Page 21 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Seventeen

LUKE

“ T here’s something Christopher said to me a few days ago, and now I can’t get it out of my head,” Eva says, looking over at me from her lounge chair next to the hotel pool in Las Vegas.

“Oh yeah?” I ask casually, keeping my eyes focused on the pool as my shoulders stiffen. “What’s that?”

If he said something that hurt her, I’m going to smash his fucking face. Seeing him a few days ago when he was in Boston was harder than I expected. The fact that she had feelings for him, even though nothing happened as a result, makes it impossible for me not to hate him.

How could someone be so stupid as to be offered Eva Wilcott’s heart and not want it? Meanwhile, I’d give anything for her to feel more than friendship toward me.

She rolls onto her hip so she’s facing me, and I turn to look at her. Fuuuck.

Even with her bikini on, you still can’t really tell she’s pregnant.

The high waist of her briefs covers any emerging bump, but the way she’s practically spilling out of the top is proof that her body really is changing.

The crease of cleavage between her breasts has my mind racing with possibility.

I glance back up at her to find her eyebrows raised.

“Did you just check out my boobs?” she asks with an incredulous laugh.

Shit, I thought my sunglasses would hide that.

“I’m sorry , but are they growing exponentially? I think pretty soon they’re going to need their own zip code.” Hopefully if I joke around with her about it, she won’t notice the bulge growing in my swim trunks. I may need to cover myself with a towel.

“Men,” she mutters and shakes her head before sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the chair so she’s facing me.

She slips her arms into her coverup and pulls it closed in front of her as she says, “I need to head back up to my room, or I won’t have time to get ready for the awards ceremony. ”

“I’ll walk you up,” I say, throwing on my T-shirt.

I swipe my hat off the table and put it on backward to hold my sweaty hair out of my face.

I’m pretty sure it’s the same temperature here in Las Vegas as it is on the face of the sun.

And all the people who walk around saying, “But it’s a dry heat, so it doesn’t feel as hot! ” are out of their minds.

Once we’re back inside the magnificently air-conditioned hotel and heading toward the elevators, I ask, “So what did Christopher say that you can’t get out of your head?”

Eva glances around as a few people walk by. “I’ll tell you when we’re somewhere more private.”

The first elevator that arrives is empty, so once the door closes behind her and we’ve each tapped our key card to select our floors, I ask again. “So?”

“You know what.” She gives her head a little shake with a roll of her eyes, and I can’t miss how pink her cheeks are.

I’m trying to figure out if it’s because she’s hot or embarrassed, but the way the skin along her arms and across her chest prickles with goose bumps makes me think it’s the latter. “Never mind.”

“Evie, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“It’s nothing.” She rolls her eyes again and looks away. It’s such a classic defense mechanism for her when she doesn’t want to talk about something.

I step closer and she takes a slight step back until she’s up against the wall of the elevator. “Evie,” I say like it’s a warning. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. Especially not now.”

She leans her head back against the mirrored wall as she looks up at me, and it presses her dark hair forward around her face and shoulders.

“Fine.” Her chest heaves with a deep breath, but I force myself not to take my gaze off her face.

“He asked what we’re going to do when one of us has needs .

You know, since this marriage isn’t going to be like that. ”

Why didn’t she bring this up days ago when we worked through our agreement?

I lift my hand and place it above her head, leaning in just a tad more.

Since we’ve been planning this, I’ve never let myself hope that things would turn physical between us.

“Seems simple enough. You have needs, you come to me.”

Her lips part as she sucks in a breath. “And if you have needs?”

“I’ll be fine.” Celibacy sucks, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever make a fool of her by sleeping with someone else while we’re married.

She lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, except I know your reputation. And I don’t want to be blindsided by news that my husband is cheating.”

“I would never go outside this marriage for anything . And I don’t expect you to, either. So again, if you have needs, you come to me. It’s that simple.”

“But Luke,” she says, and her short, shallow breaths make it seem like she’s fucking panting. It’s the first time in a very long time that I’ve wondered if she is—or could ever be—attracted to me. “That could ruin our friendship.”

