As soon as I got home, I did a deep dive, searching for anything and everything I could find about Luc Martín, and I haven’t come up for air since.
I’ve devoured every article I could find. There isn’t much outside of stats, game highlights, and mentions here and there. Despite being one of the best defensive players in the league, he doesn’t get much press. He seems to keep his head down, hasn’t been involved in any scandals that I can find, nor is there any gossip about his personal life. At all. He doesn’t even have social media. Seriously, what kind of celebrity doesn’t have socialmedia these days? Even if they don’t manage it themselves, like our PR team does for us.
Even though I know his name now, the lack of a trail makes him feel more intangible than ever. Maybe that’s why I keep scrolling, clicking on every mere mention of his name. Hope is more addictive than the strongest drug.
Naz nudges me and then gestures for me to hand him my laptop. The NFL draft article is on the screen, because it’s the one I keep coming back to again and again.
“This the guy you saw last night?”
“Yeah. I’ve met him before.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “There has to be more to it than that.”
Naz waits me out, quiet for once. I sigh, trying to think of a way to explain myself.
“Do you remember that Spring Break showcase we played in the Outer Banks, the one where we first met that producer?”
“How could I forget? That was the day everything changed,” he smiles.
I nod. “The night before we got that call, I’d gone for a walk on the beach and I kind of stumbled on a small party.”
Naz snorts. “Sounds like something you’d do. Let me guess, you met this guy there?” He taps the screen next to Luc’s face.
The air leaves my chest in a pained huff and I can only nod to answer his question. He waits patiently, but expectantly, for me to say more. Clearly there’s more to it if I’m acting so erratically.
My voice comes out rough. “We talked a lot and, well… more. I spent the night with him, and then the next morning is when you texted that we’d gotten the call. I left while he was still sleeping, and I didn’t get his name.”
Naz studies me, waiting, but I don’t say more. I don’t offer up any explanation for this being the one exception to every other hookup I’ve walked away from without another thought. Nor do I say that the reason I didn’t wake him or leave a note was because the rawness of what had happened between us scared the hell out of me. Lying there, watching him sleep, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff so high I could only see clouds below. And I was suddenly afraid of heights.
“Everything happened so fast after that, I thought it was probably for the best. We left for New York the next day.”
Naz’s mouth softens. “Jesse…” He swallows whatever he was about to say and shifts closer, shoulder to shoulder. Then he freezes. “Wait. This can’t be… Is this whoRemember My Namewas about?”
I stare at my hands and nod.
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
If anything, he must understand how much of an impression Luc made on me back then. Everyone, including him, has always remarked how that song had to have come from somewhere deep. And considering it was deep enough that I never spoke about it to anyone, not even my best friend…
Naz looks back down at the article, then leans in. His eyebrows shoot up, and he touches the scroll pad to read more. “New York,” he says. “Dude. He was in New York at the same time wewere. We were only two blocks away from Radio City Music Hall that night,” he says, pointing to the article.
My mind reels. As many times as I’d read this article, and scoured every detail I could find about him, I didn’t pick up on that.
A laugh breaks out of me, too sharp. “What a small fucking world.”
Naz looks at me for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is careful. “So, what now?”
My pulse kicks. “I have to find a way to see him again.”
I spend most of the day still reeling. We have a video meeting with our manager and the other guys to discuss our schedule for the next few months. I’m barely present. I’m there physically, sitting next to Naz in front of the camera. Blake has given up asking me any direct questions. He seems to think I’ve checked out because he brought up the Super Bowl again, but all my attention is focused on figuring out how to meet up with Luc.
My first thoughts were the easier ideas. I have connections and strings I could pull to get in contact with someone who could get me his number or set up a meeting. Then I think, what if he doesn’t remember me? Or what if he does, but isn’t interested? My face is in the news, tabloids, and on billboards across the country. I’m really fucking famous. There’s a good chance he knows who I am and made the choice not to get in touch with me. Which means he’s probably not interested.
What if that night wasn’t as memorable for him as it was for me?
Luc.
No. I can’t chance having a meetup be rejected. There needs to be a way I can run into him somehow, or otherwise physically be in his presence. After all this time, I’d almost convinced myself he wasn’t real or that my memory of him was distorted. I need to know. I need to see him in front of me, with my own eyes, close enough to touch him and know he’s real.
