dad forums on Reddit was talking about all the options for donor milk. After looking into it, I figured it would maybe be a better option for her, and if it wasn’t, we’d swap back to formula. I’m doing what I can, but with no tits of my own, this is the best I’ve got,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet and chuckling at his own joke.
The sound is warm and light. It sends a shiver down my spine that makes me bristle in my seat.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with formula-feeding your child. Most parents are just doing their best, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t impress me that Luca is really going the extra mile for his kid.
I watch as he holds her, setting her bottle in the warmer. Standing from my chair, I walk over to them with outstretched arms. “Can I feed her?”
His eyes flicker up to mine, crinkling at the sides with his widening smile. “I’d appreciate that,” he tells me, pressing a kiss to her head, grabbing a blanket off the counter and wrapping it around her. He places her gently in my arms.
I smile down at her and graze my thumb over the soft fabric of her green blanket. My heart aches in my chest, and my limbs suddenly feel heavy.
He grabs a towel from the kitchen counter and sets it on my shoulder, his fingertips trailing down my skin, leaving a blazing path in their wake.
Gia babbles happily, her tiny hands reaching out to tangle in my curls. Light laughter slips past my lips as I detach the strands from her tiny clutches and give her my finger to play with instead.
Luca comes around the kitchen island, handing me her bottle, which she takes immediately, sucking ferociously. “Don’t let her fool you. Cici texted me less than two hours ago that she’d fed her,” he says, rolling his eyes playfully at her. “She’s just got a big appetite. She’ll be big and strong like her dad.” He shoots me a playful wink that settles its way into my core.
Damn him.
“Are you okay with burgers for dinner? I could also make pasta, or we could order in if neither sounds good to you,” he asks me.
“Burgers sound great.” I love a good burger.
Gia looks up at me, meeting my gaze with hers. You’d never need a paternity test to know who her father is. She’s all Luca.
This kid is too damn cute; it makes my ovaries weep.
“These kids really spend nearly ten months inside their mother’s wombs just to have the audacity to come out looking like their father,” I joke, mostly to Gia.
“Arielle complains about that all the time. She said it took three tries to get one with red hair. After that, they closed up shop.”
“How long have Arielle and Dante been together?” I ask, curious because they seem like they’ve known each other their whole lives. That’s the same impression I’d had of Kat and Alessandro, but she told me they’ve only been together a couple of years.
Some people are just made for each other, and it’s clear to everyone around them.
“Since Arielle turned eighteen. She’s three years younger than Dante and me, so I guess about twelve years.”
My brows pinch together at this. “You and Dante are the same age?”
He nods, continuing what he’s doing at the stove. “Yeah, he’s the oldest of my adopted siblings, but he and I were born the same year.”
“Adopted siblings?” How come I didn’t know about this?
Oh, right. You didn’t ask.
“Yeah, my mom has multiple sclerosis, so after me, she and my dad decided to adopt. They weren’t sure if it was safe for her to have more children, and they had wanted to adopt anyway. Insert the family of three children showing up on Christmas day,” he says, smiling softly as he works in the kitchen.
I did know about her MS, as well as Alessandro’s. I remembered from the media fiasco a couple of years ago that I read about while looking into Luca’s past. So at least that part doesn’t come as a shock, but how hadn’t I known his other siblings were adopted?
“How come you all look alike?” I finally ask.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t really think we do. We’ve all got dark hair, but that’s really the only resemblance. I’m sure it helps that they’re half Italian. Gianni has blue eyes that are sort of like my mom’s, but Dante and Charlie are the only ones with brown eyes.”
I’ve nearly fallen victim to those eyes of Dante’s, and I certainly wouldn’t call them “brown.” They’re like polished onyx, so dark you can see your reflection in them, and I’m sort of convinced the man is capable of hypnosis with those things.
I nod, understanding seeping in slowly. Against my better judgment, I ask, “Growing up with such a big family, did you ever want kids of your own?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I’m annoyed that I’d even asked them. “I’m sorry, Luca. You don’t need to answer that.” As someone who’s dealt with infertility and all of the emotions surrounding it, I know better than to ask questions like this.
