"You’re scared," I said. Not an accusation. Just an observation.
"Terrified," Luca admitted. "But I’m more scared of losing you."
I closed my eyes. My shoulder was screaming, my head was spinning, and Luca Moretti was on his knees in a hospital room promising to blow up his entire carefully constructed life.
It should have felt triumphant. It should have felt like vindication.
"I need to think," I said quietly. "I need... I can't do this right now, Luca. I’m on pain meds and I just found out my season is over and I—"
"Okay." Luca stood immediately, carefully not touching my injured side. "Okay. Take all the time you need."
He turned to leave.
"Luca."
He stopped, hand on the door handle.
"I believe you," I said. "About being scared. About wanting to try. I just... I need to believe you’ll actually follow through when it gets hard."
Luca’s shoulders hunched. "I will. I promise, I will."
Then he was gone, and I was alone in the too-white room with my ruined shoulder and the complicated weight of hope.
12
Luca
I stood in the center of the locker room with my heart trying to break through my ribs, and wondered if this was what dying felt like.
Four days since Theo got hurt. Four days since I’d made a promise in a hospital room that felt impossible the moment I walked out the door. Four days of my phone lighting up with messages I couldn't bring myself to answer, my father’s voice in my head louder than ever.
You have a responsibility. To the team. To the family name. To everything we've built.
But I also had a responsibility to myself. To Theo. To the truth I’d been burying since I was fourteen years old.
The team filtered in slowly. Kieran first, always early. Then Hayes and Morrison and the rest. Game 6 started in two hours. Conference semifinals tied 2-2. Everything was riding on tonight.
They should be focusing on the game plan. On the opponent’s tendencies. On the million small details that separated winning from losing at this level.
Instead, I was about to blow up their entire dynamic four days before we might make the conference finals.
"Cap?" Morrison paused halfway to his stall, gym bag still slung over his shoulder. "You good?"
My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets. "Can everyone sit for a minute? Before we start getting ready."
The room went quiet in that particular way. Everyone knew something was wrong. Players who had been mid-conversation fell silent. Hayes set down his phone. Kieran, who had been taping his stick, stopped with the roll still in his hands.
"Is this about Callahan?" Clay Abbott asked. The backup goalie was quiet most of the time but sharp when he spoke. "The kid’s shoulder?"
"It’s about me," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. "And Theo. And..." I swallowed hard. "And the fact that I’ve been lying to all of you for ten years."
No one moved. The only sound was the ventilation system, a steady mechanical hum that suddenly seemed too loud.
My chest felt like someone was standing on it. My palms were sweating. Every instinct I had screamed at me to stop talking. To deflect. To put the mask back on and pretend this conversation wasn't happening.
But I’d looked into Theo’s eyes in that hospital room and seen what my fear had cost. I’d seen the careful distance in the way he’d said,I need to believe you will actually follow through when it gets hard.
I owed him this. I owed myself this.
