Page 14 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Thirteen

EVA

“ I t can’t possibly be this simple,” I say to Luke as he sets the bowl with his large salad on the coffee table.

I glance over, noting how my half-eaten burger and empty fry container is a stark contrast to his salad.

But I’m eating for two, and the doctor said I needed more protein and iron, so the burger felt like a good choice.

“Why not?” he asks, grabbing his root beer off the table. “We can easily sneak away and get married when we’re in Vegas next weekend for the NHL awards ceremony.”

“Our parents will be so disappointed if they’re not present when we get married.” I know our dads, especially, will be devastated. Luke’s like a son to my dad, and his parents are basically family to me. “What do we gain by not telling them our plan and letting them participate in it?”

“I think eloping is the most feasible option. If we let our parents know ahead of time, you know that our moms are going to want to plan a wedding. They’ll make it a whole thing , and I think it’s just easier to sell our story if we get married first. If the goal is to get you on my health insurance as quickly as possible, then waiting while they throw together a wedding doesn’t help that.

” He shrugs, talking like the idea of us getting married is the most natural thing in the world.

Like it’s not everything I’ve ever wanted. ..but not the way I wanted it.

Being Luke Hartmann’s wife might be the ending I’ve dreamed of for our friendship, but being his fake wife might just become the hardest thing I’ll ever have to endure.

Luke is the standard I’ve always held other men up to.

..and no one ever measures up. If we’re married, he’ll be his normal, wonderful happy-go-lucky self, content with our friendship, while I’ll be wishing for way more.

And given how my pregnancy hormones have me raring to go, day and night, I’m worried that I’ll be eyeing him like I can’t wait to devour him, and that will make it weird and uncomfortable for him.

“Yeah,” I say. “Plus, a real wedding would be awkward as hell, given that this is all fake.”

As hard as it may be to marry Luke and pretend I don’t have feelings for him, I think that walking down the aisle to him in front of our friends and family, knowing it doesn’t mean anything, could be the thing to actually break me.

He swallows and his whole neck convulses with the movement.

“I think all successful marriages are rooted in friendship and ultimately become even deeper friendships,” he says, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the dining area, as he reaches over to set his root beer back on the coffee table.

“Honestly, if I had to pick one person I was going to spend the rest of my life with”—he looks back at me, but his expression is unreadable—“it would be you, Evie.”

Now I’m the one swallowing down the lump rising in my throat. If he had to pick...not if he got to pick one person, but if he was forced to. That one word tells me everything I need to know.

“Am I forcing you into this?” I ask, and the words come out strangled with worry.

But as he opens his mouth to respond, I rush on.

“I mean, I know you were the one who suggested it. But I don’t want you to hitch yourself to me just because you feel bad for me and want to help.

I appreciate that you’re offering, but I.

..I worry that you’re going to resent this choice down the road, that you’re going to resent me and the baby?—”

My rambling is interrupted as he reaches out, wrapping one arm around my back, pulling me across the couch cushion, and depositing me in his lap.

He engulfs me in his arms and holds my side against his chest. Dipping his head so his lips brush across the top of my head, he whispers, “Shut up, Evie.” His chest shakes against me, but I can’t tell if it’s his racing heart or silent laughter.

“I could never resent you, or a child that is half you.”

“Maybe so,” I mumble against his T-shirt, wondering if I’m crazy to believe him. “But you may resent the situation. What if you meet someone else?”

“I won’t,” he says, without any hesitation.

I pull back, looking up at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ll be married. And I’m not going to go looking for anything outside of our relationship.”

“What if...” I glance back down, wanting to ask about how we’ll each fulfill whatever sexual needs we have.

I’m sure it would be way too weird and awkward if we crossed that line with each other.

No matter how many times I’ve pictured him while getting myself off, I know that’s a one-way street.

How mortifying would it be if I brought it up and he just looked at me and said, “you flatter yourself”?

He tilts my chin up and his gaze roams across my face, assessing. “What if what ?”

“Nothing.” It’s way too embarrassing. I have an excellent sex toy collection; I just have to get it here from LA so I can satisfy myself when my hormones kick in.

“I’m sure there will be lots of things we’ll have to figure out as we go.

