Chapter 21
Luca
Today is my last day in Italy.
The waves curl lazily against the shore, and I still feel numb.
Nonna sits under a striped umbrella, sunglasses on, a big floppy hat threatening to take off in the breeze.
The water is warm, glittering like melted glass.
Kids run past, screaming in Italian, dogs bark, and the sky is that perfect hazy blue that makes you think nothing bad can ever happen here.
I remember I used to come out here when I was a child, and I played with my cousins.
At five, I was still careless enough to care about my brother.
My granddad and I would play volleyball here, and then he would throw me around in the water, while my brother was screaming it's his turn.
My phone buzzes, and I frown.
Unknown American number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, am I speaking to Luca Rossi?”
The voice is crisp, professional, and definitely not Italian, or auAustralianor that matter.
“Yes?” I say slowly, sitting up.
“Luca, my name is Coach Miller,” the man says. “I got your number from Coach Daniels. Do you have a moment to talk?”
My pulse jumps. “Uh, sure.”
“I’ll get straight to it,” he continues. “We were at your last game in California, and we were really impressed with your performance. I’d like to offer you a position on the—” he pauses, and I feel my heart rate grow, “—Los Angeles Waves.”
I sit up so fast my towel almost flies away. “I—wait. What?”
Nonna squints over her glasses. “Who are you yelling at?”
I turn slightly away from her, my heart thudding so loud I can barely hear myself. “Sorry—can you say that again?”
Coach Miller chuckled. “You heard me, kid. We want you. Full sponsorship. Apartment, car, everything. You’d need to be in California within two weeks. Think about it.”
My breath catches.
Two weeks.
My dream team. My childhood dream. My grandfather’s team.
But also—
Tilly.
Yana.
Matt.
Zara.
My family.
“Did… did any of my team get the same offer?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“No, just you,” he says. “You stood out. I need an answer in three days. I’ll send the details to your email. Congratulations, son.”
The line clicks off.
I just sit there, staring at my phone as if it might explode.
Nonna leans over. “So? Who was that?”
I swallow. “Uh, no one.”
She raises an eyebrow. “ No one doesn’t make you look like that.”
I shake my head. “Just… something about volleyball.”
Her whole face lights up. “Volleyball! See? I told you! You are destined for greatness! Just like your Nonno.”
There it is.
That look of pride — the one that makes me feel seen and invisible all at once.
I force a smile. “Yeah. Just like Nonno.”
She starts packing up the towels, humming. “Come, come. We will go home. I will make dinner, and then you pack. I want to steal a few more hours before the world takes you away again, babino.”
I nod, but my chest feels tight. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
The whole walk home, her voice is soft, talking about recipes and tomatoes and how my grandfather would be proud.
But I’m not really listening.
All I can hear is that man’s voice in my head.
We want you.
Two weeks.
Just you.
***
The next morning, I’m on the plane.
The seatbelt light blinks on, and I stare out the window as Italy gets smaller and smaller beneath the clouds.
My reflection in the glass looks like someone else. Someone who has just been handed everything he ever wanted — but isn’t sure if he can take it.
If I go, I’d be living the dream.
The team. The fame. The recognition.
If I stay… I’d be with them.
The people who make me feel like more than just an athlete.
My mind spins faster with every cloud we pass.
What if I left, and she wouldn’t even care?
What if she does?
I press a hand to my face, groaning quietly.
It isn’t just about Tilly.
It’s everything about all of it, all of the days I felt like crap and could just go to the apartment and find comfort in them.
Now I’m supposed to pick between my dream and my home.
Between who I am and who I want to be.
I feel sick thinking about how Tilly came to me and told me her biggest struggles.
As much as I want to, I can’t stop thinking about that day.
If I weren’t there, there’s a high chance she would still be abusing herself.
I feel like I’m living in one of those movies Tilly likes watching that makes her cry.
Pure horror.