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Chapter seven

Luca

Sunday, July 5, 2026

I ’ve seriously underestimated the time it takes me to get both myself and my daughter ready to go absolutely anywhere, so I hope my mother will take that into account just this once. Normally, being late to Sunday dinner would result in my ass being reamed out… by the entire family.

That’s never stopped me before, but I have a whole lot of extra reason not to disappoint them now.

I park in front of my parents’ newly finished one-story home. It’s so different from the three-story brownstone I grew up in, but with Mom’s mobility limitations from her multiple sclerosis, it only made sense for them to eventually move. My oldest brother, Alessandro, had worked for years to make this dream a reality and put a lot of time into figuring out what could be done to the design to make it easy for her to maneuver and live a full life.

The home still has several of the same touches as the old one had, ensuring it met Mom’s style and didn’t make her feel out of place.

Once again, making him the better son. Not that I try very hard.

***

I unbuckle Gia from the car seat, thankful that she fell asleep quickly. I guess when you’ve been crying all night, it really tuckers you out.

Hell, I would know .

I’m fucking exhausted, and I had to watch some video online about reducing under eye swelling. Cold tea bags really did the trick.

Being as gentle as possible, I pull her to my chest and throw the massive diaper bag over my shoulder. She wiggles in my arms at the movement, and panic seizes my chest. I stand as still as a statue, holding my breath until she’s settled.

This parenting business is not for the weak.

The door of my SUV stares back at me, taunting me as I debate how to close it without waking her. Shaking my head, I walk up the driveway. Someone else can go out there and close it for me.

The moment my foot makes it onto the porch ramp, the door creaks open. Charlie’s head pokes out. “Need a hand?” she whisper-screams at me.

I nod, jutting my chin in the direction of my car door. She opens the door wider, slipping out and sprinting down the driveway to gently close it. When she returns, her dark curls create a haphazard halo around her face, and she’s breathing heavily as she holds the door open for me to head inside.

Instead of seeing my family sitting around the dinner table that we had custom-made for the house to fit an excessive number of us, I see pastel yellow and green balloons all around the living room. My family, teammates, and their spouses all whisper, “Happy baby shower!” in unison.

My cheeks heat, but the smile that stretches my mouth is genuine, warmth seeping into my chest. “Give me a minute to set her down,” I tell them all as I make my way down the hall. Ale gets up, following behind me.

“I set up a bassinet in this room before you got here,” he tells me, his voice low but without the obnoxious whispering that everyone else seems to be doing.

I’m so damn grateful for my family. They’ve never let me fall on my ass, even when they probably should’ve.

Hell, maybe if they had, I’d have learned my lesson, but that’s not on them. That’s entirely my fault.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate you,” I tell him earnestly, entering the dark room with rain sounds already playing in the background.

Gratitude fills my chest as I lower my daughter into the bassinet, a sleep sack already laid out for her. I set her down on it, quietly fixing the snaps together and holding down each of her arms to swaddle her. She wriggles momentarily before her body goes still, and I can back slowly out of the room.

When I make it back into the living room, my family and friends are all seated with decorations, gifts, and food all over the place.

There’s a massive wicker chair covered in pink hockey balloons with faux flowers and streamers.

My mom points to the chair in the middle of the room. “That’s your seat,” she says with a bright laugh.

I take my rightful place on my makeshift throne and let the festivities begin.

My mom and sisters managed to set up a ton of baby shower games, including the one where you guess what’s in the diapers, don’t say the word “baby,” and chug beer from baby bottles. Not that you can really call it chugging when it comes out one drop at a time.

By the end of the night, I’m even more exhausted, but having the support of all of the most important people in my life has managed to quiet the little voice in my head that’s been yelling, “You can’t fucking do this! You’re a bad father, Luca!” While that voice is most definitely still present, at least the screaming has dulled to a steady hum.

I have the most incredible support system, and regardless of how unprepared and undeserving I feel, at least I have them to help me through it.