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33

nova

L uca is coming over and I am literally ill.

Sick to my stomach. Not metaphorically. Not vaguely nervous. I mean actual, full-body, cold-sweat dread runs through my veins.

I pace my apartment like a caged cheetah at the zoo, too keyed up to sit, too nauseous to eat.

The doorman said he’d buzz when Luca arrived, but when the knock comes directly at my door—with no warning—I straight up panic.

PANIC I SAY!

“Shit.” Deep breath in. “It’s fine. Just tell him how you feel.”

Deep breath out.

Smoothing my hands down the front of my pants, I check my reflection one last time in the mirror before pulling open the door with a fake smile already pasted on my face.

There he is…

Filling the doorway, Luca looks ridiculously delicious in a black Henley and jeans, his dark hair is a mess as if he got caught up in a windstorm on his way into the building and hadn’t bothered to fix it. He smells like soap. And sin.

And I missed it .

Holding a paper bag in one hand and a plastic-wrapped bundle in the other, he has a grin on his face that almost matches mine, except his seems genuine.

I glance down at the bundle.

Flowers.

Flowers?

I frown, confused, at the bold, beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and roses.

Why is he bringing me flowers? I’m the one who fucked up. I’m the one who ?—

He leans down, kissing me on the cheek, leaving me flustered and staring off after him as he heads to the kitchen. I can only trail along behind him.

“What on Earth is happening right now?” I hover near the edge of the island like an interloper in my own space. Which is RIDICULOUS.

Luca glances up, lifting a brow. “What do you mean?”

“What do I—” I blink, gesturing vaguely between us. “I’ve been spiraling for days, and you show up with dinner and flowers like we didn’t almost implode?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I figured one of us had to be the adult.”

My jaw drops. “You’re not mad anymore?”

Because the last I checked, he’d stormed out of the restaurant bar and was cold to me when I texted him, wanting to talk it through.

“Oh, I’m pissed,” he says cheerfully, pulling out takeout containers. “But I’d rather be fed and pissed than hungry and pissed. Bad combination. And if we’re gonna talk about what happened, I’d prefer to do it while I’m eating.”

He does? “You do?”

I stand staring, afraid to move.

Luca glances over his shoulder as he plates our food, that maddeningly calm smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I do .

He is being way too calm; I’m not sure I can trust it. He shouldn’t be this kind . This funny . This good. Not after what I did. Not after the way I handled everything with my brother, whom I haven’t spoken to since.

“You left me on read for two days!” I blurt out.

He shrugs. “That was me being mature and avoiding sending a text I’d regret.”

“Like what?” I inch forward, lured by the rich smell of ramen. “You wanted to tell me to suck it? ‘Nova, hope you choke on your guilt?'”

Luca lets out a low chuckle. “I would never tell a woman to suck it.” He pauses and winks. “Unless of course it’s a different context. One with less crying—and more nudity.”

I take the bowl, grateful for the distraction. The ramen smells incredible—spicy, hearty, and scrumptious—and I plop down on a barstool to share with him, half-hiding behind the noodles as I inhale the steam. “God, if you ever break up with me, please at least do it over ramen. I might survive.”

Luca glances over at me, arching his brows. “We’re dating now?”

“I—I…” I stammer. “That’s not what I meant.”

For a while, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that’s filled with chewing and the clink of chopsticks. After a short while, Luca sets his bowl down, leans back on his stool, and hits me with the hard talk:

“You ready to talk about it?”

I freeze mid-bite, a noodle dangling from my lips, hanging limply like a lifeline.

I inhale it with a slurp.

“I—yeah.” I nod. “I guess.”

“You don’t have to give the perfect speech,” Luca adds, voice gentler now. “Just tell me what scares you.”

I push my bowl away, not so hungry anymore.

Wipe my palms on my thighs and exhale. “You.”

You scare me .

He blinks. “Me?”

“Yes. But not because you aren’t wonderful—but because I’m not.” I’m callous and flighty and clearly a flight risk. Can I be trusted?

