Page 12 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Eleven

EVA

“ A re you sure you’re okay?” I ask, glancing over at Luke as we reach the top of the second flight of stairs.

I better love this doctor after climbing this many stairs, while pregnant, to see her.

And that elevator better be in working order by the next time I’m here, because my poor back is barely handling this, and if my current level of stamina is any indication, I’m tiring more easily every single day.

I need to start training again. A week off, and I’m already feeling weak.

“I’m fine,” Luke says with a shrug. And while he sounds fine, he’s been unusually quiet since he got back from his meeting with AJ.

He didn’t say it, but I know he was nervous about the outcome of that meeting. I can always tell when he’s worried—his eyebrows flatten into nearly straight lines, and he gets a far-off look in his eyes. I saw both of those expressions a few times yesterday.

But according to him, everything went well.

AJ wants him to do some skills work with his goalie coach throughout the summer, which he was planning to do anyway, and it doesn’t sound like there was any other fallout from Game 7.

It all sounded positive, but something’s still.

..off. I wish he’d open up and tell me what it is.

Even if there’s nothing I can do to fix it, I can listen and be supportive.

“Just glad you let me come with you for this,” he says, his voice light but sounding a little strained.

“You can come in only if we do an ultrasound,” I remind him.

The thought of Luke sitting next to me while I’m draped in a gown with my feet up in stirrups.

..I shudder to think about how absolutely unsexy that would be.

Not that Luke sees me like that, but I also don’t need him to see me getting a pelvic exam.

“I hope we get to see that little squash,” he says, glancing down at my stomach.

The laugh erupts from the back of my throat right as Luke reaches for the door to the doctor’s office. “Do you mean little squish?” I’ve heard people call babies squish before, but never squash .

“No. Right now the baby is as big as a squash.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s this app...” He stops speaking when it registers that I’ve stopped walking and am staring at him with my lips parted but unable to form words.

“You . . .?”

Putting his hand on my lower back, his thumb pressing across my tightened muscles there, he guides me toward the reception desk and whispers, “A couple days ago, you said you were twenty-four weeks along, so I downloaded an app to see what that meant for the baby’s development.

It’s pretty cool. It showed me everything that’s happened so far.

Like, did you know he or she is eleven inches long and over a pound at this point?

And the app will show me updates every week. ”

I don’t know why my eyes are watering like this . . . again.

Maybe it’s because there’s one, and only one, perfect man in this world, and he’s standing right next to me—but he’s only ever wanted to be my best friend.

Missing out on the last Olympics because Christopher was injured, our coach’s tragic death, internet shippers getting into my psyche and convincing me I felt things I didn’t feel, getting pregnant and not even knowing the name of the baby’s father—I’ve had my share of recent disappointments.

But nothing is as heartbreaking as this single fact: Luke Hartmann will never be anything more than my best friend.

Even after living with that knowledge since I first fell for him in high school...time has not dulled the ache. Because he’s only gotten better—in every single way—with age.

Still, I’d rather have him as a best friend than not have him in my life at all. So, I’ll just have to keep setting up boundaries to prevent myself from getting my hopes up and imagining us as more than friends.

Taking care of people he loves is just what Luke does. And I know he loves me, just not in the way I wish he did.

“Can I help you?” the woman at the reception desk asks as she slides the glass panel open.

Swallowing the lump in my throat and blinking away my watery eyes, I turn toward her. “Hi. I’m Evangeline Wilcott. I have an appointment with Dr. Lowery.”

“Of course. Can I get a copy of your insurance card?”

I fish it out of my wallet, remembering that I need to look into what happens if I stop skating.

Currently, my insurance is provided by the national skating organization, but if Christopher and I have to take a break for something other than a skating-related injury, I don’t know what happens to my insurance.

“Hey.” Luke’s voice is quiet as he steps in next to me, cradling me against his side as he places his hand on my lower back and rubs circles along my spine with his thumb. “You good?”

I release my lower lip, which I’d been holding tightly between my teeth. “Yep.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” I don’t think I can say more than that.

I don’t know why this visit feels more intense than the first, and only, visit I had with my obstetrician in LA just over a month ago.

Maybe because I was still holding out hope that I wasn’t pregnant when I showed up for that appointment?

And now that I know for certain, it feels more real?

I was able to compartmentalize this entire situation while we were still training and competing.

It was something I didn’t have to deal with until “later.”

My ability to focus only on what’s in front of me, without feeling anxious about things that might happen down the road, has always served me well as a competitive figure skater.

But now, “later” has arrived. This pregnancy isn’t something I can ignore.

Now that I’m not training, my body is changing rapidly, and my breasts feel like they’re heavier every day.

Things that used to be easy, like walking up two flights of stairs, are getting more challenging.

With nothing else to steal my attention or focus, this situation is now real and it’s here .

Luke’s fingers curl around my side as he hugs me to him and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

And that’s when the hot tears of disappointment start falling.

