Chapter 19
Nineteen
My heart patters as I walk next to Stella, carrying my green bean casserole. The one that took me a whole four minutes to throw together. The one that Stella assured me she loved. At least she’ll have something she likes while she’s feeling out of place and uncomfortable.
I may be used to that feeling, but that doesn’t mean I want to share it with her.
Stella’s arm brushes mine as we walk toward the door, and it’s strangely comforting. I can’t even feel her skin due to her long green sweater, but the brush of her arm and knowing it’s her is comforting nonetheless. For once, I’m at a team event, and I’m not alone.
I pull in a breath. “We’ve got this.”
“You keep saying that.” She gawks at me as if unconvinced. “Why aren’t you friends with these guys again?”
I clear my throat, and for some reason, maybe because it’s Stella, I am blatantly honest. “After we lost Brice, I decided I didn’t need friends. It’s too painful.”
Her green eyes go watery as she studies me back. “You need friends, Roman.”
“You sound like my coach.”
“He sounds brilliant,” she says with a smirk.
I laugh and think about my little conversation with Lucca just four days ago. “Yeah, well, you might be right. After all this time, it’s a hard habit to break.”
“But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“So, you want to talk now?” I say, wondering if I’ll be earning myself a cold shoulder or a lecture. “No more avoiding Roman?”
Stella sighs and peers up to the largest house I’ve ever seen. “It is Thanksgiving.”
That makes me laugh. “Here, let me take that,” I say, reaching for the casserole.
My fingers brush hers, and my mind wanders back to the girl I knew so long ago.
Stella Everly was always sweet and joyful.
But something happened on her fifteenth birthday.
The girl changed from Brice’s funny little sister to something more mature, something beautiful.
She grew into her gangly limbs. Her braces came off. And she got contacts.
The woman has only gotten better with time.
“What if you smiled today?” she says, reaching up to fix the collar of my polo shirt.
“I smile,” I say, and it comes off grumbly.
Stella wrinkles her nose, her eyes roaming from my head to my chin. “You really don’t. Not in public.” She sets both hands on her hips, still studying me. “And maybe when someone talks to you, you could give them an actual answer instead of a grunt.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. But especially with them.” Her head arches to the side, directing to the house full of Red Tails. “They’re trying. I’ve seen it. They want to call you friend. Try talking to them like you would have—once upon a time.”
I blink, goosebumps rising on my forearms. “You think I can?” I say, only because it’s Stella.
“I know you can,” she says. “More importantly, you need it.”
“Fine. I’ll smile,” I say, and the words fill me with physical discomfort. “And talk. And you—”
“This isn’t my team,” Stella says, on the defense.
“And you’ll do the same,” I say as we step onto the front stoop of Will Baxter’s home.
Her chest rises and falls with one big breath.
“Fine.” Her eyes narrow, and she lifts both hands.
The woman’s fingers graze my neck as she adjusts my collar once more.
I’m defenseless with this casserole dish in my hands.
She can do what she wants with me. And she does, combing her fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck.
Her gaze roves from my collar to my nose, to my eyes, to my mouth. Stella presses one finger to my lips.
My mouth parts with her touch, turning up in question. “What was that for?”
“Just wiping away that scowl. Now you’re ready.” With that, she turns to the tall, dark wood of the Baxter’s front door and knocks.
The door swings open and Alice Baxter—Will’s wife, who isn’t much older than me—stands in front of us. “Roman, you came. Jet said you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure.” She doesn’t say this unkindly, just matter-of-factly. Her uncertainty is valid. “I’m glad you made it. And this is?”
“Oh.” I shake my head, forgetting that not everyone knows about Stella.
I also tell myself to smile. I promised Stella.
It might be robotic, but I do it. “This is my … wife.” Wow.
I’m not sure I’ve called Stella that outside my head.
“Stella.” I nod in her direction, as I am still holding a pan of green beans.
“This is Alice Baxter. She and Will own the team.”
Stella chokes—on nothing. We haven’t eaten anything yet.
Still, the woman is coughing as she crosses the Baxter’s threshold.
