Chapter 16
Sixteen
The Rhinos and the Forge light up my TV screen, Callum on one end of my couch and Zev on the other. It’s tradition, watching teams from our league play each other.
“I almost forgot,” Callum says. “Fran told me to tell you that the local shelter has kittens.”
Zev blinks, his gaze drifting from the television to Callum and then me. “Why is Fran telling you about cats?”
“Just a previous conversation,” I say. I have no intention of getting a cat.
“She said to text her if you need the information,” Cal says.
Thankfully the Rhinos make a play right at that moment, drawing all of our attention, and I don’t need to explain more. When the Forge’s goalie leaps, smacking the ball out of bounds before it can cross the line and hit the net, we all react.
“Woo,” Callum says, inhaling through his teeth.
I slap my leg, eyes on the screen. “That was close.”
“The Forge’s goalkeeper is a beast,” Zev says.
“No more than Sawyer,” I say. I’m nothing if not loyal.
Callum doesn’t chime in. He’s peering down at his phone.
“Sawyer or Foster?” I say to Callum, trying to get him to debate with us.
“Whoa,” Zev says. “I never said I’d pick Foster over Sawyer, I just said he was a beast. Don’t go telling tales to Sawyer. He’ll crush me.”
“Yeah, he will.” I sit back. “’Cuz our boy is the beast.”
Zev groans. He opens his mouth, but Callum beats him to the punch.
“Lucca, why am I getting text messages for you?” He holds up his phone.
Zev leans over me to read the message, but I snatch the phone from Callum’s hand.
It reads:
For Lucca
Saturday 1:00
141 Blue Bird Rd
Canyon Falls, CA
(P.S. Don’t give Lucca my number.)
“Who’s that from?” Zev asks.
I already know. She said she’d text Callum the details. She refused my number. Even after the game, when I tried to give it to her.
“Maggie McCrae,” Callum says, before I can comment, to which Zev busts up laughing.
“What’s going on with you and Maggie?” Callum leans back, crossing his arms and scowling.
I groan like she’s really putting me out. But Maggie McCrae is an oddity. The more I know her, the more curious I become. “She asked me to stop by her nephew’s birthday party.” I tilt my head. “Apparently, I’m his favorite Red Tail.”
Zev scoffs. “And you’re going?”
“Wait, do you like her now?” Callum peers over at me, glancing down once at the phone in my hand.
My turn to scoff. “I wouldn’t go that far. We all participate in community service.” I lift one shoulder, like this is just part of the job. Like I’m not itching to go to a kid’s party so I can talk to Maggie again.
“Community service?” Callum deadpans.
“She lives in Canyon Falls.” Zev reaches into the bowl of pretzels on my coffee table and tosses one back. “Not exactly our community.”
“Hey, we have fans all over the place. I’m just nurturing that. Besides, that’s where we mentored the Little League teams.”
“Well… how… thoughtful of you,” Callum says. He reaches out, taking the phone from my hand.
“I am quite thoughtful.” I pick up the bowl of snacks on my coffee table and rest it in my lap. “It would be easier if she’d just texted me, though.”
“Ha. Nice try.” Callum shoves his phone back into his pocket.
Over the next forty minutes, I think about that text message. Maggie McCrae dislikes me enough to ensure I don’t end up with her number. However, she loves her nephew enough to make sure I’m at his party.
Curious. And a little intriguing. I’m reminded of the time Vovó sat and watched my club game in a storm. The wind blew and the rain fell, and while my grandmother hated getting cold at any degree, she sat in that storm and watched until the end. Because she loved me.
And sure, maybe I do dislike Maggie a little less than I did a year ago, or even at the beginning of this season. But I’m not ready to admit that yet.
When the game ends—the Forge slaughtered the Rhinos, three to zero—Callum and Zev stand to leave. But how can I let Callum go with my text still in his possession? He has Maggie’s contact information. I don’t. And it’s eating away at me.
Never in my life has it been this difficult to get a woman’s number.
“Cal,” I say, my tone suggesting it was a last-minute thought. I hold out my hand. “I need to get that address from Maggie.”
He pulls up the text and holds it out for me to see.
Trying to act casual, I take the phone from his hands. “I just need to write it down.” I pretend—an Oscar-winning performance—to look for a piece of paper. When I don’t find one, I simply say, “I’ll screenshot it to myself.”
I tap Callum’s phone discreetly, clicking on her name. Up pops all of Maggie McCrae’s information. Her number for the taking. I send myself that screenshot. But not the message with the party address.
I close out of his texting app and nod. Innocent. Then, I pass my friend back his phone.
Man, I’m good.
Me: Hello there, Maggie McCrae.
My text is met with silence. I can see it’s been delivered and that the girl has left me on read. So, I give her another six minutes before I text again.
Me: No reply at all. That’s not very polite. Especially seeing how I’m doing you this giant favor of coming to your nephew’s party and all.
This time, I am not disappointed. Ten seconds later, I am presented with:
Maggie: LUCCA?
Me: The one and only.
Maggie: I thought you were a bot. Or a creeper. Or a salesman creeper bot. I was just about to block you.
Maggie: Callum gave you my number?
Me: He did not. I was charming and conniving and stole it.
Maggie: Sounds right.
Me: If you want me at your nephew’s party, that means you must communicate with me. Sorry.
Maggie: Have I not made myself clear? I DON’T want you. Wyatt wants you.
Me: I don’t see the difference.
Maggie: It’s not that difficult. Wyatt and I are not the same person. We don’t desire the same things. Not everyone wants you, Lucca Cruz.
Me: But you do want Saint Lucca to come to your nephew’s party. Don’t you? Even if that reason is Wyatt. YOU want me to come. For him.
Silence.
Me: I’m going to need to hear you say it. Or in this case, write it out.
Maggie: You’re despicable.
Me: I’m usually called adorable.
Me: I’ll wait.
And I do. For two whole minutes.
Maggie: For reasons that have nothing at all to do with any type of adoration for you, yes, I want you to come to my nephew’s party.
Because it will make Wyatt happy. Because it’s all he wants for his birthday.
Because, despite the fact that it caused me physical pain to ask you, and that it most likely goes against the FIFA Code of Conduct, and that I am loathing every second of this text thread, it’s what Wyatt wants.
Me: Was that so difficult?
She doesn’t answer. I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far.
Me: You really love that nephew of yours.
Maggie: Most aunts love their nephews.
Me: You’re throwing him this party?
Maggie: I am.
There is a tender space in my heart, one I don’t talk about often, for a woman who loves and cares for a boy that isn’t her son. It’s what Vovó was to me. And all at once, I know where my curiosity and intrigue with Maggie comes from.
Vovó.
In some strange way, this woman whom I have spent so much time loathing reminds me of my grandmother.
Me: Can I ask about his situation?
Maggie: Nope.
Me: But you care for him?
Maggie: Wyatt has a lot of people who care for him.
Me: Lucky kid.
Maggie: Are you coming or not?
Me: I’ll come. I need that address.
Maggie McCrae is making it more and more difficult to dislike her.