He’s got far more faith in me than I’ve got in myself in this situation. Which is par for the course, when it comes to Luca Maguire. The man is an eternal optimist. “The whole world will be watching me,” I remind Luca. “I don’t want to mess this up and subject myself to endless ridicule.”
Luca pats my arm and smiles. “You’ll do great. And don’t forget, I’ll be right here next to you the whole time. I won’t let you mess anything up.”
He flashes me a reassuring smile, even though I’m sure smiling is the last thing he feels like doing right now. After working his tail off throughout the short preseason with yet another new team, poor Luca wound up only making their practice squad. Which means, at least for now, it’s Luca Maguire’s job to practice with his team’s starting lineup—the fifty-three-man roster who’lltake the field every week. He’s still a professional, paid football player, however, so that’s the good news. But it was a gut punch for Luca to find out he won’t get to play in any actual games this season, unless and until someone on the roster gets injured or traded and then his team’s decisionmakers choose Luca to fill whatever open slot. In other words, his odds of playing on the field one day soon this season, the way Roman’s doing tonight, are pretty damned low.
“Do you want me to explain the basics to you again, now that we’re here?” Luca asks, motioning to the field. At my request, Luca’s been patiently teaching me about the game of football to prepare me for my life as a “WAG,” which I’ve come to find out is my new identity—the nickname used to describe the “wives and girlfriends” of players.
“Yeah, I’d love a refresher,” I say. “Thanks. Now that we’re here at the stadium, everything looks big and confusing.”
As Luca is pointing out the end zones, field goal posts, and some orange thingies with the chains attached for marking first downs, he continually finds ways to crack me up and put me at ease, even though I’m sure he’s feeling especially low tonight. It’s totally on brand for Luca. He’s his mother’s son, through and through.
Speaking of Luca’s mother—as Luca is wrapping up his tutorial, she arrives at our seats with Edward and the rest of our group for the night: Maverick, Marco, Nicola, and Marco’s parents. Roman’s other brother, Levi, couldn’t make it to the game tonight, unfortunately, since his team will be playing on Sunday morning across the country and he had practice today. But Marco and his family made it, since San Francisco is an easy flight to LA and Marco’s team, the Knights, will be playing on Monday night this week.
Greetings and hugs ensue, all of them warm and excited.
A cocktail waitress is summoned. Apparently, when you’rein the star quarterback’s fancy, reserved box, you can have anything you want throughout the game, without having to stand in a long line at a concessions booth or even pay for it.
When the server gets to me, I decide to order the same thing as Nicola: a cranberry vodka with a twist of lime, even though it’s not my usual drink. Nicola seems incredibly comfortable and confident in this crazy world, so I figure my best bet, at least for now, is to copy whatever she does, as much as I can. At least at first, till I get my bearings.
“Where’s Daddy?” Maverick asks, looking around the massive stadium. He’s sitting between his Uncle Luca and me, while Ava sits on my other side, flanked by the rest of the family down the line.
“See that tunnel down there?” Luca replies to his nephew. He rustles Maverick’s dark mop and directs him toward a large, inflatable tunnel set up in a corner of the field. “Any minute now, smoke will start coming out of there and your daddy will burst out with his teammates, and the whole place will go bonkers. So, get your hollering voice good and ready, Mavvy.”
“Oooh,” Maverick says, bopping in his seat with excitement. “Dere’s gonna besmoke?”
“Yep. It’s gonna be awesome.” Luca winks at me. “Get your hollering voice ready, too, Iris. Roman’s gonna need all of our good juju.”
“I’ll do my best.”
During the final preseason exhibition game last week, Roman played for only a few minutes—just long enough for the world to geek out over him passing a football in a Thunderbolts jersey—and I certainly screamed my head off for him then. But Roman told me the energy in that stadium was nothing compared to what I’ll experience in a real game. In fact, he said the whole exercise at that preseason game was nothing more than a PR stunt, basically. Plus, I wasn’t in a luxury box then, because thatpreseason game wasn’t a home game, like this one. So, Roman’s appearance in that stadium understandably provoked as many boos and cheers.
Luca taps my arm over Maverick’s head. “Pop quiz, Riri.” He’s the only person who’s ever called me that nickname, and I absolutely love it.
“I’m ready,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
Luca motions to the field. “How many yards does a team need for a first down?”
Shoot. Luca just patiently explained this exact thing to me a few minutes ago, but, suddenly, everything he told me feels scrambled inside my brain. “Twenty?” I squeak out, just as Maverick confidently shouts, “Ten!”
Luca high-fives Maverick, while I palm my forehead. “I could have sworn there was something important about twenty yards.”
“That’s the red zone, sis.”
I drag a palm over my face. “Luca, seriously, you have to promise to poke me to stand up tonight whenever something stand-worthy happens, okay? Roman told me I’ll probably be on TV at some point tonight without knowing it, and I don’t want to look like a fool in front of the whole world again.” Roman mentioned the cameras that will likely find me throughout the game tonight not to stress me out. He told me so I wouldn’t feel blindsided. He told me so I won’t feel blindsided if I see myself in highlight reels later on. But nonetheless the end result is that I’m totally freaked out. I’ve already looked like a blazing idiot in front of the world, thanks to that stupid, viral video, and I’m determined never to do it again.
Obviously, I didn’t burden Roman with my anxiety about making a fool of myself tonight on a world stage. Why add to Roman’s stress, when he’s got much bigger fish to fry? Tonight, for the first time, Roman will be attempting to prove—to the Thunderbolts, the haters, and probably to himself—he’s truly atwo-hundred-million-dollar man. I’m sure he’s feeling tons of pressure. Not that he’d admit it to me.
On the contrary, this morning over breakfast, Roman insisted he’s not nervous about tonight’s game at all, only confident and excited to show the world what he can do when he’s on the right team—one that believes in him and gives him the right teammates. But I had a hunch he might have been willing that confidence into existence, more than actually feeling it. That’s why I took Maverick into the backyard after breakfast to teach him how to do cartwheels. To let Roman do whatever pregame rituals he needed to do in peace. Luca warned me Roman can be “a cranky dickhead” throughout the season—especially on game days. “Don’t take it personally,” Luca told me. “Being a dickhead is how Rome gets himself pumped up and ready for battle.”
To my surprise, however, not five minutes after Maverick and I started playing in the backyard, Roman appeared and joined in, dazzling us with a string of cartwheels that blew mine out of the water and made Maverick cheer and scream like Elmo himself had made a cartwheeling appearance.
“There’s no need to change your usual game-day routine for me,” I assured Roman. “Luca told me you prefer to be left alone on game days.”
Roman scoffed. “Yeah, byLucabecause he’s annoyingly cheerful. But that doesn’t apply to you and Mav. You two are my lucky charms. This season, I’ll need to be around you both as much as possible before every game.” To put it mildly, I swooned when Roman said that.
“And nowwwww,” a male announcer bellows through the sound system, jerking me from my thoughts—and everyone in the crowded stadium, including me, immediately bolts up from their seats and cheers. “Make some noise for yourThunderboooolts!”
I cheer wildly, along with everyone else around me, and whenmy eyes meet Luca’s, he yells above the din, “See? Your instincts are perfect, Iris!”
