Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

Marco and I spend the rest of the afternoon in bed, although not in the way we intended. He can’t seem to stop getting emotional—and when he isn’t struggling to draw his next breath, he’s apologizing.

“I am so sorry, cara mia,” he hiccups against my shoulder. “I should be taking this like a man, not like this.”

I scoff at his words and tighten my arms around him. “That’s bullshit. It’s okay to be sad, Marco. It’s okay to show your emotion over something so important. It’s okay to cry. This sucks. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair. Let it out as much as you need to, and when you’re done, we’ll figure out what to do next.”

It’s almost six o’clock when Marco’s phone starts buzzing again. Mine goes off at the same time. At first, I think we’re both getting calls—maybe by some miracle word has already gotten out, and Julie or someone from the Venom front office has already come up with a solution. It turns out to be a frantic series of texts from a group chat that’s been created.

Anders: Hey, everyone!

Anders: Starting the chat like we discussed.

Anders: Tomorrow night, five pm, Noah’s place?

Anders: Stella and I will bring the beer, we’ll order takeout, and we’ll get started on the plan.

Unknown Number: What the hell?

Unknown Number: Duh, Cash, the Save Marco plan. What else?

Unknown Number: Okay, got it.

Stella: I’ve already posted some info on my website.

Stella: Since Marco’s in the coffee table book that I put out last year, I figure it might do something.

Stella: Not sure what, but we’ll see.

Unknown Number: Sounds good. Yo, Marco, are you seeing this?

Anders: I already called him twice. No answer. I figured I’d rope Madison in on the text thread just in case.

I glance over at Marco, who is staring down at his phone with a hesitant smile on his face.

“The Save Marco plan,” he says aloud. His voice quavers and threatens to crack. “Oh, I love them. What man has ever had such good friends even when he has not earned them?” He leans against me and sighs. “They did not kick me when I was down. I will miss them so much.”

“You won’t have to miss them if we can figure out how to keep you here,” I point out. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

Marco looks from his phone, to my phone, to me. “If there is a way for me to stay, then I want that. Very much. And my team, they are like my family, so si. I want to go to this meeting and save myself.”

I immediately start typing, We’ll be there.

* * *

I already know Stella and Anders through my brother. She’s the professional photographer who arranged the photoshoot where Marco and I first crossed paths, so I’m already in her debt forever, obviously. I’ve never met Noah’s wife, Molly, although I’m inclined to like her right off the bat. She’s super nice and welcoming from the second she spots us walking through the back gate into her yard.

“Oh, hi!” She hurries over, practically glowing from within, and throws her arms around Marco. She’s like a tiny, blonde bundle of happiness. “This is such a shock. How are you holding up?”

“Not so good,” Marco admits, hugging her back with one arm. “But I am glad to be here.”

Molly pulls back and clasps her hands in front of her. “Well, don’t worry, we’ve already been brainstorming. You’re not in this alone. And as for you…” Molly pivots toward me. “You must be Madison. Are you a hugger?”

I hold out my arms. “Definitely.”

Molly gives amazing hugs. I’ve been trying to stay upbeat for Marco’s sake, but as she squeezes me close, a little bit of the tension eases from my shoulder blades. It’s a relief to know that I won’t be the only one fighting on his behalf. It’s not unnoticed by me that everyone seems to care about Marco. They’re not judging him at all—they simply seem to want what’s best for him.

“Come on, you two. I hope you like Chinese food because Latham just put in a huge order, so there should be something for everyone, including some vegetarian options…” She keeps talking as she leads us toward the group.

Marco squeezes my hand, and I can tell from his expression that he already feels a little better, too. I remind myself that he spent a lot of his life without a family or a support network. It must be a real change of pace to have people he can count on.

A tall, leggy raven-haired bombshell of a woman is talking to Latham and Cash. Even before I can make out exactly what she’s saying, I recognize the cadence of her voice. She’s Latham’s wife, the host of the podcast Scarlett Says. Silas is obsessed with her hit show, so I’ve heard plenty of episodes, but I didn’t realize that she had the figure of a pinup girl from the ‘50s. I know plenty of models who would kill to have her curves.

“…getting the word out,” she says as we approach. “There are already a substantial number of people on social media calling for him to be reinstated, and the #SaveMarco hashtag is already trending.”

“It is?” Marco balks.

Scarlett turns to him. “Oh, I didn’t see you arrive!” She pulls him into a quick hug, then extends her hand to me and introduces herself. I like that she doesn’t just assume that I’ll know who she is.

