Page 95 of Hail Marry
I make sure there’s an ice pack in the freezer for him to use as he alternates heat and cold on his back. I ask about the injury while I make him a cup of coffee, but I’ll stick my hand in the toaster before I offer to help tend to it again. His reaction to my offer of help was such a minor thing, and I know I’m probably making too much of it, but it was just enough reminder of what it feels like to be rejected.
This morning, I woke up to breakfast prepared for me, but Luca wasn’t around. All that’s there is a note saying he went to work out at the Admirals’ facilities. Because of how much we’ve discussed his schedule, I know he has no team workouts this morning, which means he chose to go voluntarily. I can only assume at least part of it is to avoid me.
But there’s a conversation that has to happen once he gets home, because today is the youth sports camp we signed up to attend. The whole point of it is to make a public appearance together and quiet any chatter about our marriage. That’ll be tricky to do when we’re so busy acting like strangers on a long elevator ride.
We meet up at the stadium, where the bus is waiting to take all the players who opted in to this activity. Luca’s freshly showered, as he so often is, and my heart gives that familiar leap as he walks toward me, where I’m waiting at my car.
“Hey,” he says, glancing at the bus like he’s wondering why I’m not waiting in front of it. “You ready?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Just wanted to touch base real quick before we board.”
His gaze searches mine, but he nods. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just figured we should go over our plan since we’re supposed to be projecting an image here.”
“Right.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. I’m getting the sense he’s not thrilled about this.
“Look, Luca. We don’thaveto do this.”
“What do you mean?” But he knows what I mean. I can see it in his face.
I came intending to dance around the issue, but we don’t really have time for an elaborate conversational tango at the moment. The team is getting on the bus.
I force myself to smile, hoping to lighten things as much as possible despite how far-reaching the implications of this subject are. “You’re being distant. Both of us know that. You recoiled when I offered to help you with icing your back a few nights ago, and last night you scooted past me in the kitchen like I had a deadly communicable disease. Just two examples of many.”
Luca grimaces. “I’m sorry. I—” He cuts himself off, then lets out a big breath. “I’m just…finding it hard right now. Separating what’s real and what’s for show, you know?”
I watch him intently, wondering what he means and trying to ignore the flicker of hope his words light inside me. I’ve been struggling with the same thing—doing things for show but feeling more inside. Is that what he means too?
“I’m just…not good at pretending,” he says.
My heart drops. His reluctance to touch me hasn’t been because it makes him feel other things for me; it’s because he doesn’t like to pretend to feel things he doesn’t feel.
I swallow and nod quickly, eager to show I understand and sympathize when, in reality, I’m crushed. I’m way past pretending now. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he senses that, and he doesn’t want to give me the wrong idea or encourage me when he can’t return my feelings.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I get it. So, what does that mean for today? Given what you’ve said about Bennett’s comments, it seems like having me come if we can’t portray things in a way that’ll help allay his suspicions is counterproductive.” I manage another smile. “And I’m not about to get on that bus with you and force you to touch me when you’re about to dry heave.”
His brows snap together.
I try to keep my smile wide and bright, but I have to fight the edges of my mouth, which are trying so hard to turn down. My chin will start trembling any second. He’s about to witness an emotional earthquakeandflood.
Luca’s eyes are fixed on mine, his face full of confusion. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve been avoiding you because I don’t know how to be around you or touch you without feeling things for you.”
My vision blurs for a split-second as I stare back at him, trying to grasp his words and see if there’s any other possible meaning than the one my heart has latched onto.
“Callahan!” a voice calls. “You coming?” A man in an Admirals baseball cap is standing at the front of the bus, looking at us.
“Yeah, Coach,” Luca replies.
The man doesn’t move, like he wants us to understand that this bus has no time for the most important conversation of our married life.
Luca looks at me, and there’s an instant’s pause, then he grabs my hand and threads his fingers through it. “You okay?”
I can’t manage a single word, so I nod, my heart trying to jump out of my chest and clobber Luca.
I follow him up the bus steps, and the moment we reach the top, the team erupts in childish, exaggeratedoohs and ahhs. So mature. But I blush as Luca leads us to the nearest empty seats. It doesn’t escape my notice that I’m the only woman on the bus.
We get on our way, and the polite awkwardness that’s reigned in the Callahan house the past few days officially gives way to silent awkwardness and a heaping side of tension.
