Page 8 of Let It Be Me

I gasp and snap my head up. “Oh shit. I can’t believe I forgot. What did he say?”

My stomach sinks when he doesn’t lift his eyes off the cutting board. “I need surgery.”

“No!” I drop his phone to the counter and go to him. “Oh, Lorenzo, no. I’m so sorry.” I wrap my arms around his neck from behind and hug him.

He returns the gesture with a few pats, tolerating me. “It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t. You’ve worked months to avoid this.”

He looks like he’s about to argue; then his shoulders slump. “Yeah. I have.”

My heart aches for him. Since he got his Shafer acceptance letter, Lorenzo’s been militant about stretches, warm-ups, cooldowns, and all the other minutiae of staying healthy to avoid just this outcome. And here it is, right before his senior season. “What a bunch of bullshit.”

He nods. “Yeah. Fucking sucks.”

“And you put on your happy face for me and my fish job.” I feel heavy with guilt. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Iamhappy. Your good news is my good news.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Not yet.” He drops his gaze to the counter so all I can see of his eyes are his thick, dark lashes. “You want to know the sick thing?”

“Obviously.”

“When Dr. Halpert said I needed surgery, you know what my first thought was?Anthony would love this news.”

I sigh. “Lorenzo.”

“Like I said, it’s sick.”

“Your cousin doesn’t sit around wishing for your downfall.”

“Yeah, but you could see it, couldn’t you? Just for a second, him being glad my career is fucked, just like his.”

“I guess,” I admit grudgingly. His cousin, Anthony, has always held Lorenzo responsible for the accident that changed their lives nearly four years ago. But letting Lorenzo linger in that headspace isn’t healthy. “So what else do we need to know?”

“Surgery next week. I’ll need my mom here for a few days, and then I should be pretty self-sufficient.”

“Next week? Wow, you’re on the fast track. What did your doctor say to expect from there?”

“He said there’s no reason to think this will affect my future. And that if things go according to plan, I’ll see some playing time this year.”

I feel a surge of hope, but when Lorenzo wants a cheerleader, he asks for one. “And what do you think?”

He pauses, lips pressed tight together. “I want to be positive. I don’t want to be disappointed, though.”

“Want to share? I’ll be positive, and you assume the worst?”

I get a small smile out of him. “Maybe just for tonight, let’s both try for positive. Think we can pull it off?”

“Grouchy old man thinking positive? Sounds weird, but okay.” I muss his dark, shiny hair. “Give it a shot. Try to impress me.”

He gets up and digs into the grocery bags. “All right, let’s get this feast going.”

“Please tell me you bought us a couple cannoli.”

“Check the fridge.”

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