I allow myself a moment to imagine what it would be like to be friends with these three women. They’re so different from each other, and from the people I usually spend time with. I adore Phoebe, but most of my friends are still single, and I feel like an outsider among my brothers’ friends’ wives. There are too many degrees of separation, and our lives are in totally different stages. But I feel like I could maybe fit here in Marco’s circle, if only we could find a way to keep him from leaving.

Cash and Latham awkwardly mumble a greeting to Marco, and even Cash—who usually seems slightly annoyed by everything and everyone—gives him one of those one-armed bro hugs that guys do as his eyes beam with concern.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks in a gruff voice.

“Buddy?” Marco repeats, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “You have never called me this before. Is this your way of saying that we are being friends at last?”

Cash rolls his eyes. “Settle down, Rossi. It’s one word. Don’t get out over your skis.”

“Si, being over the skis sends a man somersaulting down the mountain.” Marco nods, but he still looks hopeful, and I could hug Cash for that if I wasn’t just the tiniest bit worried about him launching himself in the pool to escape too much human contact.

Stella strolls over. She’s got a dark tan for this time of year. If she were anyone else, I’d assume it came from a booth, but knowing Stella she probably just got back from some equatorial photoshoot. “Alright, people, let’s address the elephant in the room.”

Marco looks around, presumably to see if there are any large, trunked mammals in our immediate vicinity. “Please tell me that you did not hire a circus for my buon viaggio…”

“No, we got you something better.” Noah, seated at the glass-topped outdoor table, picks up his notebook. “A plan. Or at least the start of one.”

“Yes?” Marco heads over to the table and pulls out a chair for me. “Let us hear this plan, amici miei.”

“Okay, so.” Noah taps his pen against the tabletop. “The fans love you.”

Anders drops down into his own chair as the group converges on the table. “Thanks to Madison, the whole internet loves him. I talked to Julie on the down-low, and she says the female fans are losing their damn minds. #dantethedickhead is starting to trend. I may or may not have encouraged it.”

“Have you seen the social media accounts?” Scarlett’s eyebrows climb toward her bangs. “People are livid. Marco was already a fan favorite even before this three-date thing. And let’s not forget, you’ve only posted photos from one official date.” She nods to us, the consummate professional. “I definitely recommend following through on the other two and posting on your own accounts. Your best chance at changing Dante Giovanetti’s mind is getting your fans to rally to the cause. Put pressure on him. If there’s anything that man hates, it’s negative press where his name is mentioned.”

“You think that’s a possibility?” I ask. I’ve only met Dante a couple of times, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would cave to pressure like that.

Anders glowers at his mostly-empty bottle of beer. “You never know. Dante will do anything it takes to boost his image with the public. Adoration seems to be his only kryptonite.”

Marco shakes his head sadly. “I am grateful for this thinking, amici miei, but I do not think it will happen in this way. Dante is saying that I embarrassed him on the television. I think for him to change his mind because people love me, it would make him look weak. In his estimation, at least. He would see a contest, and he would not like to lose. Also, when the condom meets the street, I am not good enough to play in the NHL.”

Anders leans away from the corner of the table to the big cooler and fishes out a cold beer. He pops the cap off and slides it over to Marco. “Rubber meets the road. Here, have a drink.”

Marco shakes his head. “I am not thirsty now.”

Cash arches an eyebrow. “Drink it anyway.” Marco caves and takes a swig, while Cash leans back to meet my eyes over Marco’s shoulders. “You want something?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Is there anything that’s not beer?”

Cash examines the cooler. “Cider or seltzer?”

“Cider, please.”

Cash passes me a can, then thumps Marco on the back. “You’re still here,” he intones. “All’s not lost. Listen to Scarlett.”

Our resident podcast celebrity takes this as her cue to start talking again. “Even if Dante is stubborn, having the public on your side increases your chance of being picked up by another team, and getting outside eyes on your situation. Latham tells me that you’ve also fielded offers from representatives of other companies. Maybe you could leverage this movement to help you shift careers.”

“Ooh!” Molly’s hand shoots up as if we’re in elementary school. “Or I could hire you at the bookstore until something better comes along. Is that on the list, Noah?”

“It is now.” Noah’s pen is already flying across the page.

I already feel lighter, but alas, Marco shakes his head. “This is very kind, Molly, but it is not good enough for my visa.”

Molly frowns. “Why not? You have a work visa, right?”