Luca watches me giving me the space to process my thoughts before I speak.

“I either sabotage relationships or run before they have a chance to go wrong on their own.”

I let out a shaky breath, fingers twisted in the hem of my sweater. “I saw the way you looked at me after Gio walked in. Like I’d betrayed you.” My voice cracks. “I hated that. I hated hurting you.”

Silence stretches out between us.

Until finally, Luca pushes his chair back and crosses the small space between us. He stands in front of me, solid and still and steady.

“What do you think you’d do if your brother walked in on us right now?” His hand lifts, brushing his knuckles across my jaw, then tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

I shake my head.

That’s not going to happen again—I don’t think.

“I don’t know.”

He tilts his head as he studies my expression. “Why do I feel like…there’s an ultimatum brewing. Is that crazy?”

My stomach tightens.

He’s not wrong; this is exactly what it feels like and it’s my fault we’re in this position. Mine and Gio’s, for initially telling me to stay away from his teammates.

Like a fly to honey …

“The worst part of all this is—I have no idea where I stand with you,” Luca confesses.

I swallow hard. “You stand exactly where you’ve always stood.”

Weak.

So weak …

“That’s not comforting,” he tells me, bitterness edging into his voice, the familiar tone he’d used the other night. “One minute you’re kissing me like I’m oxygen and the next you’re pulling away like I’m fire.”

Translation: you’re hot, then you’re cold.

“You’re both,” I whisper. “You’re everything.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” The flowers he brought me are already wilting on the counter from lack of water, and I want to give them the attention that they need, but don’t have the courage to pull away from Luca.

What began as a fun, flirtatious fling has turned into a messy mess.

One I don’t know how to fix .

Luca’s gaze drops to the floor for a second, jaw tight, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. When he looks up again, something in his expression is different.

Final.

I feel it before he even moves, my breath hitching as he steps closer—enough to slip his hand around the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.

“Nova,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.

Then,

He kisses me.

It’s not soft. It’s not patient.

It’s everything he’s been holding back the past three days; everything we’ve avoided, everything we’ve both too afraid to say out loud.

I am a coward.

His mouth moves over mine like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the chance. Like he’s memorizing the taste of me. Like he’s letting go.

It’s a goodbye, and I feel it in every inch of my skin .

I shiver.

My hands fist in the front of his sweater, pulling him closer as my heart screams don’t let me go! but his kiss is already changing. Slower now. Less desperate. Like he’s easing out of something that meant too much and hurt too deeply.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath ghost across my cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers.

I don’t say it back.

I can’t.

Not because I don’t feel it—God, I do —but because the words get stuck in my throat, where they will live in more regret.

He doesn’t react.

Doesn’t flinch or pull away.

Instead of walking out of my apartment, Luca slips his hand into mine and gently tugs me out of my chair.

I follow.

Wordless. Shaking.

He leads me to the living room, past the flickering light from the kitchen and the abandoned bowl of ramen.

He doesn’t say anything as he lowers me onto the couch, careful, like I’m breakable. Like we both are.

Then he lies beside me.

Fully clothed.

Facing me.

And for a long, suspended beat, we just stare at each other. My eyes burn. His are already glassy. His hand finds my hip and rests there, grounding. My fingers trail over the fabric of his sleeve, then up his arms, over his bicep.

When he kisses me again, it’s softer. Slower. A final exhale of something beautiful and bruised. It’s not about claiming or fixing. It’s not even about forgiveness for the mistakes I’ve been making.

It’s about having this .

I love you . His eyes tell me.

The words shoot straight to my heart—words I’ve never romantically spoken to another human. Repeating them to Luca would be a first.

My lips part.

The words he so desperately wants to hear and that I want to say, hover—trembling, unsaid, suspended in the air between us like the softest truth I’ve never dared to speak aloud.

But before I can get them out?—

The front door slams open.

Loud.

Jarring.

I jolt. Luca flinches.

And then?—

“Oh for the love of Christ.”

