Chapter 10 Luca
Luca
It feels like I haven’t properly slept in weeks. My nights are plagued with nightmares starring my parents, álvaro, and even Chiara. My mind spins and loops on real and fictitious scenarios, causing me to wake each night in a cold sweat.
Breathing heavily, I drag my hand though my hair, pushing the curls that are already growing back in, away from my forehead. I glance at the clock and swear.
Four-oh-seven a.m.
I groan, closing my eyes. But I know sleep won’t come for me. Instead, I force myself to swing my legs to the side of my bed and stand. I pull on sweats and grab my helmet. Then, I ride to the beach to watch the sunrise.
My head is all over the damn place. My body agitated and hopped up on a cocktail of nerves, anxiety, and adrenaline.
I excel in the caretaker role. I know who to call and how to set álvaro up to ensure his recovery. I have a key to his place and pass by daily to check on him, to feed his cats, and to make lists of any items he needs.
It’s a role I both relish, because I understand it, and despise, because of the heavy heartache it eventually leaves behind.
This is the reason why Chiara didn’t want to marry me.
I don’t know how to separate myself from the people I love.
I will do everything I can to support álvaro now, and even though Chiara would have logically understood, she would have resented it too.
The extra hours away from home, the hectic schedule I keep to juggle all the balls I’ve got flying in the air, the exhaustion that sets in that makes me short-tempered and distracted.
And yet…when I called Carla for help, she offered up a contact instantly.
I hate that it’s an ex-boyfriend of hers, but it seems that she is one of the few people who’s managed to turn exes into friends.
And, knowing her, I can see how it happens.
She’s too damn good of a person, honest and loyal and sincere, to drop from one’s life.
Especially if the relationship never turned serious.
Were any of her relationships serious? They all seem to skim the surface of dating.
Alejandro never mentioned Carla’s beaus as more than a passing comment, but…
I shake my head. I hate that I’m so twisted up over Carla García.
I drop back onto my palms, allowing my arms to bear the brunt of my bodyweight as I stare at the sky. Dawn is all soft pinks and light peaches over the expanse of sand and endless sea. It’s breathtaking and magical and I find myself sucking in a deep breath.
My mamma loved sunrises. The start of a new day meant a new gift, waiting to be unwrapped and treasured.
In her final weeks, Bianca would bundle her up to take her onto the porch.
Together, they would watch the sunrise and some mornings, call me so I could sit on my terrace in Valencia and enjoy the moment with them.
It’s a bittersweet memory and it causes my throat to tighten. This week, I’m all over the place. Dragging myself to stand, I dust the sand from my palms, swing one leg over my bike, and drive back to Valencia.
“Roll,” I tell Carla that evening. We’re using a pitch near her flat and the lights have just flickered on. “Faster.”
“I’m trying,” she huffs.
“Again.”
“Dios, you’re worse than my father,” she spits out, her eyes blazing.
“You want to play at the national level or not?” I lift my eyebrows, keeping my cool.
Inside, my blood is hot with frustration.
This entire day has been a shitshow. Andrés was late to our workout, practice was riddled with mistakes, and álvaro is back in the hospital after a dizzy spell.
They’re keeping him overnight as new health concerns have been flagged.
Right now, I’m on edge, exhausted, and mentally hanging on by a thread. And Carla’s head isn’t here either. She’s not nearly as focused as usual and I don’t have the patience to be understanding.
“Is this what you do to the boys in your youth camps? Fucking torture them?!” She throws a hand in the air.
“I told you, I play to win. Run the drill again.”
She glowers at me. I lift my eyebrows, challenging her.
She turns away, her shoulders thrown back, her posture proud. But I don’t apologize. I don’t say anything.
Instead, we run the drill again. And again. Until Carla performs it perfectly.
“We’re done for tonight,” I bite out, pulling my sweaty shirt away from my frame. The cool air that catches underneath the material feels good. As I guzzle water, my temper cools too.
“What the hell is going on with you?” Carla demands, standing before me with a hand on her hip. “The last thing I need, DiBlanco, is another man telling me what to do and how to do it.”