As Luke stands beside me, comforting and supporting me, I have to wonder if there’s anything worse than having exactly what you’ve always wanted dangling right in front of your face, but lacking the ability to make it yours?

I wipe the tears away with the heel of my hand, right as the woman turns back toward me with my insurance card in hand. She takes one look at me and says quietly, “Let’s get you into a room.”

“Thanks,” I mumble as I step toward the door that will lead back to the patient rooms.

When she opens the door from the other side, she tells Luke, “I need you to wait out here.”

I glance up at him and give him a watery smile, but he just looks at me with worried eyes before he nods and turns back toward the waiting room.

“I’m Val, Dr. Lowery’s nurse,” the woman from the reception desk says. “I’m going to get you into a room. We’ll go over a few questions, and then I’ll get your height and weight.”

“Okay,” I say, following her down the hallway.

As soon as the door shuts behind me in the small room, Val sits on the rolling stool across from the exam table she gestures to. I take a seat, then she looks at me with concern in her eyes and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just emotional.”

“Are you safe?” she asks.

My eyebrows dip together, and I’m sure there’s confusion written across my face.

“Sometimes when women come in and they’re upset,” Val says, “and they’ve got a big guy towering over them protectively...it can be a sign that there’s something not quite right about the relationship.”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing funny about that. But that guy”—I tilt my head in the direction of the waiting room—“is my best friend, and the biggest teddy bear you’ll ever meet. He’s just here to support me.”

“Okay.” Val nods, not even trying to hide her look of relief. “I’m glad to hear that. So he’s not the father of your baby?”

I wish.

“No.”

“So, why are you crying?”

How can I tell her I’m crying because Luke is so perfect, but will never be mine? I can’t. So instead, I say, “The reality of this pregnancy is just setting in, I guess. Everything I say here is confidential, right?”

“As long as you’re not a danger to yourself or others, yes.”

I nod. “I’m a competitive figure skater.

My season just ended, and I’m feeling very overwhelmed as I think about what this pregnancy means for me personally, and for my career.

Given the timeline of when I’ll give birth, there will only be one qualifier my partner and I can compete in before the Olympics.

And we won’t have long to train to get ready for it after the baby is born. ”

“You’ll need to talk to Dr. Lowery about when you’ll be cleared to start training again,” Val says. “There’s a period of time, postpartum, where you’re supposed to take it easy because your body will need time to heal. But first things first. What was the first day of your last period?”

I explain to her why I don’t know a precise date, but I give her the date of conception and explain the due date that my doctor back in Los Angeles gave me.

“Okay,” she says as she eyes my abdomen. “We’ll do an ultrasound to check the baby’s growth and confirm the due date.”

“I know I don’t look like I’m that far along,” I say.

“That sometimes happens when people are training like you must be. But we’ll just double-check that everything is progressing normally?—”

“Because you’re concerned that it isn’t?”

She shakes her head. “No, but because you’re a new patient, we want to establish a baseline of where you are right now, so we check your progress at future visits against that baseline. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Clearly, I’m not doing a good job of hiding my anxiety.

It’s not like I wanted this pregnancy in these circumstances.

But as soon as I found out I was pregnant—as soon as I realized I was going to be a mom—I knew it was meant to be.

I’m not sure how or why, but I just knew that loving this baby was what I was put on Earth to do.

After running through some initial questions and getting my height and weight, Val has me change into a fabric gown and tells me Dr. Lowery will be in shortly .

When she walks into the room, I know I’m going to like her.

She’s wearing sleek grey slacks and killer high heels, with a form-fitting tank top under her white lab coat.

Her honey-colored hair is back in a sleek ponytail and her face is free of makeup except for some mascara and bright pink lipstick.

She’s confident and friendly, and from the minute she opens her mouth, she exudes competence and warmth.

After my exam, she answers my questions about my pregnancy and when I might need to stop on-ice training, and then says, “You can put your clothes back on, and we’ll move you to the room next door so I can do a quick ultrasound and we can see your baby.”

“My friend is in the waiting room. Can he come in for the ultrasound, too?”

“Sure. What’s his name? I’ll have Val call him in.”

“Luke,” I say.

“Ooohhh.” She nods. “That’s right. Olivia told me about you guys.”

“Olivia?”

“Olivia D’Angelis. She’s the team doctor for the Rebels.

I fit you in as a favor to her,” she says, and some things start clicking together: the empty waiting room, a nurse at the reception desk, the fact that we breezed right into this appointment.

She’s fitting us in on her lunch break. “You can meet me right in here,” she says, stepping backward into the hallway and pointing to another door, “as soon as you’re dressed. ”

I don’t expect to find Luke already sitting in the ultrasound room, chatting away amiably with Dr. Lowery, when I get there.

But of course he’s already made her his newest friend.

He’s always so at ease with everyone, so confident in who he is, I guess, that he doesn’t need to worry about impressing people.

And they’re always drawn to him anyway, just like I am.

When he sees me standing in the doorway, he smiles and pats the exam chair, saying, “Hop up, Evie. Let’s see this baby.”