Coach Gill has us running 120 minutes per day. Preparing for extra time.

I have changed my diet.

My dietitian insists everything I eat be made of chickpeas. It is mildly boring.

I have not seen you for a while.

Hello.

Do let me know how your training is going? I am taking the weekend off. Last one before Euros.

I can travel.

I shut my phone off without responding to Elliot's texts and slumped into the mattress. I would have to face him next week anyway. And then what was I going to do? Admit I was a fucking idiot? That I was a coward? That I was so deeply in love with him that it took every ounce of my control to not give up everything else for his sake?

But anytime that I even fantasized about showing the middle finger to everything else— I was brought back to my childhood bedroom with the leaking ceiling, mossy walls, and earphones that only worked if I twirled them around my finger. 

I placed both hands on my hot face, a burning sensation I did not want to think about behind my eyelids.

The way Elliot felt in my arms. The way he had shattered against my chest. The way he had whispered his confession, under the guise of a lesson.

I groaned and reached for my phone, my thumb flying over the text box.

How are you? Miss you like hell.

No amount of national camp, no amount of World Cup training could take my mind off his damning gray eyes and breathless giggle. 

My thumb hovered over the send button for a few seconds. The image of Nonna sitting so small and weak in the wheelchair, the image of my mother a decade ago lying in her drab bed.

Before I could make a decision, my phone buzzed with an email notification from Mira, followed by an incoming call from her that made me sit up straight in bed.

"Mira?"

"Luca—" she started. "Hi. Bad time?"

"No, it's fine," I muttered, lying back onto the pillow and placing my arm over my burning eyelids. "Past curfew."

"Right. Nine-thirty in Florence." She paused before sighing. "Luca—I need you to know that I'm trying my best and looking into it. But for now... Lumera wants to drop your contract for the next season."

My stomach hollowed out, the carefully regulated temperature in the room suddenly dropping to below zero.

"It's bullshit, really—" she continued. "But they think they are merely being careful."

My breath came out in short, ragged gasps. And somehow, even before my mouth moved, seemingly of its own accord—I knew what the conversation would be.

"Who are they going for?" I asked in a monotone.

"Elliot Hayes," she responded after a long pause, and my stomach turned. I rubbed my eyes. The stark reality dawned on me that we could be entangled naked all night, and I would still have more to lose when daylight came.

"I see," I managed. "Good choice," I added with a laugh that sent a jolt of pain between my ribs.

"It's their loss, really—" she said quickly. "They're basing this off what? Some precautionary shit. I'm telling you—Luca?"

"Mm?"

"Are you going to be okay? Anyone there with you right now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I cleared my throat. "I'll just go to sleep anyway. Thanks for letting me know."

"I didn't want to distract you," she clicked her tongue. "But I needed you to know urgently. I'm sorry. I'm looking into it. We still got the—"

"It's fine, Mira," I said quietly. "It's not your fault."

"It's... it's not yours either," she said. "I hope you know that." I gave a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of my neck as she continued. "Actually, you know, the player of the season award thing next week?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I asked, wondering if they had already informed her I would not be winning that. 

"Lumera's CEO was supposed to be present there, but I've been informed he won't be. His daughter will be stepping in for him, she works at the company and will be inheriting it when he steps down."

"Right," I nodded, not really knowing where she was going with this. The back of my eyelids burned as I squeezed my eyes shut. 

"Valentina Reznick—" she said after a pause. "That is her name. I think if you can get in her good graces, we can make something happen later down the line. Let her know you're not whatever the media wants you to believe. Turn on your charm. Uh...rizz her up."

"Right. Rizz," I said listlessly, leaning against the headboard and staring at the plain wall in front of me. "I'll try"

"Yes, she is more...tolerant. Her father is very conservative. Generation gap and all. Anyway, I should be able to get you and Lorenzo a table together with her. Other than that...take care of yourself, Luca."

