Luca (Chicago Blaze 2)

There’s pregame stuff happening on the ice, so we each pick a shirt and hurry to change in the bathroom. By the time we get back, the announcer is introducing the players.

I can’t help the rush of pride I feel when Luca’s name is announced. He raises his stick and waves as the crowd cheers. My heart flutters as I see him blow a kiss toward the Friends and Family section. Does he think I’m there?

Percy turns to me, looking stunned. “You didn’t tell me he looks like that, Abby.”

“Like what?”

“I just saw his face on that Jumbotron thing. He looks like he’s responsible for lots of lady boners. Those blue eyes? Lord.” She fans herself.

“I think someone needs a little male companionship.”

“A little?” She scoffs. “You keep your eye out for any of these guys who might like a fit black woman with some attitude, okay, girl?”

“Sure,” I say, smiling.

The National Anthem begins and we stand up, hands over our hearts. I squint as I look over at the flag.

“Is that a hockey stick hanging next to the flag?”

“Looks like it,” Percy squints, too. “Weird.”

From the time the game starts, I’m riveted. I can’t always figure out where the puck is, but I do pretty well at following the direction of the players. The retired players seem thrilled to be back on the ice, celebrating their goals with fist pumps and cheers.

Everything about the game is fun. The money raised is going to Alzheimer’s research, which a former Blaze player apparently advocates for.

After the game, which the current players win 5-4, all the present and former players come out onto the ice together. I can’t keep my eyes off Luca. His helmet is off now, so I can see his face. There’s an older retired player standing next to him, and when he slips, Luca steadies him with a hand under his elbow.

It’s a subtle way to keep the man upright without embarrassing him. Something about the gesture touches me deeply.

Gloria returns to escort us down to the locker room, asking us how we liked the game on the walk to the elevator.

“I think you’ve got a couple new fans,” Percy tells her with a smile.

“You are so familiar to me,” Gloria says to Percy, glancing over at her as we walk. “Are you an actress?”

“Me? No.” Percy laughs. “I’m a personal trainer. I used to be a runner.”

“A runner?” A light seems to come on for Gloria. “You’re Persephone Hill!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I watched you in the Olympics; you were incredible.”

“Thank you so much.”

There are kids in the wide hallway outside the locker room, and Gloria brings a few of them to Percy to get autographs. Percy glows and happily obliges.

I’m lucky my trainer has turned into a good friend. She’s a gem.

While Percy is being social, I’m hunched over my phone reading work emails. I don’t want to risk anyone asking me how I know Luca and if I’m his girlfriend.

It takes around half an hour for players to start emerging from the locker room in their suits. When Luca walks out in a charcoal suit with a dark blue tie and white dress shirt, my heart pounds with happiness and anticipation.

I start to walk in his direction, but I only make it a few feet when three children run up to him, both girls throwing themselves into his arms.

Oh God. The warmth I was feeling turns ice cold. He told me he didn’t have kids.

Or did he? I know I read he’s single with no kids on the Blaze team website, but have we ever discussed it?

“Uncle Luca, good job!” the youngest girl says to him.

Uncle. I take in a deep breath and let it back out. He’s their uncle; they aren’t his children.

He sees me then, and his expression softens but then turns guarded.

“Hey,” he says, opening his arms to hug me. “I’m glad you came.”

Everything feels right again as I let the familiar scent of his cologne comfort me. His embrace is strong, but affectionate.

“Me too. Thanks for asking me.”

“Who are you?” his younger niece asks me, looking back and forth between us.

Luca steps back from me, saying, “Guys, this is my friend Abby.”

Their looks vary. His nephew looks ambivalent; his older niece looks shocked and his younger niece is beaming.

“Abby, this is Cora, Jack and Emerson. They’re my nieces and nephew.”

“Oh.” I relax considerably. “So is your brother or sister here, too?” I look around.

“It’s just us.” Luca brushes a hand over the brown curls of the youngest girl, Emerson. “I’m raising them.”

It’s such a tender gesture, but for me, it cuts like a knife. It jolts me straight into memories of what I lost and can never get back.

“You’re pretty,” Emerson says to me.

I think I respond. I’m not sure. Panic is making my chest constrict and my head feel woozy.