Page 82 of Hail Marry
I can’t tell if he’s sincere. He’s been making little side comments all scrimmage about awarding me the title of his personal blocker. The most annoying part is he’s not wrong. I might as well follow him around at this point.
I take a seat on the bench, drop my helmet on the ground, and grab a water bottle, squirting as much as I can possibly get into my mouth and over my face.
“Nice play there for the offense,” Coach says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “And excellent play read, Callahan. That’s exactly the type of mindset we need. If you want an example of a real team player, folks, look no further than Callahan.”
I keep my eyes on him as the entire team looks at me. I can’t quash the swell of pride in my chest, though, as he starts addressing the defense and the attention turns from me.
I feel eyes on me and meet Bennett’s gaze. His expression is unreadable, but the simple contrast between how he looked right after the play and how he looks now is enough for me to guess at how he feels. Like I got the glory for his play-making reception.
Back inside not long after, I climb into my ice bath. Moose is already sitting in the tub to my right, and he smiles at me. “My man is making moves on the field! Nice work today, Callahan.”
A couple more guys walk in, including Bennett.
Moose looks at me through thoughtfully narrowed eyes. “We need a better name for you.”
“How about Maple Leaf?” Bennett tosses his towel aside and climbs into his bath.
Moose scoffs, clearly not understanding the reference.
“He’s Canadian,” Bennett explains. “Our little foreign exchange student.”
“Better watch out,” says Richins, “or Coach is gonna exchangeyouout of the starting lineup, Bennett.”
Bennett shows no evidence of having heard this comment except the slightest feathering of the muscle in his jaw. His eyes are on me. “Are you even allowed to play? You still technically don’t have a visa, do you?”
My muscles, which are already tense from the freezing water, tighten. “It’s in the works.”
“Right,” Bennett says with a smile. “Thanks to your wife, eh?” He exaggerates the last word in a not-so-subtle nod to my Canadianness. “You and your little whirlwind romance.”
I don’t respond. I’m trying to keep my temper in check. I don’t like Bennett even approaching Tori as a subject of conversation.
“Funny,” he says, getting more comfortable in his bath. “You don’t seem like the whirlwind romance type of guy. Kind of convenient how it all happened.”
“Ah, come on, Bennett,” says Moose. “Don’t be jealous Callahan’s getting some love when he goes home tonight. Your time will come.” He tosses a piece of ice at Bennett, and it plunks into his bath, splashing him in the face.
Everyone in the room chuckles except Bennett, who grins widely, even though there’s a brittle quality to it. “Oh, I getplentyof love. Fromplentyof different sources. Trust me.”
I cut my ice bath short, leaving the room to a chorus of teasing comments about what I’m so anxious to head home to.
Tomorrow’s our first day off during training camp, and Iamheading home to my wife, but little do they know, there’s none of the type of love they’re referring to. Tori’s been moved in for almost two weeks now, but my schedule during training means we’ve only seen each other a few times since she moved in. I’m required to stay at the hotel despite how close I live to the facility.
She’s still enjoying the option of sleeping in now that she’s jobless, and I’m honestly impressed how long she can sleep. When I came home for lunch one day last week, she was still in bed.
When I open the door from the garage, a mixture of smells meets my nose.
“Luca?” Tori calls out. “Is that you?” Footsteps sound, and her head appears timidly around the corner. Her hair is up, a headband keeping it out of her face, while she wears an apron over her clothes.
“Who else would it be?” I ask in amusement, ignoring the increasingly familiar thrill of pleasure that spreads through me whenever I see her. I like coming home to Tori a little too much.
She sighs with relief. “I need to stop listening to true crime podcasts while you’re gone. They’ve totally destroyed my sleep.”
I picture the way I saw her this morning when I left, limbs sprawled out over her pregnancy pillow, her loose hair almost entirely covering her face. I’m confident at leastsomeof her sleep is intact.
“You cooking something?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, turning back toward the kitchen. “A lot has happened since you left this morning. I’ve turned into a trophy wife. Just ignore the way I look right now and imagine I’m in stilettos and a tight dress and my hair’s all done up. Oh, and lipstick. Imagine that too. And that the table’s already set.”
Imagining Tori in a tight dress might be the last thing I need to do. Ever. If I want to keep my heart and sanity intact, which I do.