"Will do. Thanks. Goodnight, Mira. See you soon."

I hung up, throwing my phone onto the mattress unceremoniously and burying my face in the pillows. Everything I did not want to think about, everything I had actively been avoiding for so long, seemed to come crashing down.

It had been too good for me anyway.

Too good for someone who came from moldy walls and rusty beds. From someone who had to fold his socks so the holes wouldn't show. From someone whose entire existence was a big performance—like a circus monkey that people would lose interest in at the slightest fall of balance.

A loud knock on my door made me groan, and I lifted my head. "I'm sleeping."

"You're not," Lollo answered. "Your lights are on."

I dragged myself to my feet, making my way to the door and pulling my hoodie low over my head as I opened it. Lollo stood in the corridor, sipping from a can of what I realized was some herbal tea that smelled like grass. Between the fingers in his left hand, a lit cigarette hung loosely— which explained the familiar smoky smell.

"Why aren't you asleep?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Got a year extension—" he shoved past me and collapsed onto the bed. He took a drag of the cigarette as he continued, "From Italia. So at least I'm covered till the World Cup next year."

I shut the door and leaned against it, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Why not just renew it? You don't know what's going to—"

He clicked his tongue. "I've got everything I could out of that club, Luca. I can't—"

I groaned. "Don't fucking tell me you're here to bug me into getting you a contract at Ambrosiana, Lollo. I'm literally not in the headspace to handle that right now."

"No, of course not." He leaned back, taking a slow sip of his shitty tea, grimacing. "What's going on with you? Like... for real?"

I shrugged. "What is?"

"The family stuff- what happened?" He took another drag of the cigarette, and I walked up to him, snatching it away from his grasp as he let out a loud yelp of surprise. I crushed it under my shoe and glared at him. 

"As for the family stuff—" I continued. "Nothing, really," I shrugged again.

"You owe me like—" he sighed. "Anyway, what's gotten into you, Luca?"

"I said nothing, Lollo. Drop it. Okay?" I said firmly, clenching my jaw, a hot flash of anger in my chest.

He fell quiet, scratching his head. "Sorry. I'm being... nosy."

"Yep," I said, making my way back to the mattress and collapsing on my back, looking up at the ceiling like it held the answers I needed. I covered my face with my hands. "Sorry," I muttered, my voice muffled. "I'm... I don't really feel like talking about anything."

He patted my knee, and I felt the mattress moving as he sat up straight on it. "Luca—" he said softly, "you know you don't have to carry the world on your shoulders."

"I'm not... doing a good job of it anyway," I muttered before I could stop myself.

"You want me to go with you next time? Might be easier."

"You can come to the funeral."

The air in the room became solid, and I sat up straight with a laugh, combing my fingers through my hair.

"What's... going on, Moré?" he asked quietly, peering at me.

"My dad visited the hospice," I rambled on before I could stop myself.

"Your dad?" He raised his eyebrows as I nodded. "What does he want?" he asked with gritted teeth.

"Got me," I shrugged and shook my head. "Part of me doesn't wanna find out, though."

He sighed, leaning an elbow on his thigh, the herbal tea can hanging absently in his hand. I reached for it, taking a large sip, the cold liquid dribbling down my chin. It tasted exactly how I figured it would— like something a horse would enjoy. 

I grimaced. "Gah, this is fucking gross."

He laughed, rubbing the back of my neck, his eyes twinkling. "That's blue tea. Supposed to be good for your nerves or something."

"Bad for your tongue, eugh—" I gagged, placing the almost empty can on the bedside table before collapsing on my back again. "I'll be fine, Lollo. Really. Thanks."

He got to his feet. "Alright, goodnight, Moré. See you on the pitch."

I nodded at him as he shut the door behind him, shooting me one last glance. I pulled the pillow and buried my face in it, taking deep, steadying breaths. Hoping against hope that I would wake up in the morning and, somehow, everything would be magically fixed.