“No, no, it’s okay, really,” he tells me, wiping his wet hands on a dishcloth. “I’ve always wanted kids but never found the right person, and truthfully, I felt undeserving of children.” This makes me pause. He’s felt undeserving of something so many people consider a normal part of life? “I was always making the wrong decisions, and when Ale was diagnosed with MS, I put a lot of that on myself. I didn’t think it was my fault or anything, but I figured that if one of us should’ve ended up with it, it should’ve been me.” My muscles tense, and I have difficulty swallowing my saliva. Luca casts his eyes down at the cutting board, meticulously chopping onions for the burgers he has cooking in a cast-iron skillet on the stove. “He was always the one taking care of me and my siblings, so I knew he’d be a good dad, and I didn’t want his life to be harder than it needed to be. Then Gia falls into my lap. Meanwhile, Kat and Ale are struggling with adoption agencies, and it just feels”—he takes a deep breath— “wrong?” he says like he’s asking a question.
“Wrong, how?” I can’t seem to stop myself. The fact that he’s thinking some of the same things I’ve been holding against him since the day I met him sours my stomach. Guilt is a tricky bitch.
His eyes slide to mine, and a pained expression crosses his handsome, chiseled features. “I’m able-bodied, not worried about the day that my career will end or that my body will stop working how I’d like it to, and I have this gorgeous, sweet kid who I already love so goddamn desperately; it kills me that I didn’t get to be there for her from the beginning.” His voice is filled with anguish at the thought of missing out on time with Gia, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. “But I make mistakes all the time, Samara. I’m constantly doing dumb shit, making impulsive decisions, and yet my brother has to bear the weight of so many obstacles. I just feel really fucking undeserving .”
My chest tightens, and my heart starts to pound harder against my ribcage. He’s probably thought all of these things because of people like me, who’ve misjudged him time and time again. And now that I’m finally allowing my stubborn brain to fully recognize that, all I want to do is comfort him.
“You can’t help the things you can’t change, Luca. You aren’t to blame for your brother having different struggles than you, and it doesn’t mean that you don’t have your own. Yes, you had a child literally fall into your lap, and she’s adorable beyond words, but you’re also having to learn how to be a father. That in itself is hard.” It nearly takes my breath away as I say the words I haven’t allowed myself to think until this moment. Until now, I’d genuinely been holding onto so much resentment toward Luca, partly for reasons out of his control. Some of those reasons really aren’t his fault.
He looks over at me, sad eyes meeting mine, as he quietly says, “Thank you, Samara. I needed to hear that.”
I avert my gaze to Gia, who’s just finished her bottle and is looking rather milk drunk. “I think she’s done,” I say, chuckling and using the moment to change the subject to something not as heavy. I lift her semi-limp body onto my shoulder to burp her.
Once she’s thoroughly passed out in my arms and Luca has two absolutely massive burgers plated, he comes around the counter, taking her from me and heading to the room to put her down.
“We can eat anywhere you’d like. I’ll be a few minutes, and I don’t want you to eat a cold burger,” he tells me over his shoulder as he walks away.
Jesus Christ. I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go.
His ass is phenomenal, not that I expect anything less from a goalie. Aren’t those guys supposed to be the extra weird ones?
I avert my gaze to the burgers on the counter and resist the urge to dig in, not wanting to seem rude by not waiting for him to return. Yeah, Samara, eating the burger he told you to eat is the most rude thing you’ve done to this man. I scoff at myself, and when he closes the door behind him, I’m hit with a little wave of sadness at the fact that he’s now covering those tan, corded muscles with a black T-shirt. Such a shame.
“Oh, come on, princess, don’t look so disappointed,” he says with a smirk as he grabs the plates from the counter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retort, hoping to save myself just an ounce of my pride, but it’s no use.
“Sure you don’t.” He winks at me as he brings the plates over to the couch and sets them down on the coffee table.
I grab some paper towels, joining him on the couch, but he stands and goes back to the kitchen. “Want anything to drink? I’ve got water, Gatorade, and Coke.”
“Coke. You can’t eat a burger with water,” I tell him.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, pouring us each a glass and bringing them back to the couch.
I expect him to turn the TV on to fill the silence, but instead, he turns toward me, grabbing the plates and placing one in my lap.
The smell is delicious, and I can’t help but finally dig in.
I hate eating in front of other people. I always feel like they’ll think I’m a slob. I don’t eat dainty meals like I’m sure women like Cecily do.
But Luca chowing down on his own burger makes me feel a little less self-conscious about myself and spurs me on to actually enjoy my meal.