“It is not so simple. For me, it is an O-1 visa. For talents. I do not remember them all, but mine is athletics. Dante made this arrangement. Now, Dante has ended it.” Marco takes another swig of his beer. “Dante is a very powerful man.”

“A talent visa.” Stella drums her fingers on the table. “I’ve heard of those, and he’s right. Working at a bookstore won’t be enough to keep that status. Nor will one-off offers from advertisers looking for you to endorse their products.”

“You need to prove that you have talent to stay?” Latham whistles. “Sorry, dude, I think you’re in trouble.”

Scarlett whips around to glare at him. “What was that?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Latham holds up both hands in a gesture of peaceful protest. “Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

Even Cash glowers at him more than usual. “Not the time.”

“Heard and understood.” Latham pulls his shoulders up to his ears and sinks down in his seat. “My bad.”

Stella’s doing something on her phone. Into the awkward silence that follows, she reads out, “The O-1 nonimmigrant visa is for the individual who possesses extraordinary ability in the sciences, arts, education, business, or athletics… uh, and there’s a whole thing about movies and stuff, but it seems like you maybe have to have an internationally recognized career in film already, and that needs a different category anyway.”

Marco wilts. “Latham’s joke is right. Of all those things, I am only good at sports. Or in this case, not so good.”

Noah scribbles out a line on his pad. “Okay, so the bookstore’s off the table. I’m not crossing out ads, because that might still lead to something. Which leaves us with… uh, not a lot.” He looks up from the notepad. “Our best bet is either getting Dante to change his mind, or getting another team to pick him up. Maybe a team that is not projected to make the playoffs. Just to buy us some time.”

Marco hangs his head. “And even then, I could still not be in Vegas.”

“Hey, man, come on.” Anders leans both elbows on the table. “One step at a time.”

I take Marco’s hand. “It would be a lot easier to visit Las Vegas from somewhere else in the States than it would be to come over from Italy without a visa. I could find work wherever you end up. And do you have to be a professional player to qualify for the visa? Couldn’t you be something else? Like a coach, maybe?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Stella is still reading through the website she’s on. “It seems like that would count, and you’ve got… uh, sixty days to land a job that can renew the visa.”

“Surely you can find something else in sixty days.” Molly beams. “Especially with all of us helping!”

Marco doesn’t seem totally convinced, but he perks up a little. “How would I even know where to look for these things?”

“Maybe you don’t have to.” I nod to Scarlett. “Would you be willing to have Marco on the podcast? You could do a Q&A type thing or something to help spread the word.”

“Of course!” Scarlett exclaims. “We can schedule that right away to make sure we have as much time as possible.”

“There you go.” I nudge Marco with my elbow. “And we can do some more TikTok lives. Stay active on socials, like Scarlett suggested. I bet we’ll have a solution in no time. Don’t lose hope.”

A horn honks out front, and Latham jumps to his feet. “That’s the food. Come on, Marco, help me grab it.” He jogs toward the side gate, and Marco gets up to follow him.

The moment they round the corner of the house, everyone turns to me and leans in.

“How’s he holding up?” Anders hisses.

I shake my head and slurp my cider. “Not great. I was there when he got the call.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Cash admits.

“I have a bad feeling that he’s right about Dante,” Noah says in a low voice. “The man’s stubborn, and the harder we push back, the harder he’ll dig in his heels. Besides, you saw Marco’s last few games. He was kind of a trainwreck.”

Anders grimaces. “Yeah, unfortunately. He just never came along like we all thought he would. But not for lack of trying.”

Stella swats his arm. “Be nice.”

“It’s not about being nice.” Anders worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “Be honest. If you guys were scouts, and you saw his performance this season, would you be rushing to pick him up? And that pisses me off because no one in this damn league works harder than Marco. This is all Dante’s fault. It’s just one boneheaded move after another with that guy. I wish he would just sell the team to someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.”

Nobody answers.

Stella points at me. “So we lean into Madison’s idea. Try to find him work in a related field. The fans love him. There must be something we can do.”

“I hope so,” Cash murmurs. “He’s good people.”

Latham and Marco return, and everyone at the table pastes a smile back on their faces. None of us want Marco to see how worried we are. Anders’s words stay with me as we divvy up the meal and launch into stories and anecdotes about happier times.

For the first time, I let myself envision how I would feel if Marco really had to leave. Just imagining it fills my heart with sadness. What if he no longer belongs to me, and I no longer belong to him? The thought of it is almost enough to make me burst into tears right then and there.