Chapter 4
Luca
Luca
That position needs to be filled in the next week or two. Reach out if you’re interested.
Luca
I think you’re interested.
I sigh, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
“She still hasn’t sent in her CV?” My old friend, álvaro, guesses correctly, switching from his Valenciano dialect to Castellano Spanish on my account. He shifts his grip on the broom handle, propping it against the wall.
“Nope,” I reply in Spanish, shaking my head sadly, as I bend to pick up a bucket.
“Leave it,” he says, gruffly.
I ignore him and carry the bucket back into the utility closet.
álvaro is the head of maintenance at Santa Isabel and the man who informed me about the job opening.
But before that, for many years, he was the head of maintenance at the fútbol academy I trained at.
When Papá died, álvaro was the man who tried to fill his shoes by giving me his time, attention, and care.
He became my go-to sounding board, passing along years of wisdom and insight.
“And,” álvaro adds, shadowing the doorframe, “I told you not to pay my rent.”
“I want to.”
“I’m not a charity case, Luca,” he says, his dark eyes serious.
“I know that,” I reply, gripping his shoulder. Staring right at him, I tell him the truth. “You’re my family.”
“Argh,” he huffs, waving a dismissive hand. But I note the emotion that fills his eyes before he turns away.
“You should retire,” I add, knowing he’ll selectively choose not to hear me.
In true álvaro fashion, he clasps his broom handle and stalks away. I grin as he pauses to talk to a few students at the end of the hallway, always passing on a good, but truthful, word.
‘“So, you like it?” I ask Bianca as her enthusiasm floats through the line.
“It’s incredible, Luca. I mean, it’s a ton of work and I’m living on hits of caffeine but, yes, I love it.”
“I’m happy for you, B.” I mean it, too. My sister has always been a free spirit with a wild-child streak. Nothing can hold her in one place—not even me.
Our father passed when I was twelve and she was eight and since then, I’ve felt responsible for her.
That weight intensified when we learned the extent of Mamma’s diagnosis—stage four breast cancer.
She fought for nearly three years before passing away peacefully.
And during those three years, Bianca was by her side, juggling school and caretaking.
Guilt ate at the lining of my stomach for years as I envisioned the emotional toll watching Mamma deteriorate had on Bianca.
While she was holding Mamma’s hand, I was playing fútbol and sending most of my earnings to New York to ensure Mamma received the best healthcare and Bianca didn’t have to work.
Those years suppressed my sister’s spirit as much as they encouraged her to seize moments. YOLO, she loves to tell me. You only live once. And, I can admit, no one seizes a day, an opportunity, with the same gusto as my sister.
“New York energy matches yours,” I say.
She laughs. “I miss you, Luca. But I think my moving back to the city is good for you.”
“Do you now?” I lean back in my seat, eager to hear how Bianca will spin her life choices to my benefit. “Please, go on.”
“Well,” she draws out, “I know for a fact that you used to date more before I lived with you.”
I laugh. “You know for a fact?”
“Andrés told me.”
“He shouldn’t be running his mouth.”
“You put parts of your life on hold when I moved to Valencia.” Her tone holds a note of accusation. “I don’t want that on my conscience, Luca.”
“That’s not true,” I argue, even though it is partly true. “You know how focused I am on my career. I’m thirty-one, B. And a half!”
Bianca snickers.
“I’ve only got a handful of playing years left,” I continue. “I need to focus on my game, on my brand, on the summer camp I run in Italy. There’s no time for a woman.”
“A partner,” she corrects.
I toss my hand in the air, my patience waning. “Porca miseria, B!” I swear, exasperated.
She laughs, the way I knew she would. “I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. You haven’t dated anyone since Chiara.”
I groan, feeling my chest tighten at my ex-everything’s name. “I don’t want to talk about Chiara.” I hate that my voice cracks on her name. Not because I miss her, but because she shattered me in ways I’ve never fully recovered from.
Not because she was mean or spiteful. But because her reason for gently, regretfully, turning down my marriage proposal was rooted in truth.
I love you, Luca. But I’ll never come first in your life. I’m always an afterthought. To your career, to your mamma and sister. Sometimes, even to your friends. And I don’t want to live my life being second best. I want to be the priority in my marriage.
She cried as she admitted it. She kissed me goodbye as she closed my fingers around the ring I offered her. She walked away and, the worst part is, I don’t blame her for any of it.
Hell, I respect her decision.
But her rejection made me realize that even if I crave a true, committed relationship, I’ll never live up to the expectations.
My plate is too full taking care of everyone else.
Bianca, my teammates who have become brothers, the summer camp I sponsor and run in Tuscany.
Those boys deserve my full attention and commitment.
“I know you don’t,” B sighs. “That’s my point, Luca. You’ve been stuck in that moment since it happened. Chiara and you broke up eight years ago. And since then…there’s been no one real.”
“There have been plenty of real women.”
“You know what I mean. There’s been no one serious. No one you could allow yourself to fall for. You’re not even trying.”
“Maybe that’s not what I want,” I spit out, my frustration over the direction of this conversation flaring to life. “Have you considered that? Not everyone wants to get married and settle down, Bianca.”
“True. Not everyone. But, deep down, you do, Luca.”
I smash my lips together so I don’t lash out.
