Page 32 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)
Christopher chuckles quietly before he walks into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator door, and grabs the orange juice off the shelf. He then grabs a glass from the lower cabinet and sets it on the counter.
Next to me, Luke’s eyes narrow as he watches Christopher pour juice into the glass.
The glass that was sitting next to the coffee mug Luke struggled to find earlier.
And I can sense Luke’s frustration over Christopher’s familiarity with my apartment—as if it represents a similar familiarity with me.
But I’m not going to feel bad about that. We’re friends who spend a great deal of time together. In fact, he’s the one who helped me install those roll-out shelves.
Then again, with the number of times Luke had to listen to me talk about Christopher over this past season, the way I was always hemming and hawing over whether or not he had feelings for me...maybe he’s a little jealous.
My friendship with Luke has always been the most important thing to me, but I could see how he might think I was putting Christopher before him.
Which makes sense because I never shared the insight I finally came to concerning Christopher: the only reason I was desperate for him to see me as more than a friend was because I knew Luke never would.
I just wanted someone to choose me .
“Think we should get going?” Christopher calls out from the kitchen.
Thankful for the interruption of my thoughts, I spring off the couch. “Yeah, we’d better go.” I glance down at Luke. “Do you want to come?”
His eyes flick over toward Christopher and he says, “Nah, it’s probably better if I stay here and keep packing. Plus, I have to drop your car off at the dealership.”
My little two-door convertible would be completely impractical in Boston winters, and unsafe with a baby in the back seat, so Luke arranged to sell it to a used car dealership.
“All right. Well, thank you for that,” I say as I reach out, ruffle the hair on the top of his head, and turn to leave, thankful for the opportunity for some space.
On the short drive to the rink where we’ll be taking pictures for the brand of figure skates that sponsors our team, Christopher is practically gloating about how jealous Luke is with him around.
“Are you intentionally trying to antagonize him?” I ask.
“No, but it amuses the shit out of me to see how jealous he gets. Eva, you can’t seriously believe that he sees you only as a friend? He’s so fucking possessive of you...Even the way he looks at you screams I want her. ”
“Pfft.” I let a hiss of air escape my lips, signaling that his observation is ridiculous. But is it?
I want to push back, to remind him that we’ve been friends, and only friends, our whole lives. But even I realize that friends don’t do what we did last night on that air mattress.
But friends with benefits do, I remind myself. And I guess that’s the weird new phase we’ve let our relationship stray into?
“It’d be a lot easier for me if you guys could get along. He’s my husband , Christopher. Can you please stop trying to get under his skin?”
“I’m just helping him recognize the wonderful person he has right in front of him.” He says it with such confidence that I don’t question his meaning, just his understanding of the situation.
“What he has is a pregnant best friend who needed some help covering up how she got pregnant, and better health insurance.”
“What’s wrong with our health insurance?” he asks.
I’d initially been afraid I’d lose it if I wasn’t competing, but when I looked into it, that wasn’t the case because my leave would be considered a covered maternity leave.
“Nothing’s wrong with it. But it only covers 80% of healthcare costs for the athlete and doesn’t allow the addition of dependents.
So any costs specific to the baby, whether incurred during the birth or afterwards, would have to be paid out of pocket.
Luke’s health insurance will cover one hundred percent of our family’s healthcare costs. ”
“Hmmm...” Christopher says, as if trying to decide whether healthcare is a good enough reason to marry your best friend.
I decide to steer the conversation toward the photoshoot and away from my marriage. “Do you think there’s any chance that they’ll give us time to break in the skates before they expect us to hit the ice with them?”
Christopher snorts a laugh. “Have you already forgotten about last time?”
“Yeah, no,” I say as he pulls into the parking lot of the rink we’ve practiced at forever. The last time we worked with this company, they were filming a commercial to air during figure skating competitions, and they wanted us in full costume performing our routine in brand-new skates.
You’d think a company that manufactured skates would know that it takes many hours over several different sessions to get the boots to mold to your feet enough that you can confidently jump and spin in them.
I’ve never fallen as many times as I did in the three hours we were filming, and I’m not looking for a repeat experience while pregnant.
“Hopefully, since this time it’s just photos, we can do more posing and less actual skating. ”
“Speaking of skating,” he says slowly while he unbuckles. “Have you been on the ice much in the past few weeks?”
“No,” I admit. “I tweaked my back a week after I got back to Boston and didn’t want to skate until I was sure it was fully better.”
“How’d you manage that?” he asks.
“Just bent over, then stood up the wrong way. I’m getting old,” I say with a laugh. “Good thing I’m retiring soon.”
He turns in his seat so he’s facing me and rolls his eyes. “You’re not old.”
“I feel like I am.”
“Are you sure you don’t just feel pregnant?”
“I don’t think my body is going to feel younger after I’ve given birth.”
He presses his lips together, then closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again and says, “Are you sure you’re committed to doing this?”
“The photoshoot?” I ask. But I know what he really means.
He gives me the kind of sigh you’d give an impertinent kid. “For real, Eva. This is our last shot at the Olympics together. I want to make sure you’re in this with me?”
There’s no way he’d find a new partner and be ready for the qualifiers by December, even if he started now. The synergy that keeps two skaters in sync and the chemistry between the couple that delights audiences takes a long time to develop—four months isn’t nearly enough time.
Plus, I want this experience too. Even though training throughout this pregnancy, not to mention coming back after the birth strong enough to compete and take care of a newborn, will probably be the hardest thing I’ve ever done...I still want to do it.
I reach over and take the hand he has resting on the gearshift, squeezing his fingers in mine. “I’m in.”