Chapter 37 Luca
Luca
“YOU SHOWED EVERYONE what you’re made of today, brother.”
As Roman speaks those words of praise into my ear, he pats the name on the back of my jersey for emphasis—and, of course, the horde of reporters, photographers, and camera operators surrounding us captures every detail of our highly anticipated exchange.
It’s week eight of the season, not quite the halfway point, and the Mastodons have a losing record while the Thunderbolts are soaring.
And yet, today’s matchup at our packed home stadium felt as close to a Super Bowl as I’ve ever been lucky enough to sniff.
Partly because of how much was at stake for me personally.
It was yet another do-or-die opportunity.
But also because of the way everyone hyped up our brotherly rivalry throughout the week.
The Rebels, Levi’s team, have played Roman’s several times over the years, including earlier this season, so the league has already witnessed two Maguires in opposing jerseys.
Also, whenever Marco plays Roman, there’s always commentary about their close bond, too.
But both of those guys are offensive players, so they’re never on the field at the same time as the other team’s quarterback, whereas I’m a defensive player who’s specifically tasked with trying to take the opposing QB down.
That unique circumstance made today feel especially exciting—like a true first in the world of the NFL.
One that garnered an insane amount of attention from both sides.
Even people who don’t care about football kept posting thirst trap compilations of Roman and me this week on social media—all of which Levi religiously shared in our family group chat with glee.
Thankfully, the game mostly lived up to the hype.
Not in terms of the final score. That wasn’t even close.
Roman and his Thunderbolts kicked the living snot out of us.
In fact, the Thunderbolts did so well, their second-stringer went in for Roman during the fourth quarter.
But even so, that was due to errors by people other than me.
In fact, thanks to my shining play, this game felt like a coming-of-age party.
Moriarty played the entire first quarter, which came as a surprise to me.
A bad one that caused me to jump out of my skin.
But thankfully, when it quickly became clear he wasn’t razor sharp again, the same way he’s been the prior two weeks, our fans started chanting, “Luca! Luca!” And that’s when I finally got the call and immediately went into some kind of weird, catatonic state that turned me into Rambo out there.
Right out of the gate, I applied pressure on Roman like a boss and forced him to throw the ball away to avoid getting sacked.
Man, the crowd went wild at that. Unfortunately, Roman being Roman, he went on to make some clutch plays after that, even when I consistently had him in my crosshairs.
But still, I made it hard for him and also stuffed their running game like a madman, and everyone could see that. So I knew my time would come.
Finally, at the end of the third quarter, right before Roman was pulled from the game to protect him from any unnecessary risk of getting injured, I pulled off the near impossible: I took my big brother down for the first time in my life.
And I did it in front of my hometown crowd and on national TV.
The sack wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was a bit of a fluke.
Roman’s own center got in his way by mistake, thereby tripping him up and giving him nowhere to flee, which was the only reason I was able to get in there and exploit the situation.
But even then, I only got Roman by the heel of his left cleat.
If he’d had one more inch of room, I would have missed him completely and come crashing down onto my chest on the field like a fool.
But, hey, a sack’s a sack, baby. And the roar of the hometown crowd in that moment let me know it.
Even better, when I looked over at Moriarty on the sideline, the look on his face made me feel like I had a jet engine on my back.
My rival tried to keep a poker face, but he simply couldn’t do it, and it was the best moment of my life.
From Moriarty, I looked over at Chelsea and discovered her jumping for joy like a lottery winner with Coach Martinez.
And that’s when that became the new best moment of my life—getting to witness Chelsea’s euphoria and knowing it was because of me.
Honestly, it was even better than seeing her O face. And that’s saying a lot.
I shouldn’t have done it, but when the series was over and it was time for me to exit the field, I beelined straight to Chelsea, picked her up, and swung her around the same way Moriarty did during preseason.
I know full well we’ve got to keep our personal connection on the down-low for now, though, so I quickly put her down and did the exact same thing to Coach Martinez, making him, Chelsea, everyone on the sideline, and every Mastodon fan in the stadium roar and cheer.
It was such a clever maneuver, in fact, Chelsea laughed every bit as hard as Coach Martinez when I put him down and she didn’t even look pissed at all that I’d swung her around in front of the world.
“Sorry I can’t make it to dinner,” Roman says into my ear right before we pull back from our postgame hug. “I would have loved to celebrate your first game as a Mastodon.”
I wave at the air. “Bah, rules are rules, even for you.”
As a general rule, even superstars like Roman have to travel with their teams to and from away games.
But even if Roman could have gotten a special dispensation to join my celebratory dinner with our parents and Iris tonight, I wouldn’t have wanted him to.
Roman’s the leader of his new team, so the last thing he should be doing is coming off like he thinks he’s above the rules or better than anyone else just because he’s the only guy on the team with a record-breaking contract.
As we continue chatting, the crowd of reporters thins out. Apparently, they’ve gotten what they needed from us, and they’re now scattering to find their next story.
“Do you have time to say a quick hello to Chelsea?” I ask.
Roman shoots me a knowing look. “Sure. It’d be my pleasure to say hello to the woman who hates me.”
Last night on FaceTime with my brothers and Marco, I confessed I’m madly, deeply, desperately in love with Chelsea. So, Roman knows my seemingly casual request isn’t casual at all.
I scan the buzzing postgame field, looking for the woman I love among the players, personnel, and reporters milling about, and when I finally spot her, she’s surveying the packed crowd, too. When our eyes lock, we share a broad smile and simultaneously bound toward each other.
When Roman and I reach Chelsea, and without a single reporter following us, I hug her and we both whoop excitedly about my performance. To my surprise, when our embrace ends, Chelsea initiates one with Roman, albeit a much more polite one.
