Page 54

NOAH

“Sorry I’m late,” Charlotte tells me, leaning in, and I kiss her on the cheek.

“It’s okay. We haven’t started yet,” I assure her as we stand backstage, preparing for the opening speech of the inaugural Caruso Safe Haven charity event. A weekend filled with relays, NFL player/fan meet and greets, a silent auction, and a formal gala, all raising funds to benefit the Hope House, a shelter for those impacted by domestic violence in our community.

After Charlotte received her trust fund, she came to me with the idea. Since my father was gone, for real this time , Mom and I agreed to share our story and utilize my platform and connections to bring awareness to the cause. With Charlotte’s money, we created a safe haven, a house of hope, where victims can come when they feel there’s no way out.

Mom walks up, and passes our sweet little Gabriella to Charlotte. A small smile graces my lips as my daughter’s beautiful brown eyes meet mine. She looks just like her mother, and my chest squeezes.

“Ready, sole mio?” Mom asks, pulling my attention to her.

“Yes.” Anxiety squeezes my chest. I can do this. “I’m ready,” I say, and Charlotte’s eyes meet mine. “ Ti amo .”

“ Ti amo ,” she repeats, with an encouraging smile, and I press a kiss to her lips.

I plant another in Gabriella’s dark hair, turning to follow Mom to the stage for the opening speech. We climb the stairs, her hand in mine, and the crowd of at least a thousand people wearing various shades of purple comes into view.

I’m handed a microphone, and Mom squeezes my hand, stepping off to the side. “ Sono orgogliosa di te ,” she tells me.

‘I’m so proud of you.’

“Welcome, everyone,” I say, the volume of the microphone silencing the crowd. “Thank you for being here today. For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Caruso—” The crowd shouts, and I wave a hand to simmer them down. “Thank you.” I fight a smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that, but I’m actually not here today as Tampa Bay’s best quarterback?—”

“Hey!” Mike Lorraine calls from the crowd.

“Sorry, Mike,” I say, shooting him a smile and garnering some laughter. I take a deep breath. Here it goes. “Tragic fact: in the United States alone, there are over five million cases of domestic violence. Every. Single. Year.” I shake my head, disgusted by the number. “Throughout most of my childhood, I was one of those cases.” A hush falls over the crowd. “For years, my mother and I were physically and mentally abused by my father until he was finally arrested when I was fourteen.” I bring a hand to the back of my head, dragging my thumb along the raised skin. “My scars always felt like reminders of all those moments of weakness. Of the times I didn’t have the strength to fight back… It took years to come to terms with everything that happened in my life.” Pulling the microphone away, I release a shaky breath. “But now I view each scar not as a moment I was weak, but as a moment of darkness I survived. ” I jab a finger at my chest. “ I’m. Still. Here. ” The crowd applauds, and my eyes find our friends in the front row cheering me on. Elijah gives me a nod of encouragement, and I swallow hard.

“All my life, I considered myself a victim of domestic violence,” I say, pausing, trying to find the right words. “Today I stand before you a survivor .” My gaze finds Mom’s, and she nods in encouragement. “ We are survivors.” I walk across the stage and take her palm in mine. “But we almost weren’t.” She squeezes my hand. “Mom’s family was in Italy, and we were alone. We had no one to notice the signs. No one to call for help. No one to give us refuge. No one to care.”

I pause, gathering my thoughts. “My wife, Charlotte, and I started this charity to make sure our community knows there’s always someone who cares. You will always find safe refuge and help and guidance at Hope House. There will be mental health counseling, safe living quarters with security while residents figure out their next steps, and assistance in relocation, working in partnership with local law enforcement.”

“Our goal,” I continue, “is for every victim who comes to Hope House to leave a survivor .”

The crowd roars, and my eyes blur as I scan their faces. “As you spend the weekend playing games, meeting your favorite players, and hopefully opening your wallets,” I say, garnering a laugh from the crowd, “please take a moment to remember what we’re all doing this for.” I pause, the emotions overwhelming me. “And we want to say a huge thank you in advance for helping provide the safe space, the house of hope, my mamma and I never had,” I say, choking up on the last words. “Thank you!”

The crowd thunders once more as I walk off the stage, wiping away tears, a sense of pride filling me with all the people Hope House will help. Charlotte awaits me, Gabriella tucked on her side, and I loop my arms around them.

“You did great,” Charlotte says, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips and wiping a tear off my cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

My eyes meet hers, and I shake my head in disbelief. “This was all your idea. And mainly your money.” Turns out a fifty-million-dollar trust fund goes a long way.

“Dadadada,” Gabriella coos, reaching for me, and I grin, scooping her into my arms, readjusting her dress with tiny lemons dancing across it.

“I know,” Charlotte says as Gabriella situates herself, resting her head on my chest, and I rub my hand along her back. Daddy’s here. “But it’s your story. Your platform is getting the cause out there.”

Leaning over, I kiss her softly on the lips. “And I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Charlotte’s woven in my heart like the fabric of the cosmos. She’s the gravity keeping me in orbit, and without her I’d drift away, lost to the vastness of the universe. After my shoulder was injured, I suggested quitting so I’d be around more, but Charlotte said she’d shoot me a second time if I even considered giving up my dream.

But I’d give up football and touchdowns for honey and lemons anytime.

Maybe someday she’ll realize my dream—my wish since the very first dandelion—is her.

A perfect even exchange .