Huh. Maybe my little brother’s gonna pull this off after all? Could it be Nicola wanted Luca to officiate today preciselybecausehe’s a loose-cannon weirdo wild card, and not inspiteof that fact—and Marco’s too in love to deny his beautiful wife-to-be anything? Either way, it occurs to me it’s a good thing Luca’s got something fun to sink his teeth into—something to help him feel good about himself again. When he got cut by yet another team at the end of last season, we all know he took it really hard, despite the smile he always manages in a crowd.
Luca calls out to the maid of honor, “You’re up, Cordelia. Delight us with those golden pipes of yours!”
With a little squeal, Nicola’s sister scurries to grab a ukulele from behind a floral arrangement. A moment later she’s enthusiastically performing a lilting ballad that instantly makes me want to take a long nap. Or maybe that’s all the spiced rum punches I’ve been guzzling all week. I’ve definitely been overdoing it.
I always give myself some latitude during the offseason tolet loose and have fun, in terms of my strict diet and exercise regimen. Life is short. But even I have to admit I’ve taken the latitude thing too far this week, probably because I’ve been looking for any way to distract myself from the current precariousness of my career. What team will I be joining next season? It’s all up in the air for the first time since the Baltimore Crusaders selected me eleven years ago as the overall first pick in the NFL draft that year.
Nobody but my closest inner circle knows this, but I didn’t sign a contract extension with the Crusaders, despite our winning record and playoff run last season. Instead, I instructed my longtime best friend and agent, Cameron, to feel things out with some other select teams.
Apparently, my top pick, the Thunderbolts in LA, are desperate to have me, at least based on what they’ve been telling my agent—but so far, they’ve been dragging their feet on meeting my salary demands, so who the fuck knows how things will end up?
My phone in my pocket vibrates as the maid of honor continues her languid song. Is that Cameron texting me with an update on negotiations? My fingers are physically twitching with the desire to pull out my phone and find out, but obviously, I can’t do that while standing here as Marco’s best man. If my mother in the front row saw me checking my phone at a time like this, she’d leap out of her chair, bat my phone out of my hand, and tackle me to the ground faster than any cornerback.
The thought of my mother springing from her chair and taking me down in her pretty lavender dress makes me smile to myself and glance at her. She’s sitting in the front row with my father and my four-year-old son, Maverick, right next to my aunt and uncle, Marco’s mother and father.
When my eyes train on my son, my heart skips a beat. Maverick looks so damned cute guarding that ring bearer’s pillow with hislife. Give my kid a job, and he’ll do it with every fiber of his being. In that way, among others, my son is exactly like me.
Maverick’s gaze shifts to me, and when he realizes I’m smiling at him, he proudly points at the lace-covered pillow in his lap as if to say, “Look how good I’m doing my job, Daddy!” I can’t help chuckling at his exuberance as I flash him a thumbs-up sign.
I can’t believe there was ever a time I reacted negatively to Vanessa’s positive pregnancy test. Of course, I immediately requested a paternity test, simply because Vanessa and I had only been dating casually. Not even dating, really, in the true sense of the word. It was more of a brief situationship. And when the result came back unequivocally positive—the baby in Vanessa’s oven was definitely mine—I wasn’t pleased, to say the least. Of course, when Maverick arrived in this world and I held him in my arms and heard his little, cooing voice, I immediately realized he was the best damned thing that’s ever happened to me. A true blessing. Which is why I’m now working so damned hard to switch teams next season.
If it weren’t for Maverick, I probably would have re-signed with the Crusaders, despite all the bullshit, stress, and personality clashes I’ve been experiencing there for quite some time. But with Maverick in the picture, I can’t stop dreaming of a different kind of life for us. One in which I’d play for a team in Maverick’s hometown of LA. One in which I’d get to live within driving distance of my son and therefore get to hang out with him all the time, unlike now.
“That was beautiful, Cordelia,” Luca says, yanking me from my thoughts. The song is over and everyone is applauding, so I quickly join in applauding, too.