Like, for example, when are we going to get my stuff from LA and move it here? ”

“We can head to LA and pack you up after Vegas. Didn’t you say you had a commercial to film for an endorsement? Maybe we can time those together. What about your training?”

“I’ll have to work that out with Christopher,” I say, and I don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. I reach up and smooth my palm across it. “Hey, he’s my partner and one of my best friends. You’re going to have to get over whatever it is that you hate so much about him.”

He tries to look away, but I wrap my thumb under his chin and steer him back so he’s looking at me. Still, he says nothing.

“What is it you don’t like about him, anyway?

” If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think Luke was jealous—but that makes no sense.

Well, maybe it does, in the same way I’d be jealous if Luke had another best friend who was a girl.

In fact, I’d be out of my mind with jealousy, even if I didn’t have feelings for him.

I like knowing that, out of the dozens of friends he has, I’m his best friend.

There’s a possessive side of me that never wants to share him, or that title, with anyone else.

He sighs, and his breath caresses my forehead. “I just don’t feel like he has your best interests at heart.”

“Why should he?” I ask. “I mean, obviously we care about each other, like friends do. But shouldn’t each of us have our own individual best interests at heart?”

“I guess.”

“Luke, the only time you’d put someone else’s best interests before your own is if you loved that person with all your heart. And that’s just not how Christopher and I feel about each other. I love him as a friend, nothing more. And he feels the same way.”

After the emotional spiral I went through this year, convincing myself that we’d be perfect together, only to find myself shockingly relieved after I got over the initial embarrassment of Christopher not returning those feelings, it feels good to be at this point.

I doubt my feelings for him were ever anything more than me wanting my life to seem perfect and convincing myself that if he and I were together, it would be.

“Okay. I just...I don’t want any external speculation that our marriage isn’t real,” Luke says. “And if he continues to act the same way toward you once you’re back to competing, there will be rumors.”

“I’ll talk to him about it.”

“And all the social media videos of you guys practicing together, the stolen glances, the teasing and playfulness—you can’t tell me your team wasn’t trying to sell the lie.”

He’s right. We have our own social media account and his cousin runs it. When she figured out that fans wanted to see those types of behind-the-scenes videos, she put more and more of them out...even going so far as to have us stage some of them.

“It won’t be a problem,” I say. “And the only way this skating thing is going to work is if Christopher will move out here?—”

“Do you think he will?”

“Yes. If we can find a coach out here, I think he’ll do it. It’s only, what? Eight months until the Olympics? I’ve given him eight years of my life in LA, he can give me eight months in Boston.”

“What do you mean, you gave him eight years of my life?” Luke’s eyebrows dip as he studies me.

“Christopher took a risk partnering with me when his last partner stopped skating,” I remind him.

It can be incredibly difficult for female figure skaters to find a partner, because there are so many more women than men in our sport, and I knew how lucky I was that he offered to skate with me.

“I worked overtime to prove myself and it’s paid off for both of us.

We’re both much better together than either of us was before.

And he wants this Olympic medal as much as I do.

When he got hurt at the last Olympics, I was fielding calls from coaches and parents who wanted me to meet new potential partners.

You wouldn’t believe the way men were lining up to leave their current partners if I’d come skate with them instead.

” I roll my eyes. “Vultures. But I didn’t leave him when he was hurt, and he’s not going to leave me because I’m pregnant.

That’s not the partnership we’ve built.”

Whatever hard look I saw in Luke’s eyes before begins to soften. He hates talking about Christopher, so we rarely do. But not talking about one of the most important people in my life with the other most important person in my life can be...difficult.

“See, though. You do have each other’s best interests at heart, then.”

I hear the unasked question. “Not because we’re in love, Luke. Because we want the same end goal, and we’re committed to achieving it together. We’re a team. You, of all people, should understand that dynamic. It just happens that my team is smaller than yours.”

“Okay,” he says, pulling me back against him, and then leaning back so I’m lying against his chest. As I lie there, the carbs sink in, my body gives into the exhaustion of working overtime to grow a tiny human, and my eyelids grow heavy.

Just as I’m about to give in to sleep, I swear I hear him whisper, “But just so you know, I’m always going to have your best interests at heart.”