Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
I’ve been very much an observer the first fifteen minutes of this meal. Dad has asked Lucca a hundred questions, and Lucca has happily answered. Everyone hangs on his every word. Mom walks over with seconds for Lucca without even asking if he wants them.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. McCrae,” he says, with Mom’s second slice of meatloaf on his plate. “That’s plenty. I have to save room for pie.”
“Grandma!” Wyatt moans. “Don’t stuff him full. He needs to try banana cream pie for the very first time.”
“All right. All right,” Mom says, taking back the extra scoop of mashed potatoes she almost had on Lucca’s plate.
“Your family must be proud, with you playing at such a high level,” Dad says, his food hardly touched.
Lucca grins. The man has the straightest, whitest teeth I have ever witnessed. And I’m convinced he smiles so often because he loves showing them off. “Yes. As proud as you must be of Maggie’s athletic accomplishments.”
My face burns. It must be as pink as the flowers in Mom’s vase. I liked it better when Dad was swooning over Lucca. No need to focus on me.
“Oh yes,” Dad says. “Our Maggie girl went far.”
“She’s still going far,” Lindy says. “She’s qualified to ref in the majors. They offered her a promotion. But she doesn’t want to be away from Wyatt that much. She’s chosen not to.”
And just like that, I grow warmer. I must be a maraschino cherry by now. And I don’t want Wyatt thinking I’m not playing soccer or officiating in the majors because of him. None of that is his fault. Lindy’s right when she says I made my own choices. “I like the minors,” I say.
“And she likes me,” Wyatt says. Well, he doesn’t seem guilt-ridden. Maybe my worried head can rest.
I plant a hand on top of his head, then lean over to kiss his cheek. “I love you.”
“Ugh,” Wyatt moans. “Aunt Maggie.” He wipes the patch of skin where I kissed. Then he looks at Lucca and rolls his eyes. “Girls.”
I snicker, hoping my cheeks are a semi-normal color once more.
“We are proud of both our girls and our Wyatt,” Mom says. “They’ve all come a long way. God’s been good to us.”
I swallow, a knot in my throat. “He has,” I say. “Besides, who cares about what Lindy and I have done. Wyatt here is reading at a second-grade level.”
“Impressive,” Lucca says, holding out a fist to Wyatt.
Wyatt rises in his seat and thrusts his knuckles into Lucca’s. “Do you like trains? I can tell you what I learned today while we eat pie.”
Lucca rests a hand on his protruding eight pack—I know it’s an eight pack from the day he stripped off his shirt at Wyatt’s birthday party.
That image will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.
“Can you give me fifteen minutes?” He pats his stomach once more to show how full of meatloaf he is.
“We can wait. You can look at my room and see my soccer trophy, and maybe we could play Mario Kart.”
“School night,” I say, just as Lindy says, “Why not?”
For the next sixty minutes, I watch my nephew with his soccer hero–who isn’t me.
Wyatt gives Lucca a tour of our home. He even insists Lucca see my room and trophies—thanks, buddy.
They do play Mario Kart, and they stuff themselves with Wyatt’s pudding, whipped cream, and wafer pie, which Lucca seems to love.
Either that, or he’s sucking up to a six year old.
Mom and Dad have turned in for the night, and it’s just the four of us left at this kitchen table.
And then, possibly for the first time in Wyatt’s young life, my sister says, “Wyatt, time for a bath and bed. Tell your friend goodnight.”
And Wyatt, miraculously, does not argue. What is happening here? This feels so unfair on so many levels.
He slips from his kitchen chair to stand next to Lucca. Wyatt wraps one arm around his neck. “Bye. Will you come back?” He cups his hand next to Lucca’s ear and whispers too loudly for it to be a secret. “Mom says if I go to bed nicely, you’ll come back.”
“Of course. How can I live without your banana pie?” He taps Wyatt’s nose with one finger. “You’ve got me hooked.”
Wyatt giggles and then wraps his other arm around Lucca, hugging him tight.
I nibble on my bottom lip, watching the scene, watching as Lucca grins, his eyes closed, embracing my nephew back.
“Come over again real soon,” Wyatt whispers. “We like it when you’re here.”
Lucca pats his back and gives him an affirmative nod.
Heaven help me.
Whether or not it’s wise for Lucca and me to be friends, it’s as if this conversation has solidified it. We are officially friends. Wyatt has decided.
He steps back, looking at Lucca like I’ve never really seen him look at anyone. I’d love to know what’s going on in his head. And then he’s off. Bath and bed time, with Lindy following after him.
And while everything inside of me knows it would be more than wise to show this man to the door, to ask him to leave, I find myself saying, “You once told me you understood my situation. What did you mean?”
Because all at once, I want to know. Dad commented on his family being proud, and while Lucca agreed, I couldn’t help but notice how he danced around the topic and gave zero details.
“I was raised by my grandmother. My father had died, and my mother was young. She decided she couldn’t raise a child on her own. So, Vovó raised me. Much like you are raising Wyatt.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening. “I’m not raising Wyatt.” Lindy is bathing him as we speak.
“Not alone,” he says, “but you are.”
My eyes prick with unshed tears, with the acknowledgment this man is quietly giving me. Because, while not his mother, we’re family, and I am helping raise him. He’s my boy. And I can’t imagine life without him.
“You gave up a lot—”
“Wyatt’s worth it.”
His grin is small but kind. “My vovó would have said the same thing.”
I lick my lips and study him a second before speaking again. “When did you come to the U.S.?”
