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NOAH

My frown deepens, arms folded tight as I stare at the bed.

The pillows are crooked.

I re-fluff them, eyes roaming for any other imperfections, but I find none. A satisfied smile spreads across my face.

Clean room, clean mind.

Sharing a hotel with Theo was definitely a test of patience.

Standing in my childhood bedroom, I struggle to pinpoint the emotion it evokes. I’ve been gone for years, and Mom hasn’t changed a thing.

My homecoming king crown sits on the shelf next to the football I threw for the game-winning touchdown during the state championships my senior year of high school. The Lego spaceship I spent an entire summer building—an exact replica of the Millennium Falcon, if I do say so myself—is hung evenly by string from the ceiling above my desk. Mom hasn’t even gotten rid of my collection of Rubik’s Cubes on my dresser, which serve no other purpose than to remind me of how absolutely awful I am at completing them.

My eyes snag on the dresser’s corner, and my lips fall to a frown. The downside of the room being untouched like a mausoleum? Shitty memories reside here too. The chipped wood draws my thumb like a magnet, and I run it over the jagged edge. Habitually, I reach for the back of my head and slide my finger along the mirroring scar. This stupid hunk of wood was stronger than me. Not anymore.

“Breakfast is ready,” Mom calls, pulling me from the murky memory.

In the kitchen, I find her and Tony, my stepdad, giggling near the coffee pot, probably about whatever was on his “Joke a Day” flip calendar.

“Morning,” I say, and their attention slides to me.

“ Buongiorno , sole mio, ”? 1 Mom coos, running over and placing a kiss on each cheek. I got in late last night, and we only chatted for a few minutes before I went to my room and crashed.

I chuckle. “ Buongiorno , mamma .” ? 2

She releases me, returning to the coffee pot.

“Morning,” Tony says over the brim of his coffee cup with a warm smile. His Italian is limited to the basics, so Mom and I mainly stick to English when he’s around for his benefit. Although, given Mom was born and raised Italian, she slips in and out of it more often.

“How long are you here?” Mom asks me.

“Until Sunday.”

“Wonderful.” She beams, handing me a steaming cappuccino as I sit on a bar stool at the kitchen island. “Nicole’s niece is in town. I’m sure she’d love to get together.”

Tony snorts a laugh, taking his place next to me.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” I grumble. “But I’m really not interested in dating the neighbor’s niece.” Mom plays matchmaker for me like she’s an executive of The Bachelor . She’s also the sole reason I even know what that godforsaken show is. “So how’s work been?” I ask Tony in an attempt to change the subject off of my dating life.

He smiles. “Just won a big case we’ve been fighting for months.”

“Look at you, out there changing the world, one family at a time.” I nudge his shoulder, and he grins into his coffee. He’s a family law attorney and never stops advocating for those kids. Every day, he sees the worst of the worst and helps instead of being the problem. He sure as hell helped us.

That’s why I trust him so much with my mom.

And that trust doesn’t come easy.

“Draft’s coming up.” He arches a brow, and I shift in my seat. “Any top picks?”

Biting my cheek, I look between them. He’s the main reason I’m almost comfortable going out of state when drafted. Almost.

“You’re acting weird,” Mom calls over her shoulder. “Spit it out.”

I sigh heavily, anxiety consuming me. “I hate having no control over where I end up. What if I’m not close enough anymore?” I ask, eyes finding hers. “What if you need me?”

Mom dons a sympathetic smile. “Oh, sole mio, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. “Your mom can handle herself, and if not, you know I’m here.” I nod, and with each reassurance, a weight is lifted.

“Please, stop worrying.” Mom rounds the island and throws her arms around me. “And no matter where you end up, you need to make a real life for yourself. Because if I hear you’re going home every night after work to your empty apartment with no friends, or girl , that’s gonna make my mamma heart really sad.”

A tightness squeezes my chest, and I lean my head against hers. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” She kisses my hair, then returns to the kitchen. “Besides, I’m ready for some grandbabies. This big house is too empty and quiet when you’re gone.”

“ Mamma !” I groan with a laugh. “One lecture at a time, please.”

“Sorry.” She throws her hands up, still holding the spatula, and a piece of scrambled egg falls to the floor. “I’ll save that one for tomorrow.” She bends down to clean up the escaped glob. “So how about Ms. Charlotte? If none of my choices are good enough.”

My cheeks warm at the mention. “We’re just friends.”

What a stupid word.

“Really?” she asks, pinning me with a knowing smile. “I can’t recall the names of any of your other female friends.” The rest of my body bursts into flames.

“You know what? I actually gotta get back to campus,” I joke, standing up.

