Page 48 of Hail Marry
“Ooh, exciting! I’m tempted to come watch. Going back to work means Jess’s going to ask me fifty questions about us. Are you getting the third degree from your team?”
“Nah. They’ve teased me a little, but they’re not really interested in the details.”
“You’re so lucky.”
“You can come watch the scrimmage if you want.”
I hesitate for a few seconds, but playing hooky is too tempting—as is getting a glimpse into Luca’s life. He’s my husband, after all. I should be somewhat knowledgeable about what he spends most of his physical and mental energy on. “Sure. If you really don’t mind.” Bob is out of town for a couple days, which means I can do most of my work from home later.
Luca gathers up his plate and napkins and stands up. “Course not.”
I text Jess to let her know I’m taking an extra-long lunch. Her response rides the line between PG-13 and R innuendo, and I shut off the screen to prevent Luca from catching sight of it. He’s loosened up a lot over the past week, but a text like that could set us back majorly.
We part ways once we get to the stadium, and I take a seat in the stands to wait while he and the rest of the team get changed. Two rows ahead of me is a guy in a baby-blue polo and a baseball cap with an Admirals logo on the back.
I consider sitting next to him and telling him all the reasons his team should pick Luca, but something tells me an NFL scout isn’t likely to take advice from someone who has no idea what a blitz is.
So I focus on Luca.
It’s much easier than I thought it would be. I don’t know exactly what’s happening on the field—there’s a lot of gibberish yelled out and a lot of chaotic movement I can’t follow—but Icanfollow Luca. Seeing him jump for a ball there’s no way he can catch and watching him snatch it into his arm and keep it there when he falls to the ground and is clobbered by other players, only to stand up seconds later, apparently unscathed?
No wonder Ryan wants tickets.
At the end of the scrimmage, I brace myself for a very stinky husband to emerge from the locker rooms, but Luca comes out in a haze of delicious cologne, with wet, slicked back hair, and a total ignorance of how awed I am by my husband.
The scout walks past us and smiles at Luca. “Great scrimmage, Callahan.”
I grab Luca’s hand and squeeze it in excitement as Luca responds with a stoic “Thanks.” He gives the very opposite of pick-me energy.
In my opinion, every one of these NFL teams should be fighting to pick him.
Preston emailsus every week or so to update us on things, and an email comes in a few days before the draft. He anticipates Luca will get his employment authorization in about three weeks. That little document will mean the difference between him being able to participate in rookie mini camp or not.
For now, our next step is a biometrics appointment, which sounds incredibly intimidating. The image in my brain is of electrodes all over my head and chest while someone questions me in front of a computer with real-time data about my truth-stretching.
Rather than letting my brain run away with these images, I google “biometrics appointment.” Turns out, it’s when they take our fingerprints, photographs, and some biographical information. A nothing-burger, basically.
It’s while I’m researching the nothing-burger that I realize how little I know about the immigration process. The people on the forums I stumble upon are using jargon I’ve never heard before, and I feel completely ignorant. I’ve been content to let Preston handle things and tell us exactly what to do, but is that the way I should be going about this? This is my life now. It’s Luca’s life. I should probably take at least a bit of ownership and get to know the basics.
But an hour later, I find myself staring at the end credits of the tenth YouTube video I’ve watched, my eyes wide and unblinking.
I’m not sure what to do with the information I have in my brain now.
Call me ignorant, sheltered, naive—call me whatever you want—but I had no idea that what Luca and I were doing was illegal. Crazy? Sure. Illegal? No.
Now that I consider it, though, I guess it makes sense. When you boil it down, we’re trying to game the system. It’s not how I thought about it, but how much does that matter? The important thing is that, based on everything I just read and watched, the system does not like to be gamed.
What if the immigration authorities were to find out about the circumstances around our marriage?
Based on what I’ve read, Luca can say goodbye to the NFL. He can say farewell to the USA too, because he’d be deported. Both of us could face fines—or even jail time. No wonder Zach didn’t want us to tell the truth to Preston. Or anyone.
Which means he knew. He knew what we were doing was wrong. But he didn’t tell us because for him, getting Luca into the NFL means a big payday. And maybe he’s confident we won’t get caught.
Did he also know that we have to remain married for at least two years for this to work?
I blow out a slow breath through rounded lips, trying to achieve calm. Panic doesn’t help anyone.
I grab my phone and open up the thread with Luca.