“I was seventeen. I was recruited by a youth academy to come play over here.”
“Which one?” I say. I’m familiar with several. They’re clubs with professional coaches; they scholarship talented kids all over the world and train them to go pro. It’s an education in soccer with schooling on the side.
“Skyline FC—”
“In Chicago,” I say.
“That’s the one. I started learning English in my first school year in Brazil—Vovó made sure of it. I played club there, too. But it was expensive and grueling. It was hard on Vovó, though she never complained. Skyline paid my tuition in full. They even paid for me to get here.”
“Did Vovó,” I say, unsure I’m saying the Portuguese word for grandmother correctly, “come, too?”
Lucca shakes his head, and I see the sorrow in that one movement. “No. I visited, but she stayed in our villa.”
“Is Vovó still there?”
“She passed away a few years ago.”
A pang of sorrow hits me harder than it should. But it’s clear how much Lucca adored his grandmother and that her loss is painful. “I’m sorry,” I say.
He gives a small nod. “Thank you, Maggie.” He peers at me, his eyes turning to slits. “In some ways, you remind me of her.”
“I remind you of your grandmother?”
He doesn’t take the chance to laugh at the absurdity. He very seriously nods once more. “Yes. She was the best woman I ever knew. And she loved a little boy like he was her own when she didn’t have to.” His smile is sad; it longs for a woman who is gone from this world. “She loved me.”
I’m in my bed, sixty seconds from sleep, when the door creaks open and a shadowed figure comes sneaking in—one that is much too tall to be Wyatt.
“Lucca?”
The light in my room flicks on. “Lucca?” Lindy says. “Were you expecting a tall, dark Brazilian athlete to creep into your room tonight?”
“What?” My tone is too high, and my voice cracks from lack of use. “No. Of course not. I didn’t say Lucca.”
“You did,” Lindy says.
“I said—” But before the lie can come out of my mouth, Lindy’s talking again.
“So.” She climbs onto my queen-sized bed and crosses her legs. She peers down at me, bouncing on my mattress once. “How was it?”
I squint in the bright light of my room. “How was what?”
“Lucca? How was Lucca? You guys had an entire hour alone together before he left.”
“Did you…” I push up until I’m resting on my elbows. “Did you leave us alone on purpose?”
“Of course I left you alone on purpose. I owed you big time.”
It looks like I won’t be going to sleep any time soon. So, I sit up and lean my head against the wall. “Owed me for what?” Was she rewarding me or punishing me?
She flinches, making a horrified face. “Ugh. Reggie.”
I sigh. “Oh, you definitely owe me for Reggie. But this does not make up for that fiasco.”
“How was I supposed to know he’d be carrying a tape measure?”
“Maybe you couldn’t have known, but Brent certainly should have.” I yawn and shift my gaze to the clock on my bedside table. “What time is it anyway? Is this really why you came in here?”
“Yes. You and Mr. Soccer Player have chemistry, big sister.”
I bark out a tired laugh. She’s stealing my sleep for this. “We do not.”
“You do. Even Wyatt sees it.”
I cross my arms and look at Lindy—she’s much too awake for eleven o’clock. She’s probably been texting with Brent. “Wyatt doesn’t notice chemistry.”
“He does. He asked why Lucca always looks at you. And he wanted to know if your face was going to stay that red color.” She laughs. “Wyatt sees it. Are you really telling me you don’t?”
“Believe me, I’m not his type. Lucca doesn’t look at me—”
“Except he does.”
“And I was just embarrassed; you started bragging about my U-23 days to a professional athlete.”
“You would have made the U.S. team. You would have been the pro. You know you would have.” She swallows. I’m unsure how this topic makes Lindy feel. She doesn’t say what we both know—that her choices, her addiction, her pregnancy ended all of that for me.
“I don’t know any of that. All possibilities. None of it is fact.” I reach for Lindy’s hand. I’m often so focused on saving my sister, sometimes I forget to just be her friend. “I love you, Lindy.”
“Of course you do. I’m fabulous.” She stands up and I giggle at her fabricated self-confidence.
It took a long time for her to gain any of it back.
I won’t let Brent or any other person ruin that for her.
“I’m also not finished talking about this.
But seeing as you are falling asleep on me, I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. ”
“Talking about what? There is nothing to tell. We talked about his growing up. His grandma. That’s it. Zero chemistry.”
“Not possible. I’m pretty sure Mom has chemistry with Lucca.”
“Exactly,” I say, throwing one arm out toward her. “That’s the problem. Women everywhere fall at his feet. His head is so big when it comes to anything female that it literally can’t fit through that door. I won’t be lumped in with every other woman falling for the same man.”
“That’s not the problem. Your pride is the problem.”
I scoff. “It has nothing to do with my pride. There is no problem because I’m not attracted to him. There is zero chem—”
“A rock would be attracted to that man. Brent even said so.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not a rock and I’m not attracted to Lucca.
Besides, it’s against every rule in the book.
A ref can’t be in a relationship with a player.
” I shake my head; this conversation has gotten out of hand.
Lucca and I had one civil conversation, and suddenly my sister is obsessed with non-existent chemistry.
“Not that I want to date him. I don’t. Geez, Lindy.
You’re messing with my head. Go to bed!”
Lindy walks toward my bedroom door. She lifts one shoulder, peering back at me. “I’m pretty sure rules were meant to be broken.”
“No,” I say, pressing my lips together, my heart rate picking up. “They weren’t.”