I shuffle back a step, surprised by her anger. But then I pause and try to piece together everything she’s not saying. “Is the boys’ coach still giving you a hard time?”
“That’s not what this is about.”
I drop my head back and swear at the night sky. “álvaro’s back in the hospital.”
“What?” she breathes, sitting on the edge of the bench as the fight whooshes out of her.
“I’m sorry for being shitty. My head is all over the place lately.”
“What happened?”
“He had a dizzy spell. Almost passed out. They’re running tests and…nothing’s conclusive, but the doctors have concerns. They’re keeping him overnight.”
Carla reaches out, her fingers clutching mine. “Sit with me for a second,” she says, tugging me to sit beside her on the bench. Surprisingly, Carla drops her head to my shoulder.
“I’m a sweaty mess.”
She snorts. “I’m hot mess express pretty much every day of my life.”
“Definitely hot. Mess, not so much,” I disagree, nudging her with my shoulder. “What’s going on with the boys’ coach?”
“He’s undermining me every chance he gets. It keeps me on edge at work. But I’m in a pissed-off mood because I had dinner with my family. Papá wants to know a million things and I don’t have answers for any of them.”
“Like what?”
“Am I going to settle into coaching now? Am I giving up on my dreams of playing again? What if I don’t make a team?
What if I do make a team? Have I looked at clubs outside of Spain?
Just a constant barrage of questions. And I don’t fucking have the answers,” she admits, shaking her head.
“Right now, I’m focused on my girls, on the team I’m coaching.
On training with you. Jesus, I don’t know how Ale stood it for so many years. Papá can be insufferable.”
“It was tough on Ale. He didn’t always keep his cool.”
“Yeah,” Carla agrees. “But now, he’s happily married and having a baby and even he…”
“What?”
She shrugs. “He’s echoing Papá. I’m not someone who buckles under pressure.
The higher the stakes, the better I perform.
But right now, it feels like there are no stakes.
I don’t belong anywhere. Everything is up in the air and that uncertainty, the living in limbo, is unsettling. I don’t handle it well.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers all the time. Part of the fun, part of living, is figuring them out as you go.”
“Yeah. Tell that to Papá.”
“Ale’s tried.”
She snorts. Looks up at me. Her eyes are more blue than green, bright, and swimming with amusement. “I like that you don’t judge me, Luca.”
I shake my head, reaching for her hand and lacing our fingers together. I squeeze her hand in response and we sit like that, two players on the pitch, under the bright lights and night sky, for several minutes.
When I glance at Carla, she’s staring at me, her eyes solemn.
“What is it?” I murmur.
She shakes her head, averting her gaze.
“You can tell me anything.”
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. “What if I don’t make a team?” Self-doubt swims over her words and I hate witnessing it when the woman I know exudes confidence.
“You will.”
She huffs.
“But if you don’t, you’ll be okay. A different door will open, a new opportunity.
Probably one you can’t even fathom right now.
Carla, if you want to play fútbol again, you will.
There’s no doubt in mind.” I flip my chin toward the empty pitch.
“All of this…it belongs to you. And you’re doing everything you can to prepare for the moment when opportunity knocks.
Then, you’ll go out and you’ll take it. You’ll take everything. ”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“You do. You just need to find it again. But it’s in you; I’ve seen it.”
I drop her hand so I can lift my palm to her face.
Her skin is smooth, like silk. I stroke my thumb over her cheekbone, tracing it.
She leans into my touch, her eyes on mine.
Her mouth parts and my gaze studies her lips.
More than anything, I want to lean forward and press my mouth to hers. Kiss her recklessly.
But this is Carla. Alejandro’s sister. My friend.
And after the heart-to-heart we just shared, I can’t ruin it by making a move.
I pull in a breath and force myself to lower my hand. “Come on, campionessa. Let me walk you home.”
She stands beside me and bends to lift her bag.
I smack her hand away and shoulder it.
“You don’t have to take care of everyone, DiBlanco,” she murmurs.
“Yeah. But what if I want to take care of you?”
Her eyes widen but she doesn’t say anything and I’m relieved.
Blurring the lines with Carla is dangerous. And as much as I know I need to pull back, a part of me doesn’t want to.