Chapter 20 Luca
Luca
“You should have seen Sergio’s face,” Carla laughs, filling Alejandro, Marlowe, and me in on the success of her ice cream truck surprise.
“But did he have an ice cream?” Ale wonders.
“Totally!” Carla nods. “His team dragged him over and I could see him glowering at me from the corner of my eye.”
“What did you do?” Marlowe asks.
“Ignored him. Got a scoop of strawberry,” she says.
I chuckle, picturing the scene. “Daniel’s is a huge ice cream company. How did you arrange the truck on short notice?”
Ale snorts. “She dated the owner.”
Another one? I groan and drop my fork and knife. We’re gathered around Ale and Marlowe’s dining table eating takeout. Well, Marlowe’s munching on dry cereal.
“You did? When? You have the best dating stories,” Marlowe says, some color warming her cheeks.
“It’s not that interesting of a story.” Carla waves a hand, her eyes flickering to me and away again. “We dated for one summer. It was when he was starting to focus on international markets. I made a connection for him here in Spain so…”
“He owed you a favor?” Marlowe guesses.
Carla shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that. But it was nice of him to send the truck and help me surprise the girls.”
“Why’d you break up with him?” Marlowe’s eyes glitter.
“He often spoke in the third person,” Ale replies.
Seriously? I whip my head toward my friend. “Do you keep track of all your sister’s reasons for ending a relationship?”
“Only the creative ones,” Ale replies, taking a bite of chicken.
“That’s a good one,” Marlowe comments, plucking a marshmallow out of her cereal bowl and placing it to the side.
“I thought you liked this kind,” Ale says, lowering his voice.
“I do. But the marshmallows…” Marlowe’s skin takes on a haunting hue as if even talking about the marshmallows will cause her to vomit.
“I’m sorry the chef didn’t work out,” I say.
Marlowe looks up, her eyes wide. “Oh no! Don’t be. That was the most thoughtful surprise ever. I cried.”
“She’s hormonal,” Ale explains.
“She’s perfect,” Carla tosses back, narrowing her eyes at her brother.
“She’s right here,” Marlowe tosses in, smiling at me. “It meant a lot to me that you thought of me, Luca.”
“You’re family, Mar,” I reply easily, noting that the García siblings glance in my direction.
Alejandro with gratitude. Carla with curiosity.
I sigh. “So, we’re all going to Carla’s girls’ game on Saturday?”
“We’ll be there,” Ale confirms, taking Marlowe’s hand and giving it a little shake.
“I hope,” Marlowe murmurs before standing from her chair and hurrying to the bathroom.
“Mierda,” Ale swears, following his wife.
Carla and I exchange a sympathetic look.
She continues to eat her dinner. But I’m not as hungry as I was fifteen minutes ago.
Even though I have no right to be jealous—after all, of course Carla has a dating history—I hate that she’s still on good terms with her exes.
And I worry that she’ll find a random reason to end things with me one day. Will I even see it coming?
But most of all, I hate that she calls them up for help or support and hasn’t asked me for anything. I want to show her that I’m invested in her and her dreams.
My mind turns over ideas. What’s something Carla doesn’t have access to on her own? What’s something her girls would love to experience? What can I do to surprise her and her team?
By the time Ale puts Marlowe to bed and returns to the table, I have the perfect plan to surprise Carla and her girls. And it’s going to be epic.
League Valencia’s stadium is a living piece of history.
It’s set in the center of the city, solidifying its place among the community.
Home to over sixty-thousand seats, it wraps around the field like a massive hug.
And tonight, with the pitch lights flickered on and our mascot, a giant Valencian orange named óscar, I see it the way I did when I first stepped on the pitch at fourteen years old.
I was here for a training session with some of the legends I idolized as a kid. Alejandro’s father arranged it for Ale, Andrés, and me for Ale’s birthday. It was a moment infused with magic and possibility.
Right now, watching the awe and joy wash over Carla’s girls’ faces, I recall the memory with perfect clarity.
“Bienvenidos al campo,” I greet them. Welcome to the pitch.
“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispers.
“?Increíble!” another mutters.
“Wow,” a third chimes in, turning in a circle. Her arms are held wide, her face lifted to the stands, as she spins.
“Are you ready to play fútbol, chicas?” Carla asks the girls, clapping her hands together.
“Sí!” a chorus rings out.
Carla laughs, her eyes darting to mine. Her gaze is filled with so much appreciation and warmth that I wish I could take her in my arms and kiss her.
Obviously, that’s not an option with her impressionable team staring on, their eyes flickering between us as if they sense the attraction we’re helpless against.
“?Qué pasa?” Andrés asks, stepping onto the pitch.
“Madre mía,” one of the girls breathes. “It’s Andrés Huntington.”