Gio’s voice. Sharp. Disbelieving. Very much inside my apartment .

My entire body locks up as Luca’s arms go stiff around me. We both whip toward the doorway in time to see Gio standing there, keys still in his hand, eyes wide as they rake across the scene:

Me.

On the couch with Luca wrapped around me like a second skin. Hard erection pressed into my stomach.

I shove at him, scrambling upright, nearly elbowing him in the face.

“Gio. What the hell are you doing here?!”

“What am I doing here?” My brother gapes, eyes ping-ponging between the two of us. “What is he doing here?”

Gio gasps, which is rich, considering I’ve literally walked in on him banging Austin more than once.

“Unbelievable,” he hisses, stepping inside my apartment like the righteous older brother of the year that he is. Points directly at Luca, who rises from the couch. “I warned the team to stay away from her and you swore you wouldn’t touch her, man. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you were sneaking around? ”

Luca stretches casually. Leans left. Leans right. Bending. “Yeah—we actually didn’t think you would find out.”

He postures to appear taller, already towering several inches over my brother.

“You both fucking lied to me!” Gio inhales a breath. “On what planet is it ever okay to dry-hump my sister.”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

Gio and I have one rule for one another and that rule is: Honesty, always. No matter how bad it hurts. Welp. Too late for that…

“Do you know how much I hate being lied to!” Gio bellows again, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s moments from combusting. “And from both of you? The fuck!”

“Hey.” Luca’s jaw flexes. “Don’t put this on her.”

“Don’t you defend her right now—she’s not innocent,” Gio snaps, pointing a finger so close to Luca’s chest I take a protective step forward. “In fact, I blame most of this on her.”

“Well so do I!” Luca fires back, and I blink because—RUDE!

“I—what?” I sputter.

It’s as if I’m not even in the room as these two assholes continue arguing.

“She lies all the time,” Gio accuses, still jabbing his finger in Luca’s direction. “Once she said she didn’t steal my GameCube in high school? Lies. It was lies !”

Oh lord.

“She lied to me too!” Luca shoots back. “She told me she wanted joint custody of our giraffe cup and she hasn’t asked to see it once. Not a single time. That’s basically reckless abandonment.”

Oh for the love of Go?—

“What the hell is a giraffe cup?” my brother demands.

“None ya fucking busin?—"

Then—without warning—Gio lunges at Luca.

It’s not subtle. There’s no buildup. Just a full-on, limbs-flailing, “ YOU’RE GONNA REGRET THIS” kind of lunge that sends both of them crashing sideways into the coffee table.

“Jesus!” I squeal, doing my best not to panic. “What are you doing? Both of you, get up!”

“You’re not good enough to kiss the toe of her boots let alone dry hump her in her living room!” my brother shouts from beneath my boyfriend.

“Take that back, dickhead!” Luca bellows theatrically, wrapping one arm around Gio’s neck in a very uncoordinated headlock.

My brother gurgles.

“Fuck you!” Gio gasps, flailing as if he’s fighting off a wild raccoon. “THE PEOPLE DESERVE THE TRUTH!”

“Oh—and you’re the people?!”

“I am the people! ”

“Fuck you, dude!”

“No—fuck you!”

I stare in disbelief as my brother and my very much unofficial boyfriend roll off the couch and onto the rug like emotionally repressed toddlers at a wrestling-themed birthday party.

They grunt.

They flail.

At one point, Gio yells, “ Tap out! ” while Luca shouts back, “ You tap out first!”

This is the most insane thing I have ever seen in my whole, adult life—and I’ve seen a lot of insane shit. Mostly at my sorority house in college, but we’ll save those stories for another day.

Currently?

I’m witnessing two full-grown, testosterone filled men attempting to resolve a seemingly fabricated argument with grunts, limb-flailing—and actual carpet burn.

“Give me your goddamn ankle! ” Luca yells.

“Screw you!” Gio screams, crab-crawling backwards like he’s in a wrestling ring .