After a minute, she swallows and gives Alice a forced grin.
“Swallowed wrong,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.
” She peers back to the front stoop, giving me the smallest of glares, and whispers only for me, “I expected them to be old. Like ancient rich people.”
I smother a laugh, shrugging at her assumption.
“We’re happy to have you,” Alice says. She waves her fingers at me, still on the porch.
“Roman, let me take your dish. Come inside.” Alice reaches for the casserole in my hand, and I gladly give it up, stepping into the house next to Stella.
“Look!” Alice says. “You two found the mistletoe.” She grins, her eyes bouncing up above us in this entryway.
“Wow. Look at that.” Stella’s chuckle is forced. I think she might start choking again if I don’t act quick.
I press my hand to the small of her back and dip my head to hers, pecking the corner of her mouth. Her skin is soft and sweet, and she’s kind of like breathing in a garden. One tiny peck and I can’t shake the feel of her.
Stella’s chest rises and falls with a breath. She peers ahead with wide eyes where the entryway opens to a grand stairway and vaulted ceilings. The Baxter’s living room is in view, where we can see several of my teammates socializing.
Alice walks ahead of us, leading the way.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm.”
I’m not sure if she’s mad at me. Should I have asked before kissing her? I barely touched the corner of her mouth. I assumed we were in marriage mode. “You said I’d have to kiss you one day. I just thought—”
“Roman.” She stops, her hand on my chest, stopping me too. “It’s fine. That was hardly a kiss.”
“Harsh,” I tease. But I had no intention of making her anxious. “Hardly a kiss? Next time—”
“Forget it.”
My attempts to lighten the mood aren’t working.
“Where were we?” she asks.
“Talking and smiling,” I say. Stella’s nerves make me want to fulfill her goals even more. This was her idea, so let’s do it. “We are Roman and Stella, a happily married couple unafraid of socializing.”
“Roman and Stella,” she chants. “Let’s go.”
Fran Fairchild waves from across the room. “Stella! Hey, come here!”
I lean down, whispering in her ear, “Talk and smile.”
Stella starts across the room, leaving me behind. I watch as she approaches Fran, Rosalie, and a woman I think might be Devon’s wife, Sarah. She smiles at the women, and I oddly feel proud of her.
I’m asking myself why in the world I know their names when six feet away from me, Lucca flicks his chin toward an empty corner of the room.
I peer behind me, but no one is there, and when I turn back, Lucca is looking right at me, rolling his eyes. He gives one more head flick before sauntering over to the corner. I follow him, but I’m not sure I can smile.
“You jerked?” I say.
Lucca peers out at the crowd, not meeting my eyes. “I got something for you, bruh.”
“For me?”
“Yep.” With his hand behind his back, he turns until his enclosed fists face me. “Take it,” he whispers. Lucca opens his fingers, revealing a small piece of paper.
I glance back at the full great room—no one is paying us any attention, and I’m not sure why we’ve turned into undercover spies, but I take the slip from Lucca’s grasp. Opening the small paper, I see a name—Marsha Tregear—along with a phone number.
“What’s—”
“Shh,” Lucca says, hushing me, still avoiding all eye contact. “My cousin’s online counselor. She specializes in newly married couples. I’ve already contacted her. She’s waiting for your call.”
“You couldn’t text me?” I say, shoving the slip into my slacks pocket.
“And leave a trace? No way, man.” Lucca finally looks at me. “I expect you to burn this after you make that call.”
“Thanks. I guess.” There’s a redhead standing next to Alice.
She wiggles her fingers our way in a sultry wave, but I’m pretty sure it’s not for me.
I glance over to Stella—just in case. But she isn’t watching us.
She doesn’t care that some redhead is wiggling her fingers in my direction. “Who’s that?”
“Candy.” Lucca’s brows pinch. “Possibly Mandy. I met her last night. Hey, do me a solid and ask her for her name, will you? You owe me.”
And with that, I follow Lucca Cruz into one of several clustered groups of Red Tails and guests. I force the corners of my mouth up and keep my ears open, ready to talk. Channeling the Roman of old. I have to.
I promised Stella.