“Cheating is a hard no for me. So if you think you’d be happier with someone else, let’s not do this.” Behind me, the elevator dings to signal its arrival at my floor. “You’ve still got a few hours to think about it. The choice is yours.”

With that, I push off the wall behind her, turn, and leave her standing there with her mouth agape. I don’t, however, miss the way she whispers, “Holy shit,” before the elevator doors close.

A s I walk into the hotel event space where the NHL awards ceremony is being held, I’m not sure if I should be worried that I haven’t heard from Eva since leaving her in the elevator hours ago.

I’m trying to take the “no news is good news” approach, but there’s a very real possibility that she might show up to this event tonight and tell me she’s changed her mind.

Instead of sneaking off afterward to get married in the chapel I booked, then hopping on a flight to LA, we’d.

..what? Just head back to our separate hotel rooms and forget the whole thing?

Given how much time and care we put into planning all this out over the last couple of weeks, I never imagined myself returning to my condo in Boston by myself after this weekend.

Now I realize how fucking lonely that would feel.

I’ve gotten used to having Eva around, even though it’s only been an occasional day or night here and there since she first came back to Boston three weeks ago.

I never seriously considered the possibility of her backing out of this arrangement at the last minute. What would that even mean for our friendship?

I glance around the room, looking for my teammates.

Only McCabe and Colt are here. McCabe, because AJ is receiving her GM of the Year award, and Colt, because he’s receiving the Goaltender of the Year award.

I don’t see Colt anywhere yet, but McCabe is standing in line at the bar, so I head in that direction.

“Remind me why you’re here,” McCabe’s grumpy ass says as I come up next to him right after he orders. But the way he calls out to the bartender, “Make it two beers!” lets me know he’s giving me shit rather than asking a legitimate question.

Anyone can attend the awards ceremony, and there are plenty of fans here in addition to players, coaches, team management, and the media.

“Perks of my family owning the team,” I say with a shrug. Then I drop my voice, and say, “Listen, I’m sorry about how the last game went. It wasn’t my best effort?— ”

“You need to stop fucking apologizing,” he practically growls.

I did plenty of apologizing in the locker room immediately after the game, and my teammates and coaches all said the same thing...games are won and lost by teams, not by individuals. And while I know this to be true, I also know that a huge proportion of the blame rests solidly on my shoulders.

“Shit happens,” he continues, his voice still low. “Shit games happen. All you can do is learn from them and move on. You keep living in the past like this and it’s going to fuck with your game.”

My laugh is practically a snort. “Could my game possibly be any more fucked? And how exactly is this in the past, when every time I turn around another sports pundit is analyzing that third period, and debating how I could possibly have sucked so bad?”

I’ve seen countless replays of me missing a shot in that third period. You’d think by now they’d have moved on to some other big sports story, but apparently my performance and that loss still warrant attention, even weeks later.

“You did suck,” McCabe says, and I appreciate his brutal honesty.

I don’t want my teammates to feel like they need to sugarcoat things to spare my feelings, or—what I’m even more worried about—because my family owns the team.

“But it was half a period, in one game. It doesn’t mean you suck as a goalie?—”

“Right, just Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, no big deal.”

“Listen, there’s no two ways about it—it was a big deal.

But you’re still early in your career. You’re still learning and growing as a player.

Don’t let it fuck with your head. Learn from it.

Whatever had you so distracted, cut that shit right out of your life,” he says, and I try not to flinch, knowing that I’m doing the absolute opposite.

I’m not cutting Eva out of my life, I’m marrying her.

..if she’s still up for it. “Or learn how to keep that shit off the ice. Everyone has bad games. I had two of them in the playoffs, and both were because I was too focused on AJ and Abby. I had to learn how to compartmentalize when I was on the ice.”

Normally, I can do that. But there was something different about the utter panic I felt that night—that something could be wrong with Eva or the baby, or that Helene would discover Eva’s secret before she was ready to tell her mom.

I probably should talk to someone about that and figure out how to prevent it from happening again.