My eyes widen as I watch them roll into my coffee table, knock over a stack of magazines and a candle that was burning until about thirty seconds ago.

Smoke rises from its wick.

“You’re both ridiculous,” I declare loudly, over the sounds of their coughing and grunting, while Luca uses a couch cushion as a weapon against my brother.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Gio grunts, going to put Luca into yet another headlock. “I shall rise victorious!”

Luca groans. “I’m so glad we’re bonding.”

“Please make it stop,” I mutter. “Please.”

Then Luca, who’s laying on his back, hair sticking out in seventeen directions, chest heaving, rolls in my direction and says?—

“So. Are you ready to admit to your brother that we’re dating?”

Huh?

“What?”

“You heard him,” my brother says, resting on his elbow, totally relaxed. “It’s getting embarrassing at this point, sis.”

My brain tries to scramble, but there’s too much to compute. The fake wrestling. The emotional manipulation. The fact that Gio is now lounging like this is a picnic and not the site of his own staged meltdown.

“You two planned this?” I hiss.

Luca shrugs from the floor. “Loosely.”

“We prefer the term spontaneous dramatization, ” Gio adds, tossing a couch pillow over his shoulder and missing Luca’s face by an inch. “That was all improvised on my part.” He grins. “Pretty good, eh?”

I gape at them, glancing from one to the other, then back again.

Huh?

“I’m going to kill you,” I say at last .

Luca gnaws on his bottom lip. “Is that the only thing you’re going to say?”

I…

Don’t know.

I don’t know what to say.

My brother hefts himself up off the rug, dusting himself off as if he’s been rolling in pig shit.

“Told you she wouldn’t fess up to it.” He claps Luca on the back. “Sorry, dude. Worth a shot.”

Luca sighs. “I seriously thought the headlock would do the trick.”

Gio shrugs. “She’s stubborn. It’s genetic.”

“You two are insane.” I gawk, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve just been emotionally ambushed by the two people I care most about.

Luca turns toward me, hopeful. “So? Any final verdict?”

I open my mouth.

Close it again.

Gio smirks, reading the glitch in real time. “That’s not a yes.” He turns toward the door, pulling his car keys out of his back pocket. “C’mon, Babineaux. Let’s go.”

Luca blinks. “Wait—what?”

“You’re coming with me. I love her but I can’t let my teammate sit here with emotional blue balls because she refuses to give it up.”

Luca lets out a soft, humorless laugh. But he doesn’t argue.

He looks at me.

Really looks at me.

Like he’s hoping for a last-minute buzzer beater. A miracle. A reason to stay.

But I’m silent.

Frozen.

Traumatized!

Luca nods once, slow—like it physically pains him to do so.

His smile falters for the briefest second. Then he covers it with a shrug that’s not fooling anyone in this room.

“Alright,” he says quietly. Resigned.

He moves past me, giving me one last chance to stop him.

I don’t.

Can’t!

And then he’s at the door…

…Hand on the knob.

He turns his handsome face and gives me one last look. “For what it’s worth, I really did try. But you can’t always get what you want.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest because I know for a fact he did try. So hard. Luca is amazing—the most amazing man I’ve ever had the privilege to know and I’m letting my pride and ego and fear get in my way.

I open my mouth. Try to speak. To stop him.

But Luca’s already backing away, jaw tight, eyes on the floor like looking at me might break him.

“I’ll go,” he says quietly, voice rough. “You two need to talk.”

And then he’s out the door.

Gone.

It clicks shut behind him and the silence rushes in, loud and suffocating.

Gio doesn’t follow him.

He just stands here watching me, face unreadable. Disappointed.

But he stays with me—of course he does.

He’s my brother.

I turn away from him so he can’t see the tears about to spill from my eyes and I inhale a steady breath; my apartment that still smells like Luca’s cologne. Ramen.

The candle.

The bouquet of flowers on the counter are wilting slowly in their plastic wrap and I’m filled with the sudden urge to throw them in the trash.

I hate them.

I love them.

But mostly?

I have no one to blame for this mess but myself.