Ding, ding, ding!Surely, that qualifies as another football reference? I subtly flash two fingers at Luca, my eyebrows raised, but the fucker shakes his head.
I’m annoyed, but I don’t press the issue. Partly because I’m sure our mother is watching, though I’m too scared to look and confirm that hunch. But also because it’s now clear my brothers and I will likely need to hash out the final tally after the ceremony.
Still gazing into his bride’s eyes, Marco says, “We all know how proud I am of this ring here.” He holds up his hand to display the coveted Super Bowl ring on it—the one Marco jubilantly won with the San Francisco Knights last season. “But standing here today,” Marco continues, “I swear there’s no ring or trophy in the world that could possibly matter more to me than the wedding ring I’m going to wear to mark me as Nico’s husband. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Nicola Benson, and you always will be.”
Is he serious? There’s no way.
If I were forced to rank football versus Maverick, I’d put my son in the top slot, obviously. But he’s my child. My blood. My legacy. My miniature doppelganger. But ranking a romantic relationship above football? I can’t imagine it. What relationship, even a good one, could possibly feel better than therush of a football win? Not to mention, romantic relationships consume far too much time and attention during the season. Hence, the reason I’ve always been content to be married to football. To give football—and now, Maverick, too—my undivided attention during the season.
Although . . .
Hmm.
Come to think of it, Marco did wind up having his best season last year, despite being engaged to Nicola the whole time. Could it be Marco didn’t have his best season ever last yeardespiteNicola being in his life, like I’ve been assuming ... but instead,becauseof Nicola? Is that even a possibility?
Everyone laughs and claps, drawing me from my wandering thoughts.
Marco says, “... and I can’t wait to tackle life with you forever, baby.”
Tackle.That’s definitely another football reference. Which would make the tally at least three by my count, unless I’ve missed something while daydreaming again.Come on, Marco, give me one more, cuz.
As if reading my mind, Marco delivers for me. “Nicola,” he says, “I promise I’ve got your blind side covered forever, baby—through infinite overtimes.”
Jackpot!
I turn and shoot Evil Levi behind me a wink of victory, and of course, my brother rolls his eyes.
“You killed it,” Luca says to Marco. He motions to my son. “You’re up, Mav. Bring your daddy the rings now.”
With a little whoop, my son slides off his chair and carefully makes his way to the front with his lace-covered pillow in hand. When he reaches me, I pat Maverick’s soft hair and praise his excellent work before taking the pillow. As Maverick goes down the line of groomsmen getting high fives, I quickly release thefake, plastic rings and swap them out for the real ones from my pocket. In the end, the ring ceremony goes off without a hitch, without Maverick ever realizing he’s been guarding plastic rings with his life this whole time.
Luca bellows, “By the powers vested in me by the State of Hawaii and the certificate I bought online for a hundred bucks—you’re welcome, that’s my wedding present to you—I now declare Marco and Nicola husband and wife. Marco, kiss your bride!”
As the crowd cheers, Marco joyfully kisses his new wife. And less than a minute later, I follow the newlyweds down the aisle with Maverick’s small hand in mine.
When I reach the end of the sandy aisle and all appropriate hugs and congratulations have been administered, I pull out my phone and check my texts. As it turns out, that buzz from earlier wasn’t Cameron sending me an update on negotiations. It was from someone far better than that—Coach Hardy, my legendary coach from college and my favorite coach ever—
replying to my text from earlier this morning.
Over the years, Coach Hardy has turned down every NFL head coaching job offered to him, preferring instead to continue coaching and building his legacy at my alma mater. Thanks to a longstanding beef between Coach and the asshole owner of the Crusaders, I’ve always known he’d never consider leaving Michigan for a coaching job in Baltimore, not even for the chance to coach me again. But now that I’m hopefully leaving the Crusaders and going to a new, not-yet-determined team—preferably, the Thunderbolts in LA—I’m hoping Coach Hardy will agree to become a package deal with me and finish out his storied career as my new team’s head coach. Hence, the reason I reached out to him this morning to ask if I could fly to his lake house in Michigan for a chat this week.
Coach:Hey, Rome. It’s great to hear from you. Great picsof Mav in his little wedding suit. There’s no need for you to come to Michigan. Coincidentally, Marsha and I are heading to Maui to celebrate our fortieth anniversary tomorrow and we’ll be staying for ten days. If you’re still going to be in Hawaii by then, I could sneak away to play a round of golf with you on Friday. There’s a golf club on Kauai I’ve been wanting to check out, so I’d come to you. Let me know if that works. Looking forward to seeing you and finding out what’s on your mind.
Chapter 4
Iris
After wandering aroundaimlessly through Kauai’s small airport for a solid ten minutes, I find the right rental car counter and take my place at the back of the line. There’s only one clerk and several people ahead of me, so this might take a while.
“Gramma!” a little squeak of a voice shouts excitedly, drawing my attention. “We saw a whale in da bathroom!”
The voice belongs to a striking, dark-haired boy of four or five—a kid whose soft curls and blazing smile melt me upon impact. His arms flailing, the boy careens from the bathroom to an elegant older lady a few yards away, while an older gentleman trails behind.
“There’s a sea-creature mural on the wall in the bathroom,” the older man explains with a hearty chuckle.
“How exciting,” the woman replies. “What else did you see in there, honey?”
The kid cocks his head. “My pee-pee.”
