“I want to check it out, but I’ll have way more fun with her.”

Takuro’s glance was lingering this time, the vehicle having stopped at a red light. “You’re serious about her.”

“Yeah. Very.”

“Well, good luck.” A fatalistic look to him as he turned his attention back to the road. “I mean that. I’ve just seen it all before, you know? It’s hard to keep love going so far apart.”

Danny set his jaw. “This time it’s going to work.” Because if there was one thing his mother had always said about her boys, it was that they were all stubborn as boulders. They would not move when they didn’t want to move.

And Danny sure as hell didn’t want to move away from Catie.

He was wide-awake when they finally reached his accommodation. It proved to be a quarter of an old-fashioned-looking house—Takuro told him it was basically an apartment.

“You have your own suite, complete with a kitchenette. But there’s a bigger kitchen downstairs that everyone’s welcome to use. Club pays for a cleaning service once a week, so no hassles there.” Takuro put the vehicle in park. “Other residents are all part of the team too. Club’s found that players who come in from outside the city or outside the country do better if they have company. But if you really want your own place, it can be arranged.”

“No, this’ll work.” Homesickness would bite sooner or later; at least this way, he wouldn’t have to mope about alone. “Great house.”

To his eyes, it looked intrinsically Japanese with its curved black roof and fine white-and-black paneling, all of it accented by a perfectly manicured garden complete with a tiny maple and other topiary plants.

Taking out his phone, he snapped a photo and sent it to Catie without thinking: Home, sweet home.

He didn’t get a chance to look to see if she’d replied until he was in his apartment. That took about fifteen minutes since the other three residents all turned out to welcome him to the team and to the house. Two were Japanese—Daichi from the tropical south and Haru from the frozen north.

They tried out their rough English on him while he responded with his even rougher Japanese—he’d thrown himself into studying the language as soon as this trip was a go. Both grinned in a friendly way at his terrible pronunciation and ridiculous grammar while also giving him the thumbs-up for trying.

Then there was James, an Australian player against whom Danny had played more than once.

“I suppose we’d better bury the hatchet,” Danny said with a grin as they shook hands.

James pretended to glare. “After I take you down once for that tackle in the game last year.”

Takuro translated the rapid-fire exchange for Daichi and Haru, everyone laughed, and it felt good. Comfortable.