I glance over McCabe’s shoulder before I respond, and that’s when I see Eva walking in with her parents.

I hadn’t asked her, but I’d expected her to wear white tonight for our wedding.

Should I be worried that she’s in a dark green dress, with her hair in a high, slicked back ponytail?

She looks gorgeous and sultry, which is not how I’d pictured her wanting to look on her wedding day.

Is this her way of telling me the wedding's off?

“Dude. Wipe that look off your face. If Coach catches you looking at his daughter that way . . .”

My head snaps toward McCabe to find that he’s followed my gaze. “I wasn’t looking at her in any way.”

“Uh-huh.” He takes a sip of his beer as his eyes narrow. His face changes, like he’s come to a certain realization. “You have feelings for this girl?”

My head rears back. “What? No. She’s my best friend. ”

“You keep saying that, but Renaud’s my best friend,” he says, referring to one of our teammates I’ve never met because he’s been on the IR with a broken hand all season, “and I sure as shit don’t look at him the way you’re looking at her.

Was she the reason you were so distracted in Game 7? The fact that she was sick?”

I try not to let my surprise at how accurately he’s assessed the situation register on my face. “How’d you know she was sick?”

“How do you think?”

Mentally, I put myself back in that hallway when I heard the news, realizing that the only other person in a position to hear Coach was AJ.

“I keep forgetting you’re with AJ. That’s still so . . . weird. How you hated her so much, until . . .”

“Until I didn’t.” His words are clipped, indicating the end of that discussion.

“You’re staring at her again,” he warns, turning his head to follow my gaze. AJ is now standing near the Wilcotts, chatting with them. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I ask, even though I can tell by the tone of his voice that he can’t wait to get over there to AJ.

“I’d like to meet your best friend, Lover Boy.” His voice is pure sarcasm, like he’s already concluded that she’s more to me than a best friend.

“Dude, do not call me that in front of her or I’ll never live it down.”

“She doesn’t know your reputation?” he asks as we make our way toward the entrance of the huge auditorium where they stand .

“She does,” I groan. “But just because women flock to me doesn’t mean I’m doing anything to earn that reputation.”

“Huh.” His single-word response is pensive, and I wonder if I’ve revealed too much.

When we reach the Wilcotts, McCabe slides his arm around AJ’s waist and kisses the top of her head.

“Still not quite used to this,” Coach says with an awkward laugh.

“You’ll get there,” AJ and McCabe say at the same time.

It makes me wonder if he’s going to feel the same way about Eva and me if we get married. Will it be awkward for our parents? Is it wishful thinking that they might be totally thrilled for us?

Too afraid of what I might see on her face or what my expression might reveal, I’ve avoided meeting Eva’s gaze. When I finally do, she gives me a small, reassuring smile that has some of the tightness in my chest loosening.

We chat for a minute, and then Charlie and Helene are off to talk to someone else, and it’s just the four of us left standing there.

“I’m so sorry to hear you were sick a few weeks ago,” AJ tells Eva. “You feeling better now?”

“Yeah, I was just exhausted and dehydrated,” she says. “The end of competition season really did me in.” She gives me a quick sideways glance, and I can tell she’s not sure what to say or do next. Like most people when they first meet AJ, I think Eva’s a bit intimidated.

“She’s doing fine now,” I say, bringing my hand to her lower back. “But?—”

I’m interrupted by the announcement asking us to take our seats, and we part ways with AJ and McCabe who are sitting near the stage, while we head to the theater-style box seats that line the perimeter, facing the stage.

As we walk, my pinky brushes Eva’s hand and relief floods through me.

Not touching her is physically painful. She glances at me then, and her look is almost shy—nothing like the brazen girl I’ve known my whole life.

It seems like this pregnancy has undermined her self-confidence, which makes sense, I suppose, since it’s uncharted territory.

..much like this marriage I’ve proposed.

“So, are we doing this tonight?” I ask, leading her toward the box I can already see our parents occupying.

She gives me a decisive nod.

“You and me, Evie,” I say, letting my pinky brush against her wrist again as we walk. “Let’s do this.”