Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(58)

“My father showed up.”

“Oh.” It’s a quiet oh that makes me think she probably did the research I told her not to do, and if I’ve learned anything at all about Henri in the last few weeks, it’s that she can find things no other mortal being on earth can find when she sets out on a research mission.

“He played pro hockey for two years. That’s where he met my mom. But his contract didn’t get renewed, and then I was born, and then he left us both for my kindergarten teacher a few years later. My mom revenge-dated one of my classmates’ dads for two years, I got attached, they broke up, and love sucks, and I have a shithole of a house because I buy and renovate shitholes everywhere I go, then I rent them out when I’m traded so that if my career ends tomorrow, I still have cash flow, and I still have money in the bank, and I haven’t gotten used to a Lamborghini lifestyle on a ramen noodle budget. I’m not going to be him. I am not going to be him.”

Jesus on manicotti, I’m sweating.

I’m sweating like I ran a marathon in the Sahara, and I don’t sweat. Not like this.

I live without central air when I’m home. My body’s conditioned for heat.

“Luca—”

“I’ve never had a team sign me for longer than a year at a time. I could lose this. All of this. Any minute. It could go poof. And it’s not the money, Henri. It’s not the endorsements. It’s the guys. The team. They’re family. They’re family.”

“And that’s why you’ll never be him.”

I blow out a slow breath and drop my head to a shelf lined with Gatorades. “But I still let his actions guide mine.”

My heart’s twisted in a knot and my gut doesn’t feel all that great either. Since I left home and landed at my first minor league ballpark, I’ve watched my teammates around me fall in love. Some get married. Some break up. Some get divorced. Some have kids.

I’m not built for that.

That part of me is broken. It has been since I was six years old.

“Do you want to get married?”

I rear back and stare at the phone, but the bone-deep horror isn’t there like it should be.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, not to me!” Henri calls. “Don’t hang up! I wasn’t proposing! It was a metaphorical question! I meant would you want to marry someone someday if your parents hadn’t screwed up love for you!”

“Jesus on a meatball.”

“Luca, there’s nothing wrong with you. Your toes are shaped kinda weird, and you make those loud noises when you drink, but only sometimes, and you know you’re good-looking, which is never a good thing, but other than that, you’re a normal, everyday guy with the same hopes and dreams and fears as anyone else. They’re custom-tailored hopes and dreams and fears. That’s what makes all of us special. You can find love. You just—gah. Sorry. Sorry. I know. Not part of the deal.”

“Henri?”

“Yes?”

She’s cringing. I can hear her cringing. And I hate that. Is she cringing because I’ve been a dick, or is she cringing because everyone’s always been a dick?

Dammit. I need to stop being a dick to her.

I do.

“Thank you for listening.”

There’s another one of those beats of silence where I don’t know if she’s marveling over the fact that I used my manners, or wondering if I’m silently adding “and please stop talking.”

Again.

Probably both.

“I know I’m a disaster with my own love life, and it’s not like I have a degree in psychology or anything that cool, but I do know a little bit about people. It’s hard not to after reading so many books and writing vampires for this many years. Not that vampires are real. But they’re based on people. And people usually simply want to be loved, but have a few hang-ups because you can’t live a life and not get a hang-up or two. Don’t give up if you want it, Luca. But you don’t have to want it. Some people don’t.”

Thirty seconds, and she has me re-evaluating half the things I’ve believed almost my entire life.

“Oh, wow, I’m talking too much again.” She forces a laugh. “You have a ball game to get ready for. Do I need to call Nonna and make sure she takes care of things?”

“No. She’s got it. I could handle it. But she’s got it.”

“Good, because I don’t know that I have any talents that could terrify a person the way your nonna’s Eye can. Also, every time you’re up to bat today, you should picture the ball as Glow’s butt.”

I rub my chest, right where there’s some weird swelling going on that my coaches would probably want to know about if it were caused by anything that might interfere with my game.

But this isn’t a physical problem.

It’s an emotional problem.

And the weirdest part is, it doesn’t feel like it’s a problem. “You’re a good friend, Henri.”

“I know.”

A surprised laugh wells out of my chest.

“Go on. Go win a few ballgames, okay? Everything else can wait. And I need to call my sister back—”

“Ugh.”

She laughs. “That’s no way to win a ball game.”

“I was talking about your sister.”