“Congratulations on your season so far, Roman,” Chelsea says. “I bet the Thunderbolts feel like geniuses for snapping you up when they did.”
“Thanks. It’s been a fun ride so far.”
“How’d it feel to get taken down like a clown by your little brother? Pretty humbling I bet, huh?”
We all crack up. Roman didn’t get sacked like a clown by me. Not even close. But since we both know Chelsea knows the truth, it only makes her leaping at the chance to razz him even funnier.
“It didn’t feel great, Chelsea,” Roman replies dryly. “But if someone had to take me down like a clown, I’m sure glad it was Luca.”
Chelsea sighs happily. “He was a beast today, wasn’t he? A monster. He showed the whole world what he’s made of.”
“I just told him that myself.”
Chelsea looks at me adoringly, in a way that makes me pretty damned sure I’m getting fucked tonight, despite me falling short of her two-sack minimum for this particular game.
But quickly, she returns to Roman. “Thank you so much for sending me that signed ball for Daisy for her birthday. She said it was the best present she’s ever received. ”
“That was all Iris. She’s the one who got my attention in time to send it off.”
“When did all this happen?” I ask. I know Chelsea and Iris have been texting. After Roman’s party, Iris added her and Daisy into a group chat with Iris’s besties. But I had no idea the friendship had progressed to the point of Iris finagling a birthday football for Daisy.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Roman says to me. “Chelsea and I are allowed to have a relationship that doesn’t involve you.”
Chelsea giggles. “Speaking of Iris, is she around here somewhere? I’d love to say hi.”
“Yeah, she’s with my parents. I’ll be saying a quick hello to all of them by the buses in a bit, if you want to come to our meeting spot.”
“Oh, for sure. Thank you.”
Holy shit. This is going better than my wildest dreams.
“If you want to see Iris,” I interject, feeling emboldened, “why don’t you come to dinner with my parents and Iris tonight? We’re going out to celebrate my first game as a Mastodon.”
Before Chelsea answers, none other than Jacob Moriarty walks up and bro-hugs Roman in greeting. It’s the code of superstars in this league. They pay their respects to each other on the field after every game, if only briefly.
Thankfully, Moriarty’s only saying hello to Roman in passing—as he heads for the tunnel and into the locker room. As he turns to leave, he murmurs to me, “Good game, Ninety-Five.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t get too comfortable, though.”
He pauses for a reaction, and when I don’t give him one—because these days, nothing’s going to bait me—he glares at Chelsea and shuffles off.
When Moriarty’s gone, Chelsea cackles with delight. “He hates me so much. It’s lovely.”
“Why?” I ask. “What happened?”
“I told him never to speak to me again unless first spoken to. And I haven’t said a word to him since.”
I high-five her and she laughs with glee.
“I have good news for you, Luca. The DC already told me he’s shuffling some guys around to make room for you next week, too. And probably permanently, if all goes well.”
Roman congratulates me and hugs me. But after a bit more conversation, he says he’d better get to the locker room so he doesn’t keep our parents and Iris waiting too long.
“It was great to see you again, Chelsea.”
“You, too, Roman. Great game today.” She winks. “You devil, you.”
Roman cackles. “Chelsea, you never disappoint. I love you, Lukie. Keep showing ’em, okay?”
“Will do.”
As Roman walks away, Chelsea turns to me. “So, about this dinner. Can I bring my parents? My mom’s in town for the game, and I promised to go to dinner with her and my father tonight.”
From what Chelsea’s told me, her mom decided to stay at their Ohio home throughout her husband’s first NFL season to give Coach Parker unlimited space to work his ass off at his new high-pressure job.
But also, as Chelsea confided in me, Mrs. Parker didn’t want to give up her dream home and her own busy life and friends needlessly, so she stayed behind in case her husband’s new gig in the NFL didn’t work out as hoped.
“Of course they can come. The more, the merrier.” Hot damn. I’m trying to sound casual even though I’m bursting with excitement. But ever since Chelsea met both my parents at Roman’s party, I’ve been dying to find a way to meet all her family members, too.
“Okay, count us in,” Chelsea chirps. “Text me the deets. Oh, and Luca. I don’t know what your parents think is going on between us, but if you’ve hinted it’s something more than a professional relationship, you need to tell them not to give us away at dinner.”
“They know it’s a secret.”
“So you’ve told them the truth?”
I nod sheepishly. “Is that a bad thing? Now that Daisy and Nate both know, I figured we were allowed to tell our most trusted inner circle.”
Chelsea pauses and bites at the tip of her finger. “I’m really nervous about my father figuring us out. Maybe we’re playing with fire by going to this dinner.”
Shit. “No, no, not at all. My parents and Iris will play it super cool, I promise. I’ll tell them, Chelsea. Don’t sweat it.”
“But you need to play it super cool, too, Luca, and that’s not your strong suit. My father’s a smart man. Maybe we shouldn’t come after all.”
“Don’t be silly. It’ll be fine.”
“Promise me, you won’t do anything to make my father say, ‘Hmm.’”
“I won’t. I’ll be calm, cool, and collected the whole dinner.”
Chelsea snickers. “Those are the last three words I’d ever use to describe you.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling warmly. “Okay, we’ll come. As long as you promise you’ll do your absolute best at dinner. Please, Luca, keep your eye on the long game here.”
“I promise. I’ll be great.”
Chelsea looks up at me for a long beat before sighing like a Disney princess looking into a wishing well. “You played like a beast today, Luca. You were sheer perfection out there. Not one mistake.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Coach.”
Her eyes sparkle. “No, today was all you.” She winks. “See you at dinner.”
“Can’t wait.”
With a little flick of her ponytail, Chelsea skips off, promptly taking my beating heart right along with her.