“And now, it’s time for the vows,” Luca reports. “Nico, do you want to kick things off?”
“Gladly,” Nicola replies with a beaming, bright smile. She takes her future husband’s hands, looks deeply into his eyes, andproceeds to earnestly explain all the ways she loves Marco and always will.
All of a sudden, a strange sensation of yearning settles into my chest, followed by a thought I’ve never had before:I want someone to talk like that about her love for me.
What?
I want the kind of love Marco’s found with Nicola.
Jesus Christ. Is this another side effect of all those spiced rum punches? I’ve never in my life felt the urge to get married. Not even when Vanessa told me about her positive pregnancy test. Not for a nanosecond. And yet, I can’t deny, witnessing Marco and Nicola’s love makes me think there might be something to the whole marriage thing after all. Did Maverick cracking my heart wide open do this to me? Has my relatively newfound love for my son turned me into a greedy bastard who wants even more unconditional affection in his life?
I rub the back of my neck and tell myself to cool my jets. It would be the worst possible time to even think about finding myself a wife, when I’m on the cusp of switching teams and cities to become the father my son deserves.
“You’re a lucky man, Marco,” Luca says to our cousin, after Nicola finishes her vows. “That’s gonna be a tough act to follow.”
Marco chuckles.“Nico’s always a tough act to follow. No matter what she’s doing, she always throws a frozen rope.”
Ding, ding, ding!It’s the first football reference of the ceremony, as far as I know.I’ve been daydreaming, so in theory I could have missed a couple before this.If I’m right, however, then I need Marco to make at least three more before this ceremony is through so I can win a cool two hundred bucks—one hundred from each of my twin brothers—in the three-way bet we made last night over a game of pool.
“Evil Levi,” as our family calls him, took zero to one football references in our bet. Not surprisingly, since Levi’s the mostskeptical of the three of us. Luca, on the other hand, took two to three football references. Still a low number, especially for an optimist like him. But given the topsy-turvy path he’s been forced to walk lately in his football career, I don’t blame him for playing things kind of safe these days.
At any rate, for me to take home the pot in our friendly three-way bet, my cousin’s got to make four or more football references during the ceremony today. I gladly took the long-shot position—the one with the slimmest odds. Why not? Go big or go home, I always say. I’ve always loved a good challenge. Not to mention, the chance to gloat mercilessly about an unexpected underdog win to my two brothers.
At Marco’s reference to a “frozen rope”—football slang for a straight-shot rocket of a pass—I covertly hold up my index finger to Luca, signaling the current tally in our bet, and my brother subtly nods his acknowledgement. I turn around and do the same thing to my grumpier brother—“Mr. Grumpy Pants,” as my mother sometimes calls him—and Levi nods the same way Luca did before him. Then, Levi, the “evil twin” of our family—at least, according to playful family lore, thanks to his dark humor and generally dour mood—accompanies his nod with a single raised finger of his own.
A subtletskerupts from the front row, and all three of us Maguire boys instantly straighten up and fly right. Levi should have known our mother would notice his middle finger, no matter how cleverly he held it up to me. I swear, nothing gets past Ava Maguire. We’ve all learned that lesson time and again.
I return my eyes to my cousin. Marco’s only getting married once. There’s no doubt about that. So, the least I can do is give him and this ceremony my undivided attention.
Marco’s always been more like a big brother to me than a cousin. In fact, he’s more like my older twin—a future version of me marching down the same path three paces ahead. Yes,Marco’s always played at the tight end position, while I’ve always been a quarterback; but other than our different positions on the football field, we’re basically the same person with the same dreams, goals, and outlook. Until Marco met Nicola, that is; suddenly, he started doing and saying things I couldn’t fathom. Things like, “I can’t live without her, man” and “Nicola makes everything better.”
“Nicola,” Marco says softly, his tone awash in emotion as he gazes intently at his bride. “You’ve given me a spring in my step, both in life and on the football field.”