“You have been taking care of us—Papa, Mamma, me, the list goes on—for forever. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, assuming everyone’s well-being and happiness is somehow your responsibility.
It’s not. Not anymore,” her voice wobbles.
“Papa and Mamma are gone now and I’m, well, I’m a grown woman.
And for the first time in my life, I know I can stand on my own feet. ”
I shake my head, defensive. “You think I shouldn’t look out for you anymore? You’ve, what, outgrown me?”
“Luca…” My sister’s voice softens. “I’ll always need you; you’re my big brother.
But it’s been almost three years since Mamma passed and…
things have changed. We’ve relied on each other for a long time and have fallen into comfortable habits.
But you shouldn’t put your life on hold for me.
I am so grateful for every sacrifice you’ve made to get me to this point, where I can come to New York with a clear head and embrace this opportunity.
It’s time for you to find some clarity and happiness for yourself.
I don’t want to be part of the excuse you use to keep yourself on the sidelines of your life. ”
I work a swallow, my chest painfully tight. Her words lodge deep, ringing with truth and sincerity. With concern and love. It…hurts.
“You deserve more,” B continues. “A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.”
I grip my phone tightly, trying to check my emotions. For several moments, silence hangs between B and me.
I clear my throat. “I hear what you’re saying. I’ll…take it under advisement.”
B laughs, adding levity to the moment. “You have a month. After that I’m creating profiles for you on all the dating apps. Consider this your warning.”
I chuckle and shake my head at her antics.
“You know I’ll do it, too.”
“That’s what scares me, B.”
“I want you to be happy, fratellone.” Big brother. “Give yourself a chance.”
Bianca and I chat for a few more minutes before ending the call. But her words, the truth underlining them, stick with me for the remainder of the day.
I feel antsy and unsettled by our conversation. Worry threads through my thoughts at her threats of setting up dating profiles. I don’t want to be splashed across the dating apps. Gesú, the social media platforms would eat that shit up. Hell, that’s probably Bianca’s plan.
Feeling restless, frustrated, and slightly out of control, I crave a release. An outlet. There’s only one remedy for when I feel like this. It’s the one vice álvaro introduced me to years ago.
Grabbing my leather jacket, helmet, and keys, I leave my flat and head to the garage. There, I uncover my Ducati motorcycle.
Just seeing her—sleek, fast, forbidden—alleviates some of the pressure mounting in my chest. I drag my hand over the leather seat. “Dio, I’ve missed you.”
The freedom my bike offers gives me the illusion of control. I crave it.
Throwing my leg over the bike, I straddle her, jam on my helmet, and ride out of the garage. From there, I navigate past the city limits, to the open roads of the surrounding countryside.
Out here, I can block out the echoes of Chiara’s accusation. I’ll never come first in your life.
I can ignore my sister’s words. You deserve more. A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.
The responsibilities I’ve shouldered for years melt away, allowing me the chance to breathe deeply.
Wind whips past my head and shoulders, the rolling hills and setting sun surround me, and I lean into the reckless turns I take.
Adrenaline replaces my frustration. Excitement washes away my obligations.
And I live for the moment—the thrill, the chase, the sweetness of enjoying something forbidden and off-limits.
I push the bike faster, farther, and relish the quiet that finally fills my head.
Sweat-soaked and relieved, I drive back to the city two hours later. I had chicken empanadas and a Coke Zero for dinner, sitting in the sand and watching the ocean tide roll in. Even though it’s February, and there’s a bite to the evening air, I enjoy the cool breeze.
The streets are quiet as I cross back into the city, driving along the Turia park.
I pause at a red light, noting some players kicking a soccer ball around on one of the pitches.
A braided blonde ponytail catches my attention and I narrow my eyes as I note Carla. She’s the only woman in a group of men.
Curious, I pull to the side of the road and cut the engine. Straddling my bike, I lean over the handlebars and watch as she expertly maneuvers the ball around one of the guys.
He tosses his head back and says something that causes the group to laugh.
Carla spins around and hollers an insult that makes him charge at her.
Lowering his frame, he catches Carla easily, tossing her over his shoulder and continuing to run.
She smacks his back as the group whoops.
But when he settles her back on her feet, she’s laughing with him.
As she swats the guy playfully, he tucks her under his shoulder and she grips the back of his shirt.
Their interaction is familiar. Playful and carefree. It reminds me of my old fútbol, days, when I was happy to spend countless hours on the pitch because it meant being with my best mates.
The group plays four on four and it’s as intense as it is casual. They smack talk and play rough, but they also joke and laugh. Carla’s talent shines as she loses herself in the play, dribbling expertly, making crisp passes, and setting her teammates up for goals.
She’s vibrant and wholly in her element. Controlled, strategic, and fair. A genuine team player.
Goddamn beautiful.
As I watch her, a pang cuts through me.
You deserve more. A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.
I shake my head. It’s stupid; I could never be with a woman like Carla. Two people who worship the same sport? It’s impossible.
And yet, as I study her, laughing and joking and giving as good as she gets, tendrils of jealousy unspool low in my gut. I want her dancing eyes. I want her witty quips and her easygoing nature. I want her to gaze up at me and…what?
I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion that invades it.
Carla García is off-limits. She always has been.
Annoyed at my reaction to her, I slam down the visor of my helmet and rev my engine, pulling back onto the road and heading home for the night.