“That’s fine,” Tony says. “More tiramisù for me.”

My eyes snap to his. “Homemade or store-bought?”

“Has your mother ever bought it at the store?”

A wide smile spreads across my face as I settle back on the stool. “Just had to make sure I wasn’t caving for nothing.”

It’s good to be home.

* * *

Flopping on my bed, I settle into the cozy mattress, eyes glued on the ceiling with Mom’s and Tony’s lecture still present in my head. Of course I have friends, and we do stuff together, but football comes first over everything.

Is that so wrong?

My heart pounds against my rib cage as the anxiety over all these big decisions closes in.

I pull out my phone, and the home screen countdown taunts me.

NFL Draft: 25 days. 22 hours. 1 minute. 12 seconds.

There for no other reason than to remind me of the most important day of my life looming over me.

I really need something, or someone , to take my mind off this stuff. My fingers hesitantly find her contact, and I type out a random fun fact.

My thumb hovers over the send button.

Rule number three: don’t text Charlotte.

Another guideline I implemented after Halloween, knowing the habit would only cause problems with her shithead boyfriend.

Ex -boyfriend.

I suppose there’s nothing wrong about texting a single woman…

Images of her tear-stained cheeks flash in my mind, and the urge to know if she’s okay overpowers my discipline regarding rules and boundaries.

CHARLOTTE

Me

Fun fact: it’s illegal to own only one guinea pig in Switzerland

Her response is immediate, sending a rush through me and leaving no time to second-guess myself.

Charlotte

You’re telling me I’d have been arrested at the age of 7?

Me

Yep. You would’ve had to break your Justin Bieber piggy bank to pay bail

Charlotte

I told you that in confidence

Me

Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me

How’d the talk with your mom go?

The bubbles appear and disappear so many times I think one of her siblings may have stolen her phone. Hours pass—okay, five minutes—and her reply pops in.

Charlotte

Fine

Me

It took you five minutes to come up with “fine”?

Charlotte

Looks like it

How about you? Mama Caruso find any poor girls to help fuck up your five year plan yet?

Me

Hey, I told you THAT in confidence. Don’t go siding with her

Charlotte

You didn’t answer the question

Me

Nah, five year plan is safe

Charlotte

Where should I hide the key to your chastity belt?

My jaw clenches as I fight a smile.

Me

Keep it with your car keys

Charlotte

I would except I don’t have a car anymore

Me

What?

Why not?

When we left Miami, I helped put her bags in her car myself. Did she get in an accident and not tell me? More bubbles appear and disappear.

Charlotte

Long story

Me

Are you okay?

Charlotte

Yeah, I’m fine. Just no car

Me

Need me to pick you up on my way back to campus?

Charlotte

lol, no. i’m completely out of your way

Who gives a shit is half typed out when another message pops in.

Charlotte

Sophia will bring me

Me

If your ride falls through let me know

No reply comes, so I lock my phone and set it on the nightstand, fighting off the disappointment. Buzz buzz . I snatch it back up like a fumbled football.

Charlotte

Can I ask something and you be honest?

Me

Consider your question truth serum

Charlotte

Did I mess up our friendship in Miami?

My brows pull together. If anything, I’d say Miami made our friendship stronger.

Me

Why would you think that?

Charlotte

Please don’t make me say it

My dick hardens as I remember the way she looked at me. Or rather, the way my eyes roamed over her beautiful body like I was a virgin and it was the first naked woman I’d ever seen.

Screw me for being such a gentleman.

I type out a reply, holding my breath, and hit send.

Me

As long as you don’t ask me to fuck you again, we’ll be fine

Charlotte

Scout’s honor

A GIF comes through of a boy scout holding up three fingers, and I chuckle.

Charlotte

I’ll buy you a milkshake to make it up to you

Me

Mint chocolate chip or nothing

Charlotte

You got it

I lie against the pillow, smiling till I fall asleep.

* * *

The familiar buzz of the athletic building surrounds me as I stroll down the hallway, passing friendly faces. The weekend at home flew by. Mom didn’t force me to go on any dead-end dates, and I’m thankful for it. Usually I end up doing at least one to appease her, and then I have to let the girl down easy at the end of the night— it’s not you, it’s me.

I rap my knuckles on a large mahogany door, and James Porter, CBU’s head football coach, calls me in.

He stands as the door swings open. “There’s my favorite ex-team captain.”

I scrunch my nose, sadness surrounding me at the reminder. “That sounds so harsh.”

He gestures to the seat in front of his desk, and we both sit. “How was your break?”

“Good. You?”