“?Hola, chicas!” Alejandro steps beside Andrés and the girls nearly fall over each other, gripping onto each other’s shirt sleeves and jerseys with awe in their eyes.
I fight my laugh. There are few players who have the star power, the full package, like Ale. Paparazzi trail him, people on the street frequently stop him for his autograph, and he can’t go anywhere without security.
As a kid, it’s the high-profile career you dream about, but as an adult, and a close friend to Ale, I wouldn’t wish that level of external scrutiny on anyone.
“Vamos a jugar, de verdad. Pero…en plan amistoso, ?eh?” Andrés grins. We’re really going to play…but keep it friendly.
A squeal sounds from the girls.
“I can’t believe this is real life,” Number 11 murmurs.
Number 7 pinches her and she shrieks.
“You’re not dreaming.” Number 7 grins.
Carla laughs and rounds up the girls. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work.
We’re going to break into groups and work through some drills.
Ale is going to coach you through some shooting exercises, Andrés’s on defensive blocking, Luca has passing and dribbling drills, and I’m working you through conditioning.
Think of this like a fun twist on a boot camp.
We’ll spend twenty minutes on each section before we break and gear up for a friendly. ”
“We’re really going to play?” Number 24 asks.
Ale grins at her and her eyes widen. “We’re absolutely going to play,” he promises.
“?Venga! ?Vamos!” Carla says. Let’s go!
She divides the girls into groups and I bring my squad of four players over to a section of the pitch. My group is comprised of Maria, Anna, Julieta, and Carmen.
“Okay, girls, we’re going to spend about ten minutes on passing and ten minutes on dribbling.
I want us to start with a one-on-one gate attack…
” I pause to gesture toward the cones I set up.
“And then, we’ll work on pacing. I want to focus on accelerating while keeping control of the ball.
We’ll wrap up with some passing gates and give-and-gos. Vale?”
“Vale,” the girls agree.
We begin the first drill and I watch how they work together, admiring their skill level and clear communication. I know Carla hasn’t been coaching them for long, and they had a strong foundation prior to her taking over, but the cohesive way they work together impresses me.
I glance at Carla. She’s down the pitch, her hair pulled into a high ponytail braid.
It trails to the center of her shoulder blades, a rope I’d love to wrap my hand around and tug.
Her body, athletic and lithe, moves fluidly as she demonstrates an exercise for the girls.
She’s so natural, so in her element. It strikes me what a phenomenal coach she is.
How much she gives to her players—even beyond the game.
When I first suggested they come to the stadium, she waved me away, saying it was too much. But I wanted to do something for her, a just-because surprise, to prove that I’m in her corner. Hell, I’m rooting for her every damn day.
Carmen whistles and I snap my neck toward her.
She exchanges a look with Julieta and the two of them giggle.
I smirk. “What?”
“You’ve got it bad, DiBlanco,” Julieta voices.
“What?” I laugh, feigning dumb. Because…am I that obvious?
“Don’t blush,” Carmen advises. “It’s cute.”
“Yeah, I bet every man who passes Carla on the street falls a little in love with her,” Maria shares.
“She’s awesome,” Anna says, nodding.
“She is awesome,” I agree. “The best. Let’s focus on the next drill.”
The girls burst out laughing. Julieta throws her head back and practically cackles.
“Look at him changing the subject,” Anna murmurs.
“I hope it works out for you, Luca,” Carmen says, grinning.
I chuckle and dip my head, knowing I’ve been made. “Yeah? So do I.”
The girls giggle again.
“If you need us to put a good word in…” Carmen trails off.
“You guys would be really cute together,” Anna says, thoughtfully.
“Grazie. Now, the next drill?” I point to the cones.
“Vale,” Julieta says.
But for the rest of the training, I’m acutely aware of how the girls study me, Carla, and our interactions together.
The surreptitious glances, the whispering behind cupped hands, the lighthearted laughter. They talk amongst themselves, dissecting our relationship with the intensity of a playoff game. They’re smart girls, extremely perceptive.
And, as we line up for our friendly, Carmen flashes me a thumbs-up, accompanied by Julieta’s curt nod, and I realize I’ve gotten their seal of approval.
The realization puffs me up with pride. It shouldn’t matter as much as it does, but I want their acceptance. Knowing how much they look up to Carla, it’s important that they think I’m worthy of her.
“What’s going on with you?” Carla whispers, her eyes amused, as she tosses an arm around Julieta’s shoulders.
“Nothing,” Anna replies, glancing at her boots.
Carla shakes her head. Her eyes meet mine and I grin. She smiles back.
Two of her players sigh.
Understanding dawns on Carla’s face and she chuckles to herself.
And I can’t tear my eyes away.
Under the pitch lights, on a random weekday evening, in sweaty clothes, with the scent of sweet grass and approaching summer, the truth slams into me.
With a certainty that steals my breath.
I’m falling in love with Carla.