“Fine, thanks.” He clears his throat. “So, I’ve heard some buzzing around the industry.”

I shift in my seat, hands clenched tight. “What’s the word, Coach?”

“The Barracudas were pleased with your visit,” he says, grinning, referring to the NFL team in Tampa where he also played before ending up at CBU. The team that would allow me to pass my mom’s neighborhood every day on the way to work.

“Glad to hear it,” I say, relief filling me.

“L.A. was also impressed. And you’re heading out to Seattle soon for a top-30 visit?”

“Yeah.” My shoulders tense. I’m dreading the distance.

He narrows his eyes on me. “What’s wrong?”

“Just getting anxious,” I admit, knowing he’ll understand. “I hate that I don’t really have much control where I end up.”

He leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “You won a Heisman as a sophomore, and your record is near perfect. You definitely have some pull if you make your preferences known.”

“Part of me thinks staying in Florida would be ideal,” I admit. “And the other part thinks going out of state would reduce the distractions so I can really focus.”

“I get it,” he says, nodding. “As your coach, I’m team No Distractions and going where you can focus.”

“But?” I ask, sensing the hesitation in his tone.

“But as a former player, and someone who’s been… evolving as of late, remember to have a life outside of football too. Don’t forget about the people who are there for you when the stadium lights go out.”

I huff a laugh. “You sound like my mom.”

“She’s a smart woman. Listen,” he says, and our eyes meet. “You are a hell of a player. You’re going to go far. But don’t let it strip away who you are. I know you worry for your mom,” he says, fully aware of our situation. Some coaches may get a bad rep, and sure he’s a hard-ass, but he always makes sure his players can talk to him when they need to. “But getting the opportunity to go pro,” he says, pulling me back to the present, “will be the best thing to ever happen to your family.”

And I know it will be. Mom and I dealt with a lot of shit in the aftermath of everything that happened with my father. But financial hardship was the worst. She had to take up two jobs to keep us from losing the house until Tony became a permanent part of our lives. I’ll never be able to thank him for everything he’s done for us. For her.

“I appreciate your honesty,” I tell Coach Porter. Because I am grateful for it—there aren’t many people I can talk to about this without seeing the look in their eyes that tells me they’re either pitying me or wondering if I’ll end up like him .

That’s why I can’t ever lose my cool. Why I always need to be in control.

“Of course,” he says. “And even after you graduate, you have my number. You need something, you call me, okay?”

His offer comforts me. It’s hard letting people in, and it’s nice knowing he still has my back if I need him. “You got it.”

“So, second order of business.” He clasps his hands together on the desk. “Who do you suggest for captain next year? I’ve already talked to Desmond regarding who he wants to turn his co-captain reins over too, but I’d like to hear your thoughts too.”

“Elijah should be captain.” The words fly effortlessly off my tongue. “He has the full respect of the guys, is dedicated, and no one else wants this more than him.”

Coach Porter nods. “Glad to hear you say that. He’s my top pick too.”

Pride fills me. Elijah’s worked damn hard, and it’s nice knowing Coach sees that too. “Good.”

“And second pick for co-captain?”

That answer takes a little longer because I’ve been struggling with this decision, but ultimately only one person makes sense. “Theo.”

“Really?” His brows pull together. “Why’s that?”

“He’s loyal, hard-working, and again, all the guys respect him.”

“Are you concerned about his lifestyle?”

“Theo likes to have a good time off the field.” A damn good time. “But he’s focused during games. It’s never been a problem before, and I don’t see it being a problem going forward.”

“Hmm. You make a strong case. I’ll think about it and make the announcement in a few weeks.”

“Great.”

We stand, and he rounds the desk, extending his hand to me. “It was an honor to coach you. I look forward to seeing the things you’ll accomplish in the NFL.”

I return the gesture. “Thank you, Coach.”

“Hey, you got a—” The feminine voice stops short, and I turn to find a familiar brunette popping her head in the door. “Oh, hey,” Andi, a cheerleader and Charlotte’s roommate, says. “I was?—”

“I’ve got the paperwork Coach Landry needed,” Coach Porter tells her, returning behind his desk. “And Caruso?”

“Yeah, Coach?” I say, holding the door frame, ready to make my exit.

“If you stay in Florida, Camp Dickson is looking for some mentors this summer, and you’d be a perfect fit. I know you’ll be busy, but maybe you could squeeze a few weeks in.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I say with a smile, leaving the room for the last time as team captain.

1 ? IT: Buongiorno , sole mio - EN: Good morning, my sun

2 ? IT: Buongiorno , mamma - EN